Chapter X

The knight dismounted at the call;
The porter let him through the wall;
He turned the weary steed to stall,
And led the knight to the lordly hall.
I’ the lordly hall, so wide and dim,
One drowsy squire awaited him.
The ashy wood lay, white and cold,
On the raised hearth, where late was told,
With fiery eye and accent loud,
The deed of martial prowess proud;
Where late was told, in whispers low,
Some tale of terror and of woe,
The while each listener bent his head,
Nor lost a word the trouveur said:
Till fear crept o’er each nerve and vein,
That late had swell’d to martial strain;
And shadows crept along the wall,
Such as the sinful soul appal:
Till each, who heard, look’d round with dread,
And saw some phantom of the dead.