The Haunted Chapel.
157
Her cobwebs on the window sill,
The wary spider weaves,
Embroidering the altar lace,
Sewing the missal leaves.
The wary spider weaves,
Embroidering the altar lace,
Sewing the missal leaves.
'Tis said in that haunted chapel,
At sound of the Vesper bell,
A spectral friar comes to pray—
His Avé beads to tell.
At sound of the Vesper bell,
A spectral friar comes to pray—
His Avé beads to tell.
Oft at even-tide I've lingered,
When twilight shadows stole
Round the hills, and the spangled mist
Rolled upward like a scroll.
When twilight shadows stole
Round the hills, and the spangled mist
Rolled upward like a scroll.
On the evening breeze came voices,
Cadenzas on the ear,
But not from within the grating
Heard I the Monk at pray'r.
Cadenzas on the ear,
But not from within the grating
Heard I the Monk at pray'r.
'Twas only the river whispering
Dreamily where I stood,
Dispelling the old tradition
Of that chapel in the wood.
Dreamily where I stood,
Dispelling the old tradition
Of that chapel in the wood.
Lucca.
