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That on the spacious hearth were spread.
I saw within that room.
And all was dusky round,
Save where these embers shed
A pale and sickly gleam of light
On the Lady Margaret's bed.
On the couch where I did lye
That sickly light did shine
With one bright flash, when, as a voice
Did cry—"Revenge is mine!"
Another answered straight,
And said, "The hour is come!"
I listened—but these voices twain
For evermore were dumb.
But again the still soft foot
Came creeping stealthy on;
And then, Oh God! mine ear upcaught
A deep and stifled groan.
It echoed through the lofty room
So loud, so clear, and shrill,
Methinks even to my dying-day
I'll hear that echo still.
Again that deep and smothered groan—
That rattle in the throat—
