Classic Poem

A LONE , alone, and ever alone,
Alone, an I live or die;
Alone, while night like an iron mask
Shuts down on the brow of the sky.

Alone, alone, and ever alone
In a mould'ring tower I dwell;
But I wad laugh in the eyes o' Fear
An I heard not the Weird Minstrelle.

O weary, weary, the dead of night,
When the sullen thunder sounds,
Like a bell that booms in the glooms of hell,
Far over the sunken grounds.

And wild the sight of the fens by night
When the livid lightning flies,
Like a flaming sword that opens a wound,
A blood-red wound in the skies.

And drear the sight of the flickering light
That lurks in the dungeon dell:
But O, most weary, and wild, and drear,
The sound of the Weird Minstrelle.

Yet none have seen him abroad, with night
Before, and the storm behind,
For he dwells in the fog of the sodden bog,
And he walks in the way of the wind.

O Weird Minstrelle o' the Limbo Lake!
That sings when an eerie blast
Tears open the clouds, and the waning moon
Stares into my heart aghast:

O Weird Minstrelle o' the Limbo Lake,
'Tis a dismal dirge to sing,
In the mirk midnight, in the mirk midnight,
When the glimmering moorlands ring.

Aye, weary the sight of the fens by night
When the luminous lightning flies,
When thunders rattle the kirkyard bones
And death-lights open their eyes:

But O, I wad dance with the leaping lights,
An I heard not the Weird Minstrelle! —
For he sounds one chord, and he drones one word,
The curse of a brother in hell.