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First Line: When panels creak mysteriously swayed
Last Line: Begins, through heaven, his glorious course to run.
Alternate Author Name(s): Theo, Le Bon


WHEN panels creak mysteriously swayed;
When from the deep wide gaping hearth are made
Unearthly sounds; when the logs strangely seem
To groan and hiss, and round their edges gleam
All pale and wan; when moving in their frames
The portraits seem of ancient knights and dames--
Then do you like by night, with no one near,
To read old tales of marvel and of fear?
This I enjoy--if in some grim old tower
I find a ponderous folio to devour,
Dragged from a dusty Gothic cabinet,
Long years forgotten, on whose margins set
Flowers, figures, objects of each gorgeous hue,
As in a painted window you may view.

I cannot leave it--lyrics, ballads, lays,
Legend of saint who plague and famine stays,
Cures leprosy, and devils puts to flight
By sign of Cross; or tale of valiant knight:
All I devour, the clock strikes twelve in vain,
And the owl shrieks as through the narrow pane
The lights before me daze his startled eyes;
My table like a tomb in shape and size;
Meanwhile my candle gutters o'er and makes
Long winding sheets; then thro' the lattice breaks
The rosy tint of dawn, and the glad sun
Begins, through heaven, his glorious course to run.





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