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William Blake - Fair Elanor
Work rating: Low

The bell struck one, and shook the silent tower;
The graves give up their dead: fair Elenor
Walk`d by the castle gate, and lookèd in.
A hollow groan ran thro` the dreary vaults.
She shriek`d aloud, and sunk upon the steps,
On the cold stone her pale cheeks. Sickly smells
Of death issue as from a sepulchre,
And all is silent but the sighing vaults.

Chill Death withdraws his hand, and she revives;
Amaz`d, she finds herself upon her feet,
And, like a ghost, thro` narrow passages
Walking, feeling the cold walls with her hands.

Fancy returns, and now she thinks of bones
And grinning skulls, and corruptible death
Wrapp`d in his shroud; and now fancies she hears
Deep sighs, and sees pale sickly ghosts gliding.

At length, no fancy but reality
Distracts her. A rushing sound, and the feet
Of one that fled, approaches—Ellen stood
Like a dumb statue, froze to stone with fear.

The wretch approaches, crying: `The deed is done;
Take this, and send it by whom thou wilt send;
It is my life—send it to Elenor:—
He`s dead, and howling after me for blood!

`Take this,` he cried; and thrust into her arms
A wet napkin, wrapp`d about; then rush`d
Past, howling: she receiv`d into her arms
Pale death, and follow`d on the wings of fear.

They pass`d swift thro` the outer gate; the wretch,
Howling, leap`d o`er the wall into the moat,
Stifling in mud. Fair Ellen pass`d the bridge,
And heard a gloomy voice cry `Is it done?`

As the deer wounded, Ellen flew over
The pathless plain; as the arrows that fly
By night, destruction flies, and strikes in darkness.
She fled from fear, till at her house arriv`d.

Her maids await her; on her bed she falls,
That bed of joy, where erst her lord hath press`d:
`Ah, woman`s fear!` she cried; `ah, cursèd duke!
Ah, my dear lord! ah, wretched Elenor!

`My lord was like a flower upon the brows
Of lusty May! Ah, life as frail as flower!
O ghastly death! withdraw thy cruel hand,
Seek`st thou that flow`r to deck thy horrid temples?

`My lord was like a star in highest heav`n
Drawn down to earth by spells and wickedness;
My lord was like the opening eyes of day
When western winds creep softly o`er the flowers;

`But he is darken`d; like the summer`s noon
Clouded; fall`n like the stately tree, cut down;
The breath of heaven dwelt among his leaves.
O Elenor, weak woman, fill`d with woe!`

Thus having spoke, she raisèd up her head,
And saw the bloody napkin by her side,
Which in her arms she brought; and now, tenfold
More terrifièd, saw it unfold itself.

Her eyes were fix`d; the bloody cloth unfolds,
Disclosing to her sight the murder`d head
Of her dear lord, all ghastly pale, clotted
With gory blood; it groan`d, and thus it spake:

`O Elenor, I am thy husband`s head,
Who, sleeping on the stones of yonder tower,
Was `reft of life by the accursèd duke!
A hirèd villain turn`d my sleep to death!

`O Elenor, beware the cursèd duke;
O give not him thy hand, now I am dead;
He seeks thy love; who, coward, in the night,
Hirèd a villain to bereave my life.`

She sat with dead cold limbs, stiffen`d to stone;
She took the gory head up in her arms;
She kiss`d the pale lips; she had no tears to shed;
She hugg`d it to her breast, and groan`d her last.
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