Lay slumbering hard by;

   And he smiled as the loud, loud tempest rocked

    His cradle wondrously.

   There comes a gleam on the billowy moat

    Like a death-light on its wave,

   It streams from the ivied lattice, where

    Sits a grim false-hearted knave.

   He saw it on the soft white snow,

    And across the moat it passed:

   "'Tis well," said that false and grim porter,

    And a fearsome look he cast.

   A look he cast so wild and grim,

    And he uttered a deadly vow;

   "For thy dool and thy doom this light shall be,

    Thy foes are hastening now!

   "Sleep on, sleep on, thou art weary, Sir John;

    Thy last sleep shall it be:

   Sleep on, sleep on, with thy next good sleep

    Thou shalt rest eternally!"

   The traitor watched the waters dance,

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