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Or. Merciful Heaven! and in my veins there runs A murderer's blood. Said'st thou not, murder'd him?

Cath. Aye; as he lay asleep, at dead of night.

Or. A deed most horrible!

Cath. It was on Michael's eve; and since that time, The neighb'ring hinds oft hear the midnight yell Of spectre-hounds, and see the spectre shapes Of huntsmen on their sable steeds, with still A nobler hunter riding in their van To cheer the chase, shewn by the moon's pale beams, When wanes its horn in long October nights.

Or. This hath been often seen?

Cath.Aye, so they say. But, as the story goes, on Michael's eve, And on that night alone of all the year, The hunter-knight himself, having a horn Thrice sounded at the gate, the castle enters; And, in the very chamber where he died, Calls on his murd'rer, or in his default Some true descendant of his house, to loose His spirit from its torment; for his body Is laid i'the earth unbless'd, and none can tell The spot of its interment.

Or. Call on some true descendant of his race! It were to such a fearful interview. But in that chamber, on that night alone—