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 That voice—almost inaudible it was— Had in its tone menace and plaint at once. Beside myself with terror, pale, I rose Seeking the man who thus did speak to me. I looked.—'Twas a dissevered head I saw. Enveloped in the dark by pallid gleams, It bore upon its livid, ghastly brow A halo—ay, a halo red as blood. Therein the fragments of a crown were mingled. It moved not—see, old man, I shudder still!— But gazed upon me with a fiendish sneer, And murmured low: "All honour to King Cromwell!" I took a step. It faded all away And left no trace save on my heart alone, Forever by that portent turned to stone!— "All honour to King Cromwell!"—Hearest thou And dost thou understand? What sayest thou? The darkness, and therein those wandering gleams, A hideous head, a fragment of a phantom, A kingdom promising with ghastly smiles— Ah me! 'twas horrible in very truth! Was it not so, Manasseh?—Oh! that head! And since, upon a cold and dreary day, A day in winter, 'mid a restless crowd, I saw it once again—but it was dumb. Hark ye—'twas hanging from the headsman's hand! Manasseh [musingly. In truth? Ezekiel, Jethro's son-in-law, Had visions far less ominous, my son. Nor e'en Belshazzar's, in his drunkenness, Did equal it. Nor does the Toldos Jeschut Tell aught resembling that which thee befel. To see the head of a still living king! 'Tis strange, indeed!