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Beneath accumulated horror, sinks The desolate mourner! ********* *********  ********* The feudal Chief, whose Gothic battlements Frown on the plain beneath, returning home From distant lands, alone, and in disguise, Gains at the fall of night his castle walls; But, at the silent gate no porter sits To wait his lord's admittance!—In the courts All is drear stillness!—Guessing but too well The fatal truth, he shudders as he goes Thro' the mute hall; where, by the blunted light