2.—­ON THE DARK HEIGHT OF JURA.

1. 
Ghosts of the dead! have I not heard your yelling
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the blast,
When o’er the dark aether the tempest is swelling,
And on eddying whirlwind the thunder-peal passed?

2. 
For oft have I stood on the dark height of Jura, 5
Which frowns on the valley that opens beneath;
Oft have I braved the chill night-tempest’s fury,
Whilst around me, I thought, echoed murmurs of death.

3. 
And now, whilst the winds of the mountain are howling,
O father! thy voice seems to strike on mine ear; 10
In air whilst the tide of the night-storm is rolling,
It breaks on the pause of the elements’ jar.

4. 
On the wing of the whirlwind which roars o’er the mountain
Perhaps rides the ghost of my sire who is dead: 
On the mist of the tempest which hangs o’er the fountain,
Whilst a wreath of dark vapour encircles his head.

NOTE: 
2.—­On the Dark, etc.:  without title, 1811;
    The Father’s Spectre, Rossetti, 1870.

3.—­SISTER ROSA:  A BALLAD.

1. 
The death-bell beats!—­
The mountain repeats
The echoing sound of the knell;
And the dark Monk now
Wraps the cowl round his brow, 5
As he sits in his lonely cell.

2. 
And the cold hand of death
Chills his shuddering breath,
As he lists to the fearful lay
Which the ghosts of the sky, 10
As they sweep wildly by,
Sing to departed day. 
And they sing of the hour
When the stern fates had power
To resolve Rosa’s form to its clay. 15

3. 
But that hour is past;
And that hour was the last
Of peace to the dark Monk’s brain. 
Bitter tears, from his eyes, gushed silent and fast;
And he strove to suppress them in vain. 20

4. 
Then his fair cross of gold he dashed on the floor,
When the death-knell struck on his ear.—­
’Delight is in store
For her evermore;
But for me is fate, horror, and fear.’ 25

5. 
Then his eyes wildly rolled,
When the death-bell tolled,
And he raged in terrific woe. 
And he stamped on the ground,—­
But when ceased the sound, 30
Tears again began to flow.

6. 
And the ice of despair
Chilled the wild throb of care,
And he sate in mute agony still;
Till the night-stars shone through the cloudless air, 35
And the pale moonbeam slept on the hill.

7. 
Then he knelt in his cell:—­
And the horrors of hell
Were delights to his agonized pain,
And he prayed to God to dissolve the spell, 40
Which else must for ever remain.