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Beneath it like successive billows borne
Crimes and calamities sweep into light,
Each direr than the first!———Ha, speak I now
Ænigmas? Bear ye witness to the truth
With which I follow, hound-like, on the track
Of the evil deeds committed long ago.——
There is a choir that never leaves this roof,
Symphonious, not euphonious; for its notes
Are not of good. A troop of wassailers,
Drunk and made bold with draughts of human blood,
A troop of Sister Furies, haunts this house,
Hard, hard to be dislodged. To the doom'd walls
Close-clinging, loud they sing the primal wrong;
Then loathingly repeat the name of him
Who trampled on a brother's marriage-bed.
Miss I the mark; or do my words strike home?
Wilt call me now "Impostor, vagabond,
"Wretched deceiver"?—On thine oath attest
My knowledge of this house's ancient crimes!

CHORUS.
An oath, if plighted in a proper spirit,
Is a most solemn tie twixt man and man.
Oaths are uncall'd for here. I marvel at thee,
That thou, a damsel from far-distant climes,
Like an eye-witness speakest of the deeds
With which this land was stain'd in days gone by.