midnight
All Eaglestein vale is yellow and sere , The ancient elms seem withered and bare , The river asleep in its rushy bed , The waters are green , and the grass is red , The roses are dead in the sylvan bowers , Where oft in the dewy evening hours , Ere yet the fairies had sought the dell , And the merle was singing her day-farewell , The Lady Etheline would recline And think of her dear Sir Peregrine : All was cheerless now , forlorn , As if they missed her at early morn ; At noontide and at evening fall They sorrowed for her , the spirit of all . In the solary , up in the western wing , The Countess and Yerl sat sorrowing For one so young , so gentle , and fair , Their only child , lying ailing there , Waning and waning slowly away , Yet waxing more beautiful every day , As if she were drawing from spheres above , Before she got there , the spirit of love , Which shone as a light through the silken lire , Pure as was that of the vestal fire ; And ever she kissed in hysterical mood The bit of the cross all red with blood . `` Oh mother dear ! I wish -- I fear The time of my going is drawing near : Last night , at the mirk and midnight hour , A voice seemed to come through my chamber door -- For the ear of the dying is tender and fine -- And three times it sounded Etheline ; And it is true , as I 've heard say , Such voices are calls to come away -- The voices of angels hovering near , Who wish us to join them in yonder sphere . '' `` Oh ! no , oh ! no , my own dear child , Thine overfine ears have thee beguiled : It was the Yerl , when in a dream , Who three times called thy dear-loved name ; I heard the call as awake I lay , And thou mayst believe what now I say . ''