IV

In the court of the fortress

Beside the pale portress,

Like a bloodhound well beaten

The bridegroom stands, eaten

By shame;

On the topmost watch-turret,

As a death-boding spirit,

Stands the gray tyrant father,

To his voice the mad weather

Seems tame;

And with curses as wild

As e'er clung to child,

He devotes to the blast,

The best, loveliest and last

Of his name!