听!远处城垛上庄严的钟声敲响了午夜的钟声!可怜的布罗德里克从昏睡的可怕幻象中醒来?在孤独中哭泣!“停止,记忆;(无友的哀悼者喊道)不要再去探察那饱经磨难的胸膛!哦!当青春的希望，心灵的音乐，调和了它所有的魅力，厄灵顿是仁慈的!然而，当我这颤抖的身躯还在发光的时候，我怎能停止在叹息中说出你忧郁的名字呢!我听见你的灵魂在暴风雨中哀号!在午夜的阴影里，我看见你逝去的身影! Pale as in that sad hour when doomed to feel ! Deep in thy perjured heart, the bloody steel ! Demons of Vengeance ! ye, at whose command I grasped the sword with more than woman's hand Say ye, did Pity's trembling voice control, Or horror damp the purpose of my soul ? No ! my wild heart sat smiling o'er the plan, 'Till Hate fulfilled what baffled love began ! Yes ; let the clay-cold breast that never knew One tender pang to generous nature true, Half-mingling pity with the gall of scorn, Condemn this heart, that bled in love forlorn ! And ye, proud fair, whose soul no gladness warms, Save Rapture's homage to your conscious charms ! Delighted idols of a gaudy train, Ill can your blunter feelings guess the pain, When the fond, faithful heart, inspired to prove Friendship refined, the calm delight of Love, Feels all its tender strings with anguish torn, And bleeds at perjured Pride's inhuman scorn. Say, then, did pitying Heaven condemn the deed, When Vengeance bade thee, faithless lover! bleed ? Long had I watched thy dark foreboding brow, What time thy bosom scorned its dearest vow ! Sad, though I wept the friend, the lover changed, Still thy cold look was scornful and estranged, Till from thy pity, love, and shelter thrown, I wandered hopeless, friendless, and alone ! Oh ! righteous Heaven ! 't was then my tortured soul First gave to wrath unlimited control ! Adieu the silent look ! the streaming eye ! The murmured plaint ! the deep heart-heaving sigh ! Long-slumbering Vengeance wakes to better deeds ; He shrieks, he falls, the perjured lover bleeds ! Now the last laugh of agony is o'er, And pale in blood he sleeps, to wake no more ! 'T is done ! the flame of hate no longer burns : Nature relents, but, ah! too late returns! Why does my soul this gush of fondness feel ? Trembling and faint, I drop the guilty steel ! Cold on my heart the hand of terror lies, And shades of horror close my languid eyes ! Oh ! 't was a deed of Murder's deepest grain ! Could Broderick's soul so true to wrath remain ? A friend long true, a once fond lover fell ? Where Love was fostered could not Pity dwell ? Unhappy youth ! while you pale cresscent glows To watch on silent Nature's deep repose, Thy sleepless spirit, breathing from the tomb , Foretells my fate, and summons me to come ! Once more I see thy sheeted spectre stand , Roll the dim eye, and wave the paly hand ! Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame Forsake its languid melancholy frame ! Soon may these eyes their trembling lustre close, Welcome the dreamless night of long repose ! Soon may this woe-worn spirit seek the bourne Where, lulled to slumber, Grief forgets to mourn !"