  The young Franciscan friar sits In his cloister silent and lonely; He reads a magical book, which speaks Of exorcisms only. And when the hour of midnight knell’d, An impulse resistless came o’er him; The underground spirits with pallid lips He summon’d to rise up before him: “Ye spirits! Go, fetch me from out of the grave The corpse of my mistress cherish’d; For this one night restore her to life, Rekindling joys long perish’d.” The fearful exorcising word He breathes, and his wish is granted; The poor dead beauty in grave-clothes white Appears to his vision enchanted. Her look is mournful; her ice-cold breast Her sighs of grief cannot smother; The dead one sits herself down by the monk, In silence they gaze on each other. |
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