The drowsy squire the stranger led;
(The wardour to his post was sped.)
They traversed the hall in silent march:
At the end was a door in a mitred arch.
The knight stood before that mitred door,
And gazed on a warrior shape above,
That seem’d to watch the passage o’er.
In his altered look strange passions strove!
The armoured shape leaned on its sword,
And downward bent its steely face,
As jealous who below might pace,
Or about to speak the challenge-word;
And it seemed the very form of one,
The knight perforce must look upon.