The Death of Bathory
The windy gale blew through the trees
Which grew around the grey brick walls
That rose up high to meet the sky
As did the tower tall.
The grey-blue clouds and grey-green grass
Stretched over hillsides looking down
On winding roads and little huts
Which was Cachtice town.
The broken archway echoed still
With frantic yells of virgins young
While down below in Cachtice
The doleful death knell rung.
The narrow stony pathway paved
With painful cries as dark as night
Wound slowly down the rugged slope
Till it was out of sight.
The candle flickered in the wind
And caused the shadows on the wall
To dance around as witches do
On hearing Hecate call.
As shadows rose when daytime closed
And sunlight weened and moonlight gleamed
The lonely woman in the tower
Could hear the silence scream.
The woman´s dreams were plagued with blood
Like carmine stains on dungeon floors
And haunted all her silent nights
Till she could sleep no more.
Her beauty and her youth had once
Made her bloom like a rosy flower
Which withered as the hours and days
Passed by her in death tower.
And all the blood of peasant girls
And maids and serfs and noble dames
Could not prevent the blood in her
From draining as death came.
No vanity or drunken pride could
Save her from the tide of death
Which swept away her glory as she
Breathed her last breath.