Dense on the stream the vapours lay,
Spongy and dim, each lonely lampShone o’er the streets so dull and damp;The moonbeam could not pierce the cloudThat swathed the city like a shroud.There stood three Shapes on the bridge alone,Three figures by the coping-stone;Gaunt, and tall, and undefined,Spectres built of mist and wind;Changing ever in form and height,But black and palpable to sight.‘This…