At length spoke the bride, while she trembled-"I pray, The lady is silent-the stranger complies, All present then uttered a terrified shout, The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out, While the spectre addressed Imogene : "Behold me, thou false one! behold me!" he cried,- God grants that, to punish thy falsehood and pride, This saying, his arms round the lady he wound, Or the spectre that bore her away. Not long lived the baron, and none since that time, For chronicles tell, that by order sublime, And mourns her deplorable doom. At midnight, four times in each year, does her sprite, Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white, While they drink out of sculls newly torn from the Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave grave, 44. THE OWL.-Anonymous. There sat an owl in an old oak-tree, He was considering, as well he might, For in the hollow of that oak-tree, There sat his wife, and his children three. 'Gan trying his voice to learn her song; And peered for his dad, and said "You're long;" Who most can chatter, or cram, they strive What then did the old owl do? Ah! Not so gay was his next to-whoo! For after his children had gone to bed, He slept outside the hollow tree. So when he awoke at the fall of the dew, Yet still unwilling to believe, That evil's raven wing was spread, Hovering over his guiltless head, And shutting out joy from his hollow tree, "Ha-ha-they play me a trick," quoth he, "They will not speak,-well, well, at night They'll talk enough, I'll take a flight." But still he went not, in, nor out, But hopped uneasily about. What then did the father owl? He sat still, until below He heard cries of pain and wo. And saw his wife and children three, He followed them with noiseless wing, They went to a mansion tall, He sat in a window of the hall, Where he could see His bewildered family; And he heard the hall with laughter ring, When the boy said, "Blind they'll learn to sing:" He felt it all! Their agony Was echoed by his frantic cry, His scream rose up with a mighty swell, But the father owl! He tore his breast in his despair, And flew he knew not, recked not, where! With his wild stare and deathly scowl. He had got a strange wild stare, For he thought he saw them ever there, And he screamed as they screamed when he saw them fall Dead on the floor of the marble hall. -Why is the crowd so great to-day, And why do the people shout "huzza ?” And why is yonder felon given Alone to feed the birds of heaven? Had he no friend, now all is done, To give his corse a grave ?-Not one! It descends from the gibbet high- 45. THE MAID OF THE INN.-Southey. Who is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly-fixed eyes No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek; Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak Yet cheerful and happy, nor distant the day, The traveler remembers, who journeyed this way, As Mary, the maid of the inn. Her cheerful address filled the guests with delight, When the wind whistled down the dark aisle. She loved, and young Richard had settled the day, "Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night, And fast were the windows and door; Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright, ""Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fireside, To hear the wind whistle without." "A fine night for the abbey," his comrade replied, "Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried, Who should wander the ruins about. I myself, like a schoolboy, should tremble to hear And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear, For this wind might awaken the dead." "I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, "Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?" His companion exclaimed with a smile; "I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough From the alder that grows in the aisle." With fearless good humor did Mary comply, The night it was dark, and the wind it was high, O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid, Where the abbey rose dim on the sight; Through the gateway she entered, she felt not afraid, Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade Seemed to deepen the gloom of the night. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Over weed-covered fragments still fearless she passed, Where the alder-tree grows in the aisle. Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near, When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear- The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head ;She listened;-naught else could she hear. |