Part 19

With fearless good humour did Mary comply, And her way to the abbey she bent; The night it was dark, and the wind it was high, And as hollowly howling it swept through the sky, She shiver'd with cold as she went.

O'er the path so well known still proceeded the maid, Where the abbey rose dim on the sight. Through the gate-way she entered, she felt not afraid, Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night.

All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Howl'd dismally round the old pile; Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she past, And arriv'd in the innermost ruin at last, Where the elder-tree grew in the aisle.

Well pleas'd did she reach it, and quickly drew near, And hastily gather'd the bough; When the sound of a voice seem'd to rise on her ear-- She paus'd, and she listen'd all eager to hear, And her heart panted fearfully now.

The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head, She listen'd--nought else could she hear; The wind ceas'd; her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, For she heard in the ruins distinctly the tread Of footsteps approaching her near.

Behind a white column, half breathless with fear, She crept to conceal herself there: That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, And she saw in the moon-light two ruffians appear, And between them a corpse did they bear.

Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold! Again the rough wind hurried by-- It blew off the hat of the one, and, behold, Even close to the foot of poor Mary it roll'd-- She felt, and expected to die.

"Curse the hat!" he exclaims. "Nay, come on, and first hide The dead body," his comrade replies. She beheld them in safety pass on by her side, She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied, And fast through the abbey she flies.

She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door, She gaz'd horribly eager around: Then her limbs could support their faint burden no more, And exhausted and breathless she sunk on the floor, Unable to utter a sound.

Ere yet her cold lips could the story impart, For a moment the hat met her view-- Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For, oh! God! what cold horror then thrill'd through her heart, When the name of her Richard she knew.

Where the old abbey stands on the common hard by, His gibbet is now to be seen: Not far from the road it engages the eye, The trav'ller beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh, Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn.

SOUTHEY'S POEMS.

FOOTNOTES:

The hat of one of the ruffians.

She knew it to be Richard's hat.

GILES THE SHEPHERD,

AND SPECTRE.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Giles, ere he sleeps, his little flock must tell. From the fire-side with many a shrug he hies, Glad if the full-orb'd moon salute his eyes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And down a narrow lane, well known by day, With all his speed pursues his sounding way, In thought still half absorb'd, and chill'd with cold, When, lo! an object frightful to behold, A grisly spectre, cloth'd in silver grey, Around whose feet the waving shadows play, Stands in his path! He stops, and not a breath Heaves from his heart, that sinks almost to death. Loud the owl hallooes o'er his head unseen; All else is silence, dismally serene: Some prompt ejaculation, whisper'd low, Yet bears him up against the threat'ning foe; And thus poor Giles, though half inclin'd to fly, Mutters his doubts, and strains his stedfast eye. "'Tis not my crimes thou com'st here to reprove; No murders stain my soul, no perjur'd love: If thou'rt indeed what here thou seem'st to be, Thy dreadful mission cannot reach to me. By parents taught still to mistrust mine eyes, Still to approach each object of surprise, Lest fancy's formful vision should deceive In moonlight paths, or glooms of falling eve, 'Tis then's the moment when my mind should try To scan the motionless deformity; But oh, the fearful task!--yet well I know An aged ash, with many a spreading bough, (Beneath whose leaves I've found a summer's bow'r, Beneath whose trunk I've weather'd many a show'r) Stands singly down this solitary way, But far beyond where now my footsteps stay. 'Tis true, thus far I've come with heedless haste; No reck'ning kept, no passing objects trac'd: And can I then have reach'd that very tree? Or is its rev'rend form assum'd by thee?" The happy thought alleviates his pain; He creeps another step; then stops again; Till slowly as his noiseless feet drew near, Its perfect lineaments at once appear; Its crown of shiv'ring ivy whispering peace, And its white bark that fronts the moon's pale face. Now, while his blood mounts upward, now he knows The solid gain that from conviction flows; And strengthen'd confidence shall hence fulfil (With conscious innocence, more valued still) The dreariest task that winter nights can bring, By church-yard dark, or grove, or fairy ring; Still buoying up the timid mind of youth, Till loit'ring reason hoists the scale of truth. With those blest guardians, Giles his course pursues, Till numbering his heavy-sided ewes, Surrounding stilness tranquillize his breast, And shape the dreams that wait his hours of rest.

BLOOMFIELD'S Farmer's Boy.

MAN WITH HIS HEAD ON FIRE,

AND COVERED WITH BLOOD.

The following singular adventure is related by a military captain.

"I was coming home one night on horseback, from a visit I had been making to a number of the neighbouring villages, where I had quartered my recruits. It happened there had fallen a deal of rain that day, since noon, and during all the evening, which had broken up the roads, and it was raining still with equal violence; but, being forced to join my company next morning, I set out, provided with a lanthorn, having to pass a strait defile between two mountains. I had cleared it, when a gust of wind took off my hat, and carried it so far, that I despaired of getting it again, and therefore gave the matter up. By great good fortune, I had with me my red cloak. I covered my head and shoulders with it, leaving nothing but a little hole to see my way, and breathe through; and, for fear the wind should take a fancy to my cloak, as well as my hat, I passed my right arm round my body to secure it: so that, riding on in this position, you may easily conceive my lanthorn, which I held in my right hand, was under my left shoulder. At the entrance of a village on a hill, I met three travellers, who no sooner saw me than they ran away as fast as possible. For my part, I went on upon the gallop; and when I came into the town, alighted at an inn, where I designed to rest myself a little. Soon after, who should enter, but my three poltroons, as pale as death itself. They told the landlord and his people, trembling as they spoke, that in the road they had encountered a great figure of a man all over blood, whose head was like a flame of fire, and to increase the wonder, placed beneath his shoulder. He was mounted on a dreadful horse, said they, quite black behind, and grey before; which, notwithstanding it was lame, he spurred and whipped right up the mountain with extraordinary swiftness. Here they ended their relation. They had taken care to spread the alarm as they were flying from this wondrous apparition, and the people had come with them to the inn in such a drove, that upwards of an hundred were all squeezed together, opening both their mouths and ears at this tremendous story. To make up in some sort for my dismal journey, I resolved to laugh a little, and be merry at their cost, intending to cure them of such fright, by shewing them their folly in the present instance. With this view, I got upon my horse again, behind the inn, and went round about till I had rode the distance of a mile or thereabouts; when, turning, I disposed of my accoutrements, that is to say, my cloak and lanthorn, as before, and on I came upon a gallop towards the inn. You should have seen the frighted mob of peasants, how they hid their faces at the sight, and got into the passage. There was no one but the host had courage to remain, and keep his eye upon me. I was now before the door, on which I shifted the position of my lanthorn, let my cloak drop down upon my shoulders, and appeared the figure he had seen me by his kitchen fire. It was not without real difficulty, we could bring the simple people who had crowded in for safety from their terror: the three travellers, in particular, as the first impression was still strong within them, they could not credit what they saw. We finished by a hearty laugh at their expence, and by drinking to the man whose head was like a flame of fire, and placed beneath his shoulder."

THE

INNOCENT DEVIL,