'O, enter not in judgment, Lord,
With thy frail child of clay!
She knows not what her tongue has spoke;
Impute it not, I pray !

'Forbear, my child, this desperate woe,
And turn to God and grace ;
Well can devotion's heavenly glow
Convert thy bale to bliss."

‘O mother, mother, what is bliss?
O mother, what is bale?
Without my William what were heaven,
Or with him what were hell?'

Wild she arraigns the eternal doom,
Upbraids each sacred power,
Till, spent, she sought her silent room.
All in the lonely tower.

1 She beat her breast, she wrung her hands

Till sun and day were o'er,

› And through the glimmering lattice shote The twinking of the star.

Then, crash! the beavy drawbridge fell
That o'er the mat was hung;
And, clatter? clatter! on its boards

The hoof of courser rung.

Dhe cland of scdoing steel was heard
As of the rider Nanded;
And xeway on the winding stair
sounded.

And das and M's knock-tap! taj

surge,

He drove the furious horse.

The race is well-nigh done.'

Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode,

Splash! splash! along the sea ;

The scourge is red, the spur drops blood,
The flashing pebbles flee.

Hurrah! hurrah! well ride the dead;
The bride, the bride is come;
And soon we reach the bridal bed,
For, Helen, here's my home.'

Reluctant on its rusty hinge
Revolved an iron door,

And by the pale moon's setting beam
Were seen a church and tower.

230

bi

Wheel round the maid in dismal dance, And howl the funeral song;

240

250

260

Revere the doom of Heaven, Her soul is from her body reft; Her spirit be forgiven!'

10

The beams of God's own hallowed day
Had painted yonder spire with gold,
And, calling sinful man to pray,
Loud, long, and deep the bell had tolled;

But still the Wildgrave onward rides ;
Halloo, halloo and, hark again!
When, spurring from opposing sides,
Two stranger horsemen join the train.

Who was each stranger, left and right,
Well may I guess, but dare not tell;
The right-hand steed was silver white,
The left the swarthy hue of hell.

The right-hand horseman, young and fair,
His smile was like the morn of May;
The left from eye of tawny glare
Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray.

He waved his huntsman's cap on high,
Cried, 'Welco, welcome, noble lord!
What sport can ea or sea, or sky,
To match the pri. y chase, afford?'

19

Cease thy loud bugle's changing knell,'
Cried the fair youth with silver voice; 30
And for devotion's choral swell
Exchange the rude unhallowed noise.

day the ill-omened chase forbear,
on bell yet summons to the fane;
ay the Warning Spirit hear,
morrow thou mayst mourn in vain.'

y, and sweep the glades along!'
e sable hunter hoarse replies;
muttering monks leave matin-song
ad bells and books and mysteries.'

10

The Wildgrave spurred his ardent steed, And, launching forward with a bound,

40

20

A stag more white than mountain snow; And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn,

'Hark forward, forward holla, ho!')

A heedless wretch has crossed the way;
He gasps the thundering hoofs below;
But live who can, or die who may,
Still, 'Forward, forward!' on they go. 60
See, where yon simple fences meet,

A field with autumn's blessings crowned;
See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet,
A husbandman with toil embrowned:

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80

'The meanest brute has rights to plead,

Which, wronged by cruelty or pride, Draw vengeance on the ruthless head: Be warned at length and turn aside.'

Still the fair horseman anxious pleads; The black, wild whooping, points the prey :

Alas! the Earl no warning heeds,
But frantic keeps the forward way.

Holy or not, or right or wrong, Thy altar and its rites I spurn; Not sainted martyrs' sacred song,

Not God himself shall make me turn!'

He spurs his horse, he winds his horn,
'Hark forward, forward, holla, ho
But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne,
The stag, the hut, the hermit, go.

And horse and man, and horn and hound,

And clamor of the chase, was gone; For hoofs and howls and bugle-sound, A deadly silence reigned alone.

Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around;
He strove in vain to wake his horn,
In vain to call; for not a sound
Could from his anxious lips be borne.
He listens for his trusty hounds,

No distant baying reached his ears;
His courser, rooted to the ground,
The quickening spur unmindful bears.
Still dark and darker frown the shades,
Dark as the darkness of the grave;
And not a sound the still invades,

Save what a distant torrent gave.

High o'er the sinner's humbled head

At length the solemn silence broke; And from a cloud of swarthy red

The awful voice of thunder spoke.

'Oppressor of creation fair!

Apostate Spirits' hardened tool! Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor! The measure of thy cup is full.

'Be chased forever through the wood Forever roam the affrighted wild; And let thy fate instruct the proud, God's meanest creature is His chil

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