the tall that nod o'er the dell,
A dark foreft now blackens the mound:
Where often, at dawn-light, the deep-founding bell
Tolls fadly and folemn a foul-parting knell,
While the ruin re-echoes the found.
Yet long has the caftle been left to decay,
For its ramparts are skirted with thorn;
And no one by moon-light will venture that way,
Left they meet the poor maid, in her doublet of grey,
As the wanders, all pale and forlorn!
"And why should fhe wander? O tell me,
"And, O! why does fhe wander alone ?”
Beneath the dark ivy, now left to decay,
With no fhroud, but a coarfe fimple doublet of
Lies her bofom as cold as a ftone.
Time was when no form was fo fresh, or fo fair,
Or fo comely, when richly array'd;
She was tall; and the jewels that blaz'd in her hair
Could no more with her eye's living luftre compare,
Than a rofe with the cheek of the maid.
She lov'd!--but the youth, who had vanquish'd her heart,
Was the heir of a peafant's hard toil;
For no treasure had he; yet, a ftranger to art,
He would oft by a look to the damfel impart
What the damfel receiv'd with a smile.
Whene'er to the wake or the chafe fhe would go,
The young Theodore loiter'd that way;
Did the fun-beams of fummer invitingly glow,
Or across the bleak common the winter winds blow,
Still he watch'd till the clofing of day.
Her parents fo wealthy, her kindred so proud,
Heard the flory of love with difmay;
They rav'd, and they ftorm'd, by the Virgin they vow'd,
That, before they would fee her fo wedded, a fhroud
Should be Madeline's bridal array.
One night, it was winter, all dreary and cold,
And the moon-beams fhone paly and clear;
When the open'd her lattice, in hopes to behold
Her Theodore's form, when the turret-bell toll'd,
And the blood in her heart froze for fear;
Near the green-mantled moat her ftern father fhe spy'd,
And a grave he was making with speed;
The light, which all filver'd the castle's strong fide,
Display'd his wild geftures, while madly he cry'd—
"Curs'd caitiff! thy bofom fhall bleed !"
Distracted, forlorn, from the caftle of pride,
She escap'd at the next clofe of day,
Her foft blufhing cheek, with dark berries all dy'd,
With a fpear on her shoulder, a fword by her side,
And her form in a doublet of grey.
She travers'd the court, not a vaffal was feen,
Through the gate hung with ivy fhe flew :
The fky was unclouded, the air was ferene,
The moon fhot its rays the long viftas between,
And her doublet was fpangled with dew.
O'er the cold breezy downs to the hamlet fhe hy'd,
Where the cottage of Theodore ftood;
For its low roof of rufhes fhe oft had defcry'd,
When the drank of the brook that foam'd wild by its fide,
While the keen hunters travers'd the wood.
The sky on a fudden grew dark, and the wind,
With a deep fullen murmur, rufh'd by;
She wander'd about, but no path could fhe find,
While horrors on horrors encompass'd her mind,
When the found that no fhelter was nigh.
And now, on the dry wither'd fern, fhe could hear
The hoofs of fwift horfes rebound;
She flopp'd, and the liften'd, fhe trembled with fear,
When a voice moft prophetic and fad met her ear,
And she fhudder'd and fhrunk at the found.
"'Tis here we will wait," cry'd the horfeman; "for fee
"How the moon with black clouds is o'erfpread;
"No hut yields a fhelter, no forest a tree-
"This heath fhall young Theodore's bridal-couch be,
"And the cold earth fhall pillow his head.
"Hark! fome one approaches:-
:-now stand we afide,
"We fhall know him-for fee, the moon's clear;
"In a doublet of grey he now waits for his bride,
"But, ere dawn-light, the carle fhall repent of his pride,
"And his pale mangled body reft here."
Again, the moon fhrouded in clouds, o'er the plain
The horsemen were scatter'd far wide;
The night became ftormy, the faft falling rain
Beat hard on her bofom, which dar'd not complain,
And the torrent roll'd swift by her fide.
Now clafhing of fwords overwhelm'd her with dread,
While her ear met the deep groan of death;
"Yield, yield thee, bold peasant,” the murderer faid,
"This turf with thy heart's deareft blood fhall be red,
"And thy bones whiten over the heath."
Now fhrieking, defpairing, fhe ftarts from the ground, And her fpear, with new ftrength, fhe lets go:
She aim'd it at random, fhe felt it rebound
From the fure hand of Fate, which inflicted the wound,
As it drank the life-blood of her foe.
The morning advanc'd, o'er the pale chilling skies
Soon the warm rofy tints circled wide;
But, oh God! with what anguifh, what terror the flies,
When her father, all cover'd with wounds, she defcries
With her lover's pale corpfe by his fide!
Half frantic fhe fell on her parent's cold breast,
And the bath'd her white bofom with gore;
Then, in anguifh, the form of her Theodore prefs'd"I will yet be thy bride, in the grave we will rest," She exclaim'd; and the fulfer'd no more.
Now o'er the wild heath, when the winter winds blow,
And the moon-filver'd fern branches wave,
Pale Theodore's spectre is feen gliding flow,
As he calls on the damfel in accents of woe,
Till the bell warns him back to his grave.
And while the deep found echoes over the wood,
Now the villagers fhrink with dismay;
For, as legends declare, where the castle once flood,
'Mid the ruins, by moon-light, all cover'd with blood,
Shrieks the maid—in her doublet of grey !
LD South, a witty churchman reckon'd,
Was preaching once to Charles the Second,
But much too ferious for a court,
Who at all preaching made a sport.
He foon perceiv'd his audience nod,
Deaf to the zealous man of God!
The doctor ftopp'd; began to call,
"Pray 'wake the Earl of Lauderdale.
My Lord! why, 'tis a monftrous thing! "You fnore fo loud-you'll 'wake the king."
WHEN raging ftorms deform the air,
And clouds of snow defcend,
And the wide landscape, bright and fair,
No deepen❜d colours blend:
When biting froft rides on the wind,
Bleak from the north and east,
And wealth is at its ease reclin'd,
Prepar❜d to laugh and feast:
When the poor trav'ller treads the plain,
All dubious of his way,
And crawls with night-increasing pain,
And dreads the parting day:
When poverty, in vile attire,
Shrinks from the biting blaft,
Or hovers o'er the pigmy fire,
And fears it will not last:
When the fond mother hugs her child.
Still clofer to her breaft,
And the poor infant, froft-beguil'd,
Scarce feels that it is preft:
Then let the bounteous hand extend
Its bleffings to the poor,
Not fpurn the wretched, while they bend
All fuppliant at your door.
HEE, Mary, with this ring I wed:"So fixteen years ago I faidBehold another ring! "For what?" To wed thee o'er again-why not?
With that first ring I marry'd youth,
Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth
Tafte long admir'd; fenfe long rever'd;
And all my Molly then appear❜d.
If fhe, by merit fince disclos'd,
Prov'd twice the woman I fuppos'd,
I plead that doubled merit now,
To juftify a double vow.
Here then, to-day, (with faith as fure,
With ardour as intenfe and pure,
As when amidst the rites divine,
I took thy troth, and plighted mine,}
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