His gallant feats, his looks, his love,
Soon won the willing fair;
And soon did Margaret become
The wife of Rudiger.
Like morning dreams of happiness
Fast rolled the months away;
For he was kind, and she was kind,
And who so blest as they?
Yet Rudiger would sometimes sit
Absorbed in silent thought,
And his dark downward eye would seem
With anxious meaning fraught.
But soon he raised his looks again
And smiled his cares away;
And, mid the hall of gaiety
Was none like him so gay.
And onward rolled the waning months,
The hour appointed came,
And Margaret her Rudiger
Hailed with a father's name.
But silently did Rudiger
The little infant see;
And darkly on the babe he gazed,
A gloomy man was he.
And when to bless the little babe
The holy father came,
To cleanse the stains of sin away
In Christ's redeeming name,
Then did the cheek of Rudiger
Assume a death-pale hue,
And on his clammy forehead stood
The cold convulsive dew;
And faltering in his speech, he bade
The priest the rites delay,
Till he could, to right health restored,
Enjoy the festive day.
When o'er the many-tinted sky
He saw the day decline,
He called upon his Margaret
To walk beside the Rhine.-
"And we will take the little babe,
For soft the breeze that blows,
And the mild murmurs of the stream
Will lull him to repose."
And so together forth they went,
The evening breeze was mild,
And Rudiger upon his arm
Pillowed the little child.
And many a one from Waldhurst's walls
Along the banks did roam;
But soon the evening wind came cold,
And all betook them home.
Yet Rudiger, in silent mood
Along the banks would roam,
Nor aught could Margaret prevail
To turn his footsteps home.
"Oh turn thee, turn thee, Rudiger,
The rising mists behold,
The evening wind is damp and chill,
The little babe is cold!"
"Now hush thee, hush thee, Margaret,
The mists will do no harm,
And from the wind the little babe
Lies sheltered on my arm."
“Oh, turn thee, turn thee, Rudiger,
Why onward wilt thou roam?
The moon is up, the night is cold,
And we are far from home."
He answered not; for now he saw
A swan come sailing strong,
And by a silver chain she drew
A little boat along.
To shore they came, and to the boat
Fast leapt he with the child,
And in leapt Margaret-breathless now,
And pale with fear, and wild.
With arching crest and swelling breast
On sailed the stately swan,
And lightly down the rapid tide
The little boat went on.
The full orb'd-moon, that beamed around
Pale splendour through the night,
Cast through the crimson canopy
A dim, discoloured light.
And swiftly down the hurrying stream
In silence still they sail,
And the long streamer fluttering fast,
Flapped to the heavy gale,—
And he was mute in sullen thought,
And she was mute with fear,
Nor sound but of the parting tide
Broke on the listening ear.
The little babe began to cry,
Then Margaret raised her head,
And with a quick and hollow voice,
Give me the child," she said.
"Now hush thee, hush thee, Margaret,
Nor my poor heart distress-
I do but pay perforce the price
Of former happiness;
And hush thee, too, my little babe!
Thy cries so feeble cease!
Lie still, lie still;-a little while
And thou shalt be at peace."
So as he spake to land they drew,
And swift he stept on shore,
And him behind did Margaret
Close follow evermore.
It was a place all desolate,
Nor house nor tree was there,
And there a rocky mountain rose,
Barren, and bleak, and bare.
And at its base a cavern yawned,
No eye its depth might view,
For in the moonbeam shining round
That darkness darker grew.
Cold horror crept through Margaret's blood,
Her heart it paused with fear,
When Rudiger approached the cave,
And cried, “Lo, I am here!”
A deep sepulchral sound the cave
Returned, "Lo, I am here!"
And black from out the cavern gloom
Two giant arms appear.
And Rudiger approached and held
The little infant nigh;
Then Margaret shrieked, and gathered then
New powers from agony.
And round the baby fast and close
Her trembling arms she folds,
And with a strong convulsive grasp
The little infant holds.
"Now help me, Jesus!" loud she cries,
And loud on God she calls; Then from the grasp of Rudiger
The little infant falls.
And loud he shrieked, for now his frame
The huge black arms clasped round,
And dragged the wretched Rudiger
Adown the dark profound.
FOUNDED ON FACT.
"Now which is the road across the common,
Good woman! in pity declare;
No path can I trace, for the night is dark,
And I fear me, before the far turnpike I mark,
Some grim-visaged ghost will appear."
"The ghost never walks till the clock strikes twelve,
And this is the first of the night,"
Cried the woman. Now, why dost thou look at me so?
And why do thine eyes so fearfully glow?
Good stranger, forbear thy affright.
"I tell thee that across the common,
This cart-track thy horse must pursue,
Till close by thy feet two gibbets thou meet,
Where the rains and the tempests the highwayman beat,
That a traveller once murder'd like you."
The horseman replied, "I have no terror
Of men who in midnight plan;
But a ghost that pops on one before or behind,
And around him sees clearly while mortals are blind,— Ay, that tries the heart of the man.
"Is there no road but by those gibbets ?"
"No road," the woman replied.
But though with the wind each murderer swings
They both of them are harmless things,
And so are the ravens beside."
"What! are there ravens there ?-those creatures
That are so black and blue!
But, are they ravens ? I inquire,
For I have heard by the winter's fire,
That phantoms the dead pursue."
The woman replied, "They are night-ravens
That pick the dead men's eyes;
And they cry qua, with their hollow jaw;
Methinks I one this moment saw!
To the banquet at hand he flies.
|