And now had the marriage been blessed by the priest, The revelry now was begun, The tables they groaned with the weight of the feast, Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased, When the bell of the castle tolled - one! 'T was then, with amazement, fair Imogene found A stranger was placed by her side; His air was terrific, he uttered no sound, He spoke not, he moved not, he looked not around, His visor was closed, and gigantic his hight, His armor was sable to view; All laughter and pleasure was hushed at his sight, The dogs, as they eyed him, drew back with affright, And the lights in the chamber burnt blue. "I pray His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay, The lady is silent-the stranger complies, Oh, God! what a sight met fair Imogene's eyes! All present then uttered a terrified shout, The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out, "Behold me, thou false one! behold me!" he cried, "Behold thy Alonzo the brave! God grants that, to punish thy falsehood and pride, This saying, his arms round the lady he wound, - Then sunk with his prey through the wide-yawning ground, Nor ever again was fair Imogene found, Or the specter that bore her away. Not long lived the baron, and none since that time To inhabit the castle presume; For chronicles tell, that by order sublime, At midnight, four times in each year, does her sprite, While they drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave, Dancing round them pale specters are seen: Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave They howl- "To the health of Alonzo the brave, LEWIS THE OWL. 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. Another under her downy breast, Peeped slily out of the old oak-tree, And peered for his dad, and said, "You 're long ;" But he hooted for joy when he presently saw His sire with a full-grown mouse in his claw. Who most can chatter, or cram, they strive- What then did the old owl do? 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 And shutting out joy from his hollow tree, But hopped uneasily about. What then did the father owl? He sat still, until below He heard cries of pain and woe. And saw his wife and children three In a young boy's captivity. He followed them with noiseless wing, Not a cry once uttering. 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: And he heard the shriek, when the hot steel pin Through their eyeballs was thrust in ! 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! For he thought he saw them ever there, And he screamed as they screamed, when he saw them fal Dead on the floor of the marble hall. - Why is the crowd so great to-day, And why do the people shout "huzza?" To give his corse a grave?—Not one! It descends from the gibbet high There sits on its top a lonely owl, With a staring eye, and a dismal scowl; ? And he screams aloud, "Revenge is sweet!" ANONYMOUS. THE MAID OF THE INN. WHO is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly fixed eyes ? She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs; 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 burned bright, And, smoking in silence, with tranquil delight, They listened to hear the wind roar. "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 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." |