Poems by Robert Southey Part 12

VII.

"Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fire side "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.

VIII.

"I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear "The hoa.r.s.e ivy shake over my head; "And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear, "Some ugly old Abbot's white spirit appear, "For this wind might awaken the dead!"

IX.

"I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, "That Mary would venture there now."

"Then wager and lose!" with a sneer he replied, "I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side, "And faint if she saw a white cow."

X.

"Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?"

His companion exclaim'd 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 elder that grows in the aisle."

XI.

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 thro' the sky She s.h.i.+ver'd with cold as she went.

XII.

O'er the path so well known still proceeded the Maid Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight, Thro' 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.

XIII.

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 arrived in the innermost ruin at last Where the elder tree grew in the aisle.

XIV.

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, Aud her heart panted fearfully now.

XV.

The wind blew, the hoa.r.s.e 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.

XVI.

Behind a wide 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.

XVII.

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 feet of poor Mary it roll'd,-- She felt, and expected to die.

XVIII.

"Curse the hat!" he exclaims. "Nay come on and first hide "The dead body," his comrade replies.

She beheld them in safety pa.s.s on by her side, She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied, And fast thro' the Abbey she flies.

XIX.

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

XX.

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

XXI.

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 Traveller beholds it, and thinks with a sigh Of poor Mary the Maid of the Inn.

Donica.

In Finland there is a Castle which is called the New Rock, moated about with a river of unfounded depth, the water black and the fish therein very distateful to the palate. In this are spectres often seen, which foreshew either the death of the Governor, or some prime officer belonging to the place; and most commonly it appeareth in the shape of an harper, sweetly singing and dallying and playing under the water.

It is reported of one Donica, that after she was dead, the Devil walked in her body for the s.p.a.ce of two years, so that none suspected but that she was still alive; for she did both speak and eat, though very sparingly; only she had a deep paleness on her countenance, which was the only sign of death. At length a Magician coming by where she was then in the company of many other virgins, as soon as he beheld her he said, "fair Maids, why keep you company with the dead Virgin whom you suppose to be alive?" when taking away the magic charm which was tied under her arm, the body fell down lifeless and without motion.

The following Ballad is founded on these stories. They are to be found in the notes to The Hierarchies of the blessed Angels; a Poem by Thomas Heywood, printed in folio by Adam Islip, 1635.

DONICA.

High on a rock, whose castled shade Darken'd the lake below, In ancient strength majestic stood The towers of Arlinkow.

The fisher in the lake below Durst never cast his net, Nor ever swallow in its waves Her pa.s.sing wings would wet.