And they barr'd with iron the windows so strong, And they put a new lock on the door;

And the parson he came, and he carefully strew'd With holy water the floor.

And her kindred came to see the dame,
And the clerk, and the singers beside;

And they did sing a penitent hymn,
And with her did abide.

And midnight came, and shortly the dame

Did give to her child the light;

And then she did pray, that they would stay,

And pass with her the night.

And she begg'd they would sing the penitent hymn,

And pray with all their might;

For sadly I fear, the fiend will be here,

And fetch me away this night.

And now without, a stormy rout,
With howls the guests did hear;

And the parson he pray'd, for he was afraid,
And the singers they quaver'd with fear.

And Marg❜ret pray'd the Almighty's aid,
For louder the tempest grew ;
And every guest, his soul he blest,
As the tapers burned blue.

And the fair again, she pray'd of the men
To sing with all their might;

And they did sing, 'till the house did ring,
And louder they sung for affright.

But now their song, it dried on their tongue,
For sleep it was seizing their sense;

And Marg❜ret screamed, and bid them not sleep,
Or the fiends would bear her thence.

SONG.

THE ROBIN RED-BREAST.

A VERY EARLY COMPOSITION.

WHEN the winter wind whistles around my lone cot,
And my holiday friends have my mansion forgot,

Though a lonely poor being, still do not I pine,
While my poor Robin Red-breast forsakes not my

shrine.

He comes with the morning, he hops on my arm,
For he knows 'tis too gentle to do him a harm:

And in gratitude ever beguiles with a lay

The soul-sick'ning thoughts of a bleak winter's day.

What, though he may leave me, when spring again

smiles,

To waste the sweet summer in love's little wiles,

Yet will he remember his fosterer long,

And greet her each morning with one little song.

And when the rude blast shall again strip the trees,
And plenty no longer shall flie on the breeze,

Oh! then he'll return to his Helena kind,

And repose in her breast from the rude northern wind.

My sweet little Robin's no holiday guest,
He'll never forget his poor Helena's breast;
But will strive to repay, by his generous song,
Her love, and her cares, in the winter day long.

WINTER SONG.

ROUSE the blazing midnight fire, Heap the crackling faggots higher; Stern December reigns without, With old Winter's blust'ring rout.

Let the jocund timbrels sound,
Push the jolly goblet round;
Care avaunt, with all thy crew,
Goblins dire and devils blue.

Hark! without the tempest growls, And the affrighted watch-dog howls; Witches on their broomsticks sail, Death upon the whistling gale.

Heap the crackling faggots higher, Draw your easy chairs still nigher; And to guard from wizards hoar, Nail the horse-shoe on the door.

Now repeat the freezing story,
Of the murder'd traveller gory,
Found beneath the yew-tree sear,
Cut, his throat, from ear to ear.