She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs; No aid, no compassion, the maniac will seek, Yet cheerful and happy-nor distant the day- The trav❜ller remembers, who journey'd this way, As Mary, the Maid of the Inn! Her cheerful address fill'd the guests with delight, She loved; and young Richard had settled the day, But Richard was idle and worthless; and they 'Twas in Autumn, and stormy and dark was the night, And fast were the windows and door Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burn'd bright, And smoking in silence, with tranquil delight, They listen'd to hear the wind roar. "'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. "I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear The hoarse ivy shake over my head; And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear, Some ugly old abbot's white spirit appear, n "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!" "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, With fearless good humour did Mary comply, O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid, Through the gateway she enter'd-she felt not afraidYet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade! Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night. 1. 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 pass'd, And arrived at the innermost ruin at last, Where the alder-tree grew in the aisle. 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, And her heart panted fearfully now! mont i The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head For she heard in the ruins distinctly-the tread Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, 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! Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold! It blew off the hat of the one, and behold! "Curse the hat !"-he exclaims Nay come on, and fast hide The dead body!" his comrade replies. She beheld them in safety pass on by her side, She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door, Her limbs could support their faint burden no more; But, exhausted and breathless, she sunk on the floor, Unable to utter a sound. Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, Her eyes from that object convulsively start, When the name of her Richard she knew! Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by, His gibbet is now to be seen; Not far from the inn it engages the eye, The traveller beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh, Southey. See his steeds with ardour glowing See the groups that round him gather, Like the war of meeting oceans ! See the hungry with their cravings, And his false and borrow'd needs! Why yon deep but smother'd wailing I Anah's Invocation to her Angel Lover. Seraph! From thy sphere! Whatever star contain thy glory; In the eternal depths of heaven Albeit thou watchest with the "seven,' Though through space infinite and hoary Before thy bright wings worlds be driven, The archangels, said to be seven in number. Yet hear! Oh! think of her who holds thee dear! pangs decreed to aught save me,→→ Eternity is in thy years, Unborn, undying beauty in thine eyes; Thou walk'st thy many worlds, thou see'st As he hath made me of the least Of those cast out from Eden's gate. Oh hear ! For thou hast loved me, and I would not die That thou forget'st in thine eternity Her whose heart death could not keep from o'er For thee, immortal essence as thou art! Great is their love, who love in sin and fear; A war unworthy: to an Adamite [flowing Forgive, my Seraph! that such thoughts appear, Delight An Eden kept afar from sight, Though sometimes with our visions blent. The hour is near Which tells me we are not abandon'd quite- My own Azaziel be but here, And leave the stars to their own light! Byron |