Yet my soul, unsubdued, o'er these horrors shall rise, And linger awhile from the gate of the skies, Oh shroud him, just Heaven, in the night of the grave, Or bid me behold him in tortures expire, On the scaffold yet red in the blood of his sire. EDINBURGH, JULY 30, 1803. ADELINE. EPIGRAM. O thou! whose stream of heavy prose R. A. D. SIR ARCHIBALD, OR, THE BARK OF HELL. A TALE. BY WILLIAM ASHBURNHAM, ESQ. Founded on an old Scotch Tradition. 'MID battlements fair, in the county of Ayr, Resided a baron of might, Sir Archibald Kennedy eke was his name, Now fishers four stood on the shore, To catch their prey, they went their way, The sky was calm, without a cloud, The moon shone bright and clear; No hostile object met the eye, No sound appall'd the ear. When midnight was past, a furious blast The seamen dismay'd-now trembl'd-now pray'd- But it was not dark, when an unknown bark Her sails were set,—they're black as jet, "From hence to whence? from hence to whence?" The seamen all exclaim. "From hence to whence ?"-they ask again, "To us I pray ye tell;" When a hideous imp, like a tyger, growl'd, "We come from the gates of Hell." "For what? for what?" the seamen cry, All shuddering with affright: "To fetch Sir Archibald Kennedy's corpse, Straight bursting out, like a water spout, The damps as they fell, had a sulphurous smell,- The mists melt away, it is lighter than day The fishers four swift sought the shore "God bless us all!" the Abbot cried, "Let's haste to the grave, the corpse to save, "Thro' midnight gloom we'll seek the tomb, "Where the monks for his soul do pray." When the bell was rung, and the mass was sung, When the priests the service close; As the stone coffin broke at the sledge hammer's stroke, A vapour of blue arose. They unclose the lid, they uplift the shroud, All scream with a horrible yell For no corpfe was there, and the Monks they declare A mass of lead is what once was his head, Astound they stand, the priestly band, For each saint in his shrine, and the martyrs divine With sudden shock the huge arches rock, When a bright being came like the lightning's flame, His wings were of the raven's plume, With sun-beams his temples were bound, His all-piercing eye none dar'd to descryThey shudder'd, and fell on the ground. On their knees they fell, and their beads they tell, When waving his hand in majestic command, "These wonders dark in silence mark, "Them awe-struck behold, when by me you are told "They're the symbols of his doom. "Now molten lead is pour'd on his head, "Yet mill-stones grind his heart. "For while on earth, even from his birth, "No Baron so cruel as he ; "But the streams of blood, which he shed likea flood, "Shall now avenged be." As a beam of light, he shot from sight, Full swiftly the vision withdrew, The tapers went out, as the Arch-Angels shout |