NOW seated secure round this bright cheery fire,
A ditty from me why so earnest require?
A tale full of horrors, you say, “tell to me;”
Then a tale full of horrors my story shall be.
Behold yonder turrets, so high and so fair;
Of them was lord Edmund the fortunate heir:
Lord Edmund was valiant, lord Edmund was gay,
And he lov’d a fair lady more blooming than May;
With hair of light auburn–whose ringlets of gold,
Resembled the tresses of Venus of old.
Her eyes they were blue as the hyacinth’s bell,
And the fairest of virgins did Ellen excel.
Long lov’d our lord Edmund this beautiful maid;
And now for their nuptials, with costly parade,
All things are arranged, and rich jewels he buys,
Which sparkle less brightly than Ellen’s soft eyes.
Not far from lord Edmund there liv’d a rich dame,
Her birth it was noble, her beauty had fame;
A brunette was she, with eyes full of fire,
And she brook’d no restraint, when once fix’d a desire:
And forth as lord Edmund a hunting did ride,
His fine graceful form this lady espy’d.
Ah! who is that hunter? (to Alice her maid)
Ah! who is that hunter? she eagerly said:
The earl of Tyrconnel, then Alice reply’d,
Who marries next week, and fair Ellen his bride.
Oh, no, said proud Margaret, this thing must not be,
Lord Edmund shall never wed any but me;
And never shall mortal have Margaret’s hand,
But Edmund, the boast of Hibernia’s bless’d land:
By arts and by spells, I will soon make him mine,
And the pale languid Ellen he’ll gladly resign.
Her arts and her spells then did Margaret provide,
That Ellen might never be Tyrconnel’s bride:
For a witch once had promis’d to grant any boon,
Which she ask’d by a spell, on the full of the moon.
Tho’ the process was horrid, and made her blood cold–
‘Twas to rake from the newest made grave all the mould;
The coffin to wrench, and the heart to obtain,
Of the victim the latest reliev’d from all pain;
And words of “strange import,” which made nature start,
She was to repeat as she pluck’d out the heart.
Then the heart in a fire of charcoal must burn,
Which would make the grim witch a kind answer return.
This task, tho’ so arduous, by magic made light,
Could be quickly perform’d in the dead of the night.
Now swift thro’ the church-yard did Margaret fly,
And the newest made grave soon attracted her eye.
In silence, at midnight, she tore up the ground,
And the screech-owl, alone, broke the air with a sound:
The full moon now darted its lustre so blue,
And the wan-haggard corse was expos’d to her view.
She shudder’d with horror, but could not retreat,
And the words the witch taught her she now did repeat:
She thought on lord Edmund–that strengthen’d her arm,
And she built her fond hopes on the force of the charm:
To gain her lov’d Edmund the breast open tears,
And from the cold bosom the colder heart bears.
Then threw it on embers of charcoal’s bright flame,
And thrice she repeated her dear Edmund’s name:
‘Twas awful and solemn–the warm-glowing rays
Threw o’er the wide church-yard a dazzling blaze.
The wind now rose high, and many a shade
Seem’d to dance round the fire which Margaret had made:
The clock then struck one–dismal sounds reach’d her ear
—
And the heart of firm Margaret now trembled with fear.
Lord Edmund is your’s; but his love to obtain,
He never must see gentle Ellen again:
‘Tis your’s to secure her; and, for that bold deed,
Your love with lord Edmund shall surely succeed.
Return to your chamber, but rise with the sun;
Your rival secure, and your wish shall be done.
Lord Edmund was restless, no sleep clos’d his eyes,
He thought, near his casement, he heard dreadful cries;
Then the soft voice of Ellen seem’d to him to cry,
Oh! save me, dear Edmund–dear Edmund, I die.
In dread for his Ellen, who thus did complain,
He jump’d from his bed, nor could slumber again;
‘Twas fancy, he found; but the morning was fair,
The sky so serene, and so balmy the air;
It inclin’d him to walk; and, whilst on his way,
He saw from her window, firm Margaret so gay.
He gaz’d, and he thought he had never yet seen
A form so complete, with so noble a mien;
He bow’d; she return’d it; and soon ’twas his lot
To love lady Margaret, whilst Ellen’s forgot.
I cannot love Ellen, lord Edmund he cries,
My heart to sweet Margaret is yielded her prize:
I’ll send her a letter, by which she may see,
That never, fair Ellen, my bride you can be.
Then he sent forth his page; but soon he return’d;
For Ellen was missing, and all her house mourn’d:
Fair Ellen had wander’d, no one could tell where,
Which rejoic’d the false bosom of Tyrconnel’s heir.
Now gaily the bells in the parish church ring,
And garlands of flowers the villagers bring:
Lord Edmund is married–his heart swells with pride,
As he clasps lady Margaret, and calls her his bride:
But for the lost Ellen, so gentle and kind,
No thought, no distress, enters into his mind;
The allurements of Margaret had twin’d round his heart,
And glad was lord Edmund with Ellen to part.
But not so her parents, they, filled with despair,
To find their lost Ellen employ every care;
On fickle lord Edmund they look with disdain,
Tho’ both are too proud of their wrongs to complain;
Yet they doubt not that Ellen, refus’d for his bride,
Had wander’d heart-broken, then laid down and died.
Three months now had pass’d since the bells’ lively sound,
Had proclaim’d to the peasants and villagers round,
The marriage of Edmund with Margaret so true,
Whose tender affection more strong daily grew:
One night, when soft slumbers had seal’d her lord’s eyes,
In vain for composure firm Margaret tries;
Her conscience reproach’d her for Ellen’s sad fate,
And an anguish she felt, which no time could abate.
Ah! Ellen, she sigh’d, thy blood calls from the ground,
Oh! why did I ever thy pure bosom wound;
But haughty and jealous, I never could see
The meek gentle Ellen preferr’d before me:
And fearful lord Edmund to her would prove true,
I hir’d an assassin, and Ellen he slew.
A request, as from Edmund, I artfully fram’d,
Entreating she’d come to a place which I nam’d:
To this she consented, and took for her guide
The false cruel wretch by whose poinard she died.
No more could say Margaret–for, strait to her eyes,
A spectre of horrible form did arise.
The night it was still, and the taper’s faint gleam
Did full on the face of the pale spectre beam:
A shroud wrapt its limbs, which, in part, open laid,
When the deep-mangled breast she observ’d of the shade;
But bloodless the wound was, and unstain’d by gore,
And she thought the sad visage she had seen before.
Then soon recollected, with fear and dismay,
‘Twas the corse from whose breast she the heart tore away.
Behold me, it said, and by me hear your doom,
Whilst the deep hollow sounds echo’d harsh thro’ the room;
You murdered fair Ellen, that poor hapless maid,
And soon for her blood shall your own be repay’d:
You tore from my breast my heart, lifeless and cold,
And, completing your spells, you to demons are sold:
Six months you are spar’d, for the child which you bear,
Whose innocent life in your guilt must not share:
Your child now protects you; but, heed what I say–
Six months–then I seize you, and bear you away.
Ah! who the deep sorrows of Margaret can tell,
Or what dreadful afflictions her bosom now swell.
Lord Edmund, astonish’d, beheld her strange grief,
And, in kindest expressions, he offered relief.
He said, dearest love, why this mourning and woe?
Why from thy bright eyes do the tears daily flow?
Oh! cheer thee, my dearest, for soon shall we see
A sweet little babe sit on Margaret’s knee.
Then droop not, my love, nor do not repine,
For know you not, Margaret, your sorrows are mine.
Too fast for poor Margaret hours, weeks and months flew,
And her horrors increas’d as her time nearer drew.
At length ’tis complete, and Margaret sustains,
In addition to mental, dread bodily pains.
And now thro’ the castle and village ’tis spread,
That fair lady Margaret’s confin’d to her bed;
And soon doth a maiden to lord Edmund run,
To say that his lady hath born him a son;
And quick by the bed-side of her lov’d so dear,
With heart full of joy, doth lord Edmund appear.
But Margaret’s anguish increas’d every hour,
To keep her in bed they scarcely had power;
And fixing her eyes, with expression so wild,
Intent on her husband, and next on her child–
Oh! leave me not, Edmund, dear husband, she cry’d,
And stay with me, Alice, good Alice, beside;
And all my attendants, stay with me, I pray,
A spectre this night, else, will fetch me away.
Then they sat round her bed, and they heard her complain,
But they thought it the ravings occasioned by pain.
Now twelve struck the clock–all were falling a-sleep,
But Margaret call’d to them, and sore she did weep.
Oh! rouse you, my husband, and rouse you, each friend,
And do not neglect me, but closely attend;
And drive away sleep for this one night, I pray,
Or the spectre will bear me for ever away.
Then they all did their best, but the effort was vain,
And fast did they sink into slumbers again;
And, as one struck the clock, each bow’d down their head,
And as sound was their sleep as tho’ all had been dead.
They woke not till morning, when, strange to declare,
They look’d for their lady–no lady was there;
And never from that time was Margaret found,
Tho’ the infant it lay in a sleep most profound.
Lord Edmund was horror-struck, griev’d and amaz’d,
And round the apartment with wonder he gaz’d;
And never more comfort did lord Edmund know,
For Margaret and Ellen’s fate fill’d him with woe.
A few years he did in his castle reside,
But a Monk in a monastry , lately he died.
His son now inherits his title and name;
And, if we may credit the rumour of fame,
The youthful lord Edmund is good as he’s fair,
For great is the promise of Tyrconnel’s heir.
(Caroline Maxwell)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Life Poems, Night Poems, Light Poems, Mind Poems, Sadness Poems, Time Poems, Faces Poems, Joy & Excitement Poems, Fairness Poems, Friendship PoemsBased on Keywords: completing, nuptials, artfully, screech-owl, allurements, marries, inherits, edmund, rejoic, heart-broken, occasioned