NUMBER LIX. Haste all, with heedful ears! while I recite THE night was dark, the wild winds blew, And twelve times pausing, long and drear, From high Rougellen's stately hall, For, fir'd with dreams of hast'ning bliss, 'Twas then, all thro' the massy keep, And something dreadful, sweeping on, Till, full before Rougellen's bed, The ghastly phantom stood, A female fest'ring in her shroud, And dark her icy blood. "Now Edwin, Edwin," shriek'd the sprite, "Thine eye to horror give, "Look! cans't thou view this loathsome form, "Can'st view this form and live? "Go forth, when glow the tints of morn, "Go forth the maid to meet, "Yes go, oh perjur'd, joying go, Thy promis'd bride to greet. "But know, ere next the fiends of night, "Their gloomy sabbaoth hold, "Shalt thou, within thy shudd'ring arms, "Thy Mary's corse infold. "Adieu, lost wretch! I go, I go Thus whilst she spoke convulsions dire, And wildly springing from the couch, What ho!-Oh saw ye not pass by Some fiend of hideous frame?-To me, e'en now, in depth of night, A ghastly spirit came! Oh Henry, till this night accurs'd, Oh list! into thy wond'ring ear Nigh where the fretted waters dash, Nigh where it forms a rustic bridge And bathes its moss-green boughs, Thou know'st, for I have seen thee there, Fitzallen's cottage rose. And oh, thou mays't remember too, For who that once has seen, The tender beauty, ere forgot Her gentle air and mien, Thou may'st remember that sweet girl, Fitzallen's daughter fair, With eyne so blue, and bosom white, And darkly auburn hair. I lov'd the Maid! and frequent strove To win her guileless heart, Wretch that I am! nor strove in vain, Yet play'd the villain's part! 'Twas when on Autumn's sweetest eve, 'Twas then, with all that tender hope That dews the melting eye, When love in every pulse doth beat, And breathes in every sigh, 'Twas then I caught the luckless Maid Alone, and bath'd in tears, And mourning o'er the num'rous ills, Which youth from passion bears: A Minstrel's sweet yet simple strains. Unseen I came, I saw unseen, I kindly press'd her to my heart, "And is it, oh my gentle Love, "Come, you shall hear this piteous tale, "Nor ever slight me more, "Shall hear how good young maidens were, "How young men lov'd of yore." I sate me down, I heard the maid Recite the lowly strain, I heard how sad, how sweetly wild, |