III. Yet cheerful and happy, nor distant the day, The traveller remembers, who journeyed this way, As Mary the Maid of the Inn. IV. Her cheerful address filled her guests with delight, Her heart was a stranger to childish affright, V. She loved, and young Richard had settled the day, But Richard was idle and worthless, and they VI. 'Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night, And fast were the windows and door; Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright, And, smoking in silence, with tranquil delight They listened to hear the wind roar. VII. ""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 For this wind might awaken the dead!" IX. "I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, X. "Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?" His companion exclaimed with a smile; "I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough From the elder that grows in the aisle." XI. With fearless good humour did Mary comply, The night it was dark, and the wind it was high, XII. O'er the path so well known still proceeded the maid, XIII. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Over weed-covered fragments still fearless she past, XIV. Well-pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear, XV. The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head, For she heard in the ruins distinctly the tread Of footsteps approaching her near. XVI. Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, XVII. Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold! It blew off the hat of the one, and behold She fell, and expected to die. XVIII. "Curse the hat!" he exclaims. "Nay, come on here, and hide The dead body," his comrade replies. She in safety beholds them pass on by her side,- XIX. She ran with wild speed, she rushed in at the door, She gazed horribly eager around, Then her limbs could support their faint burthen no more, And, exhausted and breathless, she sunk on the floor Unable to utter a sound. XX. Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, When the name of her Richard she knew! XXI. Where the old abbey stands, on the common hard by, His irons you still from the road may espy, DONICA. In Finland there is a castle which is called the New Rock, moated about with a river of unsounded depth, the water black, and the fish therein very distasteful to the palate. In this are spectres often seen, which foreshow either the death of the governor, or some prime officer belonging to the place; and most commonly it appeareth in the shape of a harper, sweetly singing and dallying and playing under the water. It is reported of one Donica, that after she was dead, the devil walked in her body for the space of two years, so that none suspected but she was still alive; for she did both speak and eat, though very sparingly; only she had a deep paleness on her countenance, which was the only sign of death. At length a magician coming by where she was then in the company of many other virgins, as soon as he beheld her he said, "Fair maids, why keep you company with this dead virgin, whom you suppose to be alive?" when taking away the magic charm which was tied under her arm, the body fell down lifeless and without motion. The following ballad is founded on these stories. They are to be found in the notes to "The Hierarchies of the Blessed Angels; a Poem by Thomas Heywood, printed in folio by Adam Islip, 1635." HIGH on a rock, whose castled shade In ancient strength majestic stood The fisher in the lake below Her passing wings would wet. |