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And dismal trains arise
From the unpeopled tombs.

Spirits, I pray ye, let them sleep
Peaceful in their cold graves, nor waft

The sear and whispering leaf
From the inhumed breast.



DARK-visaged visitor! who comest here

Clad in thy mournful tunic, to repeat [feet)

(While glooms and chilling rains enwrap thy The solemn requiem of the dying year; Not undelightful to my list'ning ear [seat,

Sound thy dull showers, as o'er my woodland

Dismal, and drear, the leafless trees they beat: Not undelightful, in their wild career, Is the wild music of thy howling blasts, [Time

Sweeping the groves' long aisle, while sullen Thy stormy mantle o'er his shoulder casts,

And, rock'd upon his throne, with chant sublime, Joins the full-pealing dirge, and winter weaves Her dark sepulchral wreath of faded leaves.



The night it was dark, and the winds were high,

And mournfully waved the wood, As Bateman met his Margaret

By Trent's majestic flood.

He press'd the maiden to his breast,

And his heart it was rack'd with fear, For he knew, that again, 't was a deadly chance

If ever he press'd her there.

“Oh! Margaret, wilt thou bear me true,"

He said, “ while I am far away, For to

morrow I go to a foreign land, And there I have long to stay.

And the maid she vow'd she would bear him true,

And thereto she plighted her troth; And she pray'd the fiend might fetch her away,

When she forgot her oath.

And the night-owl scream'd, as again she swore,

And the grove it did mournfully moan, And Bateman's heart within him sunk,

He thought 't was his dying groan.

And shortly he went with Clifton, his Lord,

To abide in a foreign land;

And Margaret she forgot her oath,

And she gave to another her hand,

Her husband was rich, but old, and crabb’d,

And oft the false one sigh’d,
And wish'd that ere she broke her vow,

She had broken her heart, and died.

And now return'd, her Bateman came

To demand his betrothed bride;
But soon he learn’d that she had sought

A wealthier lover's side.

And when he heard the dreadful news,

No sound he utter'd more,
But his stiffen'd corse, ere the morn, was seen

Hung at his false one's door.

And Margaret, all night, in her bed,

She dreamed hideous dreams; And oft upon the moaning wind

Were heard her frightful screams.

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And when she knew of her lover's death,

On her brow stood the clammy dew, [fate, She thought of her oath, and she thought of her

And she saw that her days were few.

But the Lord He is just, and the guilty alone

Have to fear of his vengeance the lash,
The thunderbolt harms not the innocent head,

While the criminal dies 'neath the flash.

His justice, she knew, would spare her awhile

For the child that she bare in her womb; But she felt, that when it was born therefrom

She must instantly go to her tomb.

The hour approach'd, and she view'd it with fear

As the date of her earthly time;
And she tried to pray to Almighty God,

To expiate her crime.

And she begg'd her relations would come at the day,

And the parson would pray at her side; And the clerk would sing a penitent hymn,

With all the singers beside.

And she begg'd they would bar the windows so

strong, And put a new lock to the door; And sprinkle with holy water the house,

And over her chamber-floor.

And they barr'd with iron the windows so strong,

And they put a new lock on the door; And the parson he came, and he carefully strew'd

With holy water the floor.

And her kindred came to see the dame,

And the clerk, and the singers beside ; And they did sing a penitent hymn,

And with her did abide.

And midnight came, and shortly the dame

Did give to her child the light;

And then she did pray, that they would stay,

And pass with her the night.

And she begg'd they would sing the penitent hymn,

And pray with all their might;
For sadly I fear, the fiend will be here,

And fetch me away this night.

And now without, a stormy rout,

With howls, the guests did hear;
And the parson he pray'd, for he was afraid

And the singers they quaver'd with fear.

And Marg'ret pray'd the Almighty's aid,

For louder the tempest grew;
And every guest, his soul he bless'd,

As the tapers burned blue.

And the fair again, she pray'd of the men

To sing with all their might;
And they did sing, till the house did ring,

And louder they sung for affright.

But now their song, it died on their tongue,

For sleep it was seizing their sense ; And Marg'ret scream'd, and bid them not sleep,

Or the fiends would bear her thence.

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