But when the dawn of day was near, The horrid phantom fled,

And left th' affrighted youth to weep
By Isabel in bed.

And all that day a gloomy cloud
Was seen on Rupert's brows;
Fair Isabel was likewise sad,
But strove to cheer her spouse.

And, as the day advanc'd, he thought
Of coming night with fear;
Alas, that he should dread to view
The bed that should be dear!

At length the second night arriv'd, Again their couch they press'd; Poor Rupert hop'd that all was o'er, And look'd for love and rest.

But oh! when midnight came, again The fiend was at his side,

And, as it strain'd him in its grasp, With howl exulting cried:

"Husband, husband, I've the ring, "The ring thou gav'st to me; "And thou'rt to me for ever wed, "As I am wed to thee!"

In agony of wild despair,

He started from the bed;
And thus to his bewilder'd wife
The trembling Rupert said:

"Oh Isabel! dost thou not see
"A shape of horrors here,
"That strains me to its deadly kiss,
"And keeps me from my dear ?"

"No, no, my love! my Rupert, I
"No shape of horrors see;
"And much I mourn the phantasy
"That keeps my dear from me."

This night, just like the night before,
In terrors pass'd away,

Nor did the demon vanish thence
Before the dawn of day.

Said Rupert then, "My Isabel,
"Dear partner of my woe,
"To Father Austin's holy cave
"This instant will I go."

Now Austin was a reverend man,
Who acted wonders maint-
Whom all the country round believ'd
A devil or a saint!

To Father Austin's holy cave

Then Rupert straightway went;
And told him all, and ask'd him how
These horrors to prevent.

The Father heard the youth, and then
Retir'd awhile to pray;

And, having prayed for half an hour,
Thus to the youth did say:

"There is a place where four roads meet,

"Which I will tell to thee;

"Be there this eve, at fall of night, "And list what thou shalt see.

"Thou 'lt see a group of figures pass "In strange disorder'd crowd, "Travelling by torchlight through the roads, "With noises strange and loud.

"And one that's high above the rest, "Terrific towering o'er,

"Will make thee know him at a glance, "So I need say no more.

"To him from me these tablets give,

66

"They'll quick be understood;

'Thou need'st not fear, but give them straight, "I've scrawl'd them with my blood!"

The night-fall came, and Rupert all

In pale amazement went

To where the cross-roads met, as he
Was by the Father sent.

And lo! a group of figures came
In strange disorder'd crowd,
Travelling by torchlight through the roads,
With noises strange and loud.

And, as the gloomy train advanc'd,
Rupert beheld from far
A female form of wanton mien
High seated on a car.

And Rupert, as he gaz'd upon
The loosely vested dame,
Thought of the marble statue's look,
For hers was just the same.

Behind her walk'd a hideous form,
With eyeballs flashing death;
Whene'er he breath'd, a sulphur'd smoke
Came burning in his breath.

He seem'd the first of all the crowd,
Terrific towering o'er;

"Yes, yes," said Rupert, "this is he,
"And I need ask no more."

Then slow he went, and to this fiend
The tablets trembling gave,

Who look'd and read them with a yell
That would disturb the grave.

And when he saw the blood-scrawl'd name,
His eyes with fury shine;

"I thought," cries he, "his time was out, "But he must soon be mine!"

Then darting at the youth a look
Which rent his soul with fear,
He went unto the female fiend,
And whisper'd in her ear.

The female fiend no sooner heard
Than, with reluctant look,
The very ring that Rupert lost,
She from her finger took.

And, giving it unto the youth,

With eyes that breath'd of hell, She said, in that tremendous voice, Which he remember'd well:

"In Austin's name take back the ring,
"The ring thou gav'st to me;
"And thou'rt to me no longer wed,
"Nor longer I to thee."

He took the ring, the rabble pass'd,
He home return'd again;

His wife was then the happiest fair,
The happiest he of men.

MARY, I BELIEV'D THEE TRUE.*

MARY, I believ'd thee true,

And I was blest in thus believing;
But now I mourn that e'er I knew
A girl so fair and so deceiving.
Fare thee well.

Few have ever lov'd like me,

Yes, I have lov'd thee too sincerely!
And few have e'er deceiv'd like thee,-
Alas! deceiv'd me too severely.

Fare thee well!-yet think awhile

On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee;
Who now would rather trust that smile,
And die with thee than live without thee.

Fare thee well! I'll think of thee,

Thou leav'st me many a bitter token;

For see, distracting woman, see,

My peace is gone, my heart is broken!-
Fare thee well!

These words were written to the pathetic Scotch air "Galla Water."