Rural Tales, Ballads, and Songs Part 6

Benighted was an ancient Dame, And fearful haste she made To gain the vale of Fakenham, And hail its Willow shade.

Her footsteps knew no idle stops, But follow'd faster still; And echo'd to the darksome Copse That whisper'd on the Hill;

Where clam'rous Rooks, yet scarcely hush'd, Bespoke a peopled shade; And many a wing the foliage brush'd, And hov'ring circuits made.

The dappled herd of grazing Deer That sought the Shades by day, Now started from her path with fear, And gave the Stranger way.

Darker it grew; and darker fears Came o'er her troubled mind; When now, a short quick step she hears Come patting close behind.

She turn'd; it stopt;--nought could she see Upon the gloomy plain!

But, as she strove the Sprite to flee, She heard the same again.

Now terror seiz'd her quaking frame; For, where the path was bare, The trotting Ghost kept on the same!

She mutter'd many a pray'r.

Yet once again, amidst her fright She tried what sight could do; When through the cheating glooms of night, A MONSTER stood in view.

Regardless of whate'er she felt, It follow'd down the plain!

She own'd her sins, and down she knelt, And said her pray'rs again.

Then on she sped: and Hope grew strong, The white park gate in view; Which pushing hard, so long it swung That _Ghost_ and all pa.s.s'd through.

Loud fell the gate against the post!

Her heart-strings like to crack: For, much she fear'd the grisly Ghost Would leap upon her back.

Still on, pat, pat, the Goblin went, As it had done before:-- Her strength and resolution spent, She fainted at the door.

Out came her Husband much surpris'd: Out came her Daughter dear: Good-natur'd Souls! all unadvis'd Of what they had to fear.

The Candle's gleam pierc'd through the night, Some short s.p.a.ce o'er the green; And there the little trotting Sprite Distinctly might be seen.

An _a.s.s's Foal_ had lost its Dam Within the s.p.a.cious Park; And simple as the playful Lamb Had follow'd in the dark.

No Goblin he; no imp of sin: No crimes had ever known.

They took the s.h.a.ggy stranger in, And rear'd him as their own.

His little hoofs would rattle round Upon the Cottage floor: The Matron learn'd to love the sound That frighten'd her before.

A favorite the Ghost became; And, 'twas his fate to thrive: And long he liv'd and spread his fame, And kept the joke alive.

For many a laugh went through the Vale; And some conviction tod:-- Each thought some other Goblin Perhaps, was just as true.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE FRENCH MARINER.

A Ballad.

An Old _French Mariner_ am I, Whom Time hath render'd poor and gray; Hear, conquering _Britons_, ere I die, What anguish prompts me thus to say.

I've rode o'er many a dreadful wave, I've seen the reeking blood descend: I've heard the last groans of the brave;-- The shipmate dear, the steady Friend.

'Twas when _De Gra.s.se_ the battle join'd And struck, on _April's_ fatal morn: I left three smiling boys behind, And saw my Country's Lily torn.

There, as I brav'd the storms of Fate, Dead in my arms my Brother fell; Here sits forlorn his widow'd Mate, Who weeps whene'er the tale I tell.

Thy reign, sweet Peace, was o'er too soon; War, piecemeal, robs me of my joy: For, on the bloodstain'd _first_ of _June_ Death took my _eldest_ favorite Boy.

The other two enrag'd arose; 'Our Country claims our lives,' they said.

With them I lost my Soul's repose; That fatal hour my last hope fled.

With BRUYES the proud NILE they sought; Where one in ling'ring wounds expir'd; While yet the other bravely fought The Orient's magazine was fir'd.

And must I mourn my Country's shame?

And envious curse the conquering Foe?

No more I feel that thirst of Fame;--All I can feel is private woe.

E'en all the joy that Vict'ry brings, (Her bellowing Guns, and flaming pride) Cold, momentary comfort flings Around where weeping Friends reside.

Whose blighted bud no Sun shall cheer, Whose Lamp of Life no longer shine: Some Parent, Brother, Child, most dear, Who ventur'd, and who died like mine.

Proud crested Fiend, the World's worst foe, Ambition, canst thou boast one deed, Whence no unsightly horrors flow, Nor private peace is seen to bleed?

Ah! why do these old Eyes remain To see succeeding mornings rise!

My Wife is dead, my Children slain.

And Poverty is all my prize.

Yet shall not poor enfeebled Age Breathe forth revenge;--but rather say O G.o.d, who seest the Battle's rage, Take from men's hearts that rage away.

From the vindictive tongue of strife Bid Hatred and false Glory See; That babes may meet advancing life, Nor feel the woes that light on me.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

DOLLY

_"Ingenuous trust, and confidence of Love."_

The Bat began with giddy wing His circuit round the Shed, the Tree; And clouds of dancing Gnats to sing A summer-night's serenity.