The Haunted Hour Part 23

An' it's O for my bairnies twa, It's O an' O for the watchet een An' the steps that are gane awa'-- Awa' to the Silent Place, Or ever I saw nor wist, Though I wot we twa went face to face Through the mirk an' the saft sea-mist.

KEITH OF RAVELSTON: SYDNEY DOBELL

The murmur of the mourning ghost That keeps the shadowy kine, "Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!"

Ravelston, Ravelston, The stile beneath the tree, The maid that kept her mother's kine, The song that sang she!

She sang her song, she kept her kine, She sat beneath the thorn When Andrew Keith of Ravelston Rode through the Monday morn;

His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring, His belted jewels shine!

Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!

Year after year, where Andrew came, Comes evening down the glade, And still there sits a moonshine ghost Where sat the sunshine maid.

Her misty hair is faint and fair, She keeps the shadowy kine; Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!

I lay my hands upon the stile, The stile is lone and cold.

The burnie that goes babbling by Says naught that can be told.

Yet, stranger! here from year to year, She keeps her shadowy kine; Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!

Step out three steps where Andrew stood,-- Why blanch thy cheeks for fear?

The ancient stile is not alone, 'Tis not the burn I hear!

She makes her immemorial moan, She keeps her shadowy kine, Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!

THE FETCH: DORA SIGERSON SHORTER

"What makes you so late at the tryst, What caused you so long to be?

I have waited a weary time For the hour you promised me."

"Oh, glad were I here by your side, Full many an hour ago, But for what there pa.s.sed on the road All so mournfully and so slow."

"And what have you met on the road That kept you so long and so late?"

"O full many an hour has gone Since I left my father's gate.

"As I hastened on in the gloom, By the road to you tonight, I pa.s.sed the corpse of a young maid All clad in a shroud of white."

"And was she some friend once cherished, Or was she a sister dead, That you left your own true lover Till the trysting hour had sped?"

"I could not see who it might be, Her face was hidden away, But I had to turn and follow Wherever her resting lay."

"And did it go up by the town, Or went it down by the lake?

I know there are but two church yards Where a corpse its rest may take."

"They did not go by the town, Nor by the lake stayed their feet, But buried the corpse all silently Where the four cross roads meet."

"And was it so strange a sight That you should go like a child Thus to leave me to wait, forgotten, By a pa.s.sing sight beguiled?"

"Oh, I heard them whisper my name, Each mourner that pa.s.sed by me; And I had to follow their path, Though their faces I could not see."

"And right well I would like to know Who this fair young maid might be, So take my hand, my own true love, And hasten along with me."

He did not go down by the lake He did not go by the town, But carried her to the four cross roads, And there he did set her down.

"Now I see no track of a foot, I see no mark of a spade, And I know well in this white road There never a grave was made."

He took her hand in his right hand, And he led her to town away, And there he questioned the old priest, Did he bury a maid that day.

He took her hand in his right hand, Down to the church by the lake, And there he questioned a young priest, If a maiden her life did take.

But there was no tale of death In all the parish round, And neither had heard of a maid Thus put in unholy ground.

He loosed her hand from his hand, And turned on his heel away.

"I know you are false," he said, "From the lie you told today."

And she said, "Oh, what evil things Did tonight my senses take?"

She knelt down by the water side And wept as her heart would break.

And she said, "Oh, what fairy sight Was it thus my grief to see!

I'll sleep well 'neath the still water, Since my love has turned on me."

And her love he went to the north, And far to the south went he, But still he heard her distant voice Call, weeping so bitterly.

He could not rest in the daytime, He could not sleep in the night, Hastened back to the old road, With the trysting-place in sight.

What first he heard was his love's name, And keening both loud and long; What first he saw was his love's face At the head of a mourning throng.

And white she was as the dead are, And never a move made she, But pa.s.sed him by on her black pall, Still sleeping so peacefully.

And cold she was as the dead are, And never a word she spake, When they said, "Unholy is her grave, Since she her life did take."

Silent she was, as the dead are, And never a cry she made When there came, more sad than the keening, The ring of a digging spade.

No rest they gave in the town church, No grave by the lake so sweet, But buried her in unholy ground, Where the four cross roads do meet.

THE BANSHEE: DORA SIGERSON SHORTER

G.o.d be between us and all harm, For I to-night have seen A banshee in the shadow pa.s.s Along the dark boreen.

And as she went she keened and cried, And combed her long white hair, She stopped at Molly Reilly's door, And sobbed till midnight there.

And is it for himself she moans, Who is so far away?