Now WILLIAM, weary of such wooing, Began, with all his might, hollooing:— When suddenly from ev’ry bush The eager throngs impatient rush; With shouting, and with boist’rous glee DAME DOWSON they pursue, And from the broad Oak’s canopy, O’er moonlight fields of sparkling dew, They bear in triumph the Old DAME, Bawling, with loud Huzza’s, her name; “A witch, a witch!” the people cry, “A witch!” the echoing hills reply: ’Till to her home the GRANNY came, Where, to confirm the tale of shame, Each rising day they went, in throngs, With ribbald jests, and sportive songs, ’Till GRANNY of her spleen, repented; And to young WILLIAM’s ardent pray’r, To take, for life, ANNETTA fair,— _At last_,—CONSENTED. And should this TALE, fall in the way Of LOVERS CROSS’D, or GRANNIES GREY,— Let them confess, ’tis made to prove— _The wisest heads_,—TOO WEAK FOR LOVE! _GOLFRE_, _A GOTHIC SWISS TALE_. IN FIVE PARTS. Where freezing wastes of dazzl’ing Snow O’er LEMAN’s Lake rose, tow’ring; The BARON GOLFRE’s Castle strong Was seen, the silv’ry peaks among, With ramparts, darkly low’ring!— Tall Battlements of flint, uprose, Long shadowing down the valley, A grove of sombre Pine, antique, Amid the white expanse would break, In many a gloomy alley. A strong portcullis entrance show’d, With ivy brown hung over; And stagnate the green moat was found, Whene’er the Traveler wander’d round, Or moon-enamour’d Lover. Within the spacious Courts were seen A thousand gothic fancies; Of banners, trophies, armour bright, Of shields, thick batter’d in the fight, And interwoven lances. The BARON GOLFRE long had been To solitude devoted; And oft, in pray’r would pass the night ’Till day’s vermillion stream of light Along the blue hill floated. And yet, his pray’r was little mark’d With pure and calm devotion; For oft, upon the pavement bare, He’d dash his limbs and rend his hair With terrible emotion!