There ever by the whiten’d wall Standeth a maiden fair and tall, And all day long in vacant dream Watcheth afar the flying steam. 25 SCREAMING TARN The saddest place that e’er I saw Is the deep tarn above the inn That crowns the mountain-road, whereby One southward bound his way must win. Sunk on the table of the ridge From its deep shores is nought to see: The unresting wind lashes and chills Its shivering ripples ceaselessly. Three sides ’tis banked with stones aslant, And down the fourth the rushes grow, And yellow sedge fringing the edge With lengthen’d image all arow. ’Tis square and black, and on its face When noon is still, the mirror’d sky Looks dark and further from the earth Than when you gaze at it on high. At mid of night, if one be there, —So say the people of the hill— A fearful shriek of death is heard, One sudden scream both loud and shrill. And some have seen on stilly nights, And when the moon was clear and round, Bubbles which to the surface swam And burst as if they held the sound.— ’Twas in the days ere hapless Charles Losing his crown had lost his head, This tale is told of him who kept The inn upon the watershed: He was a lowbred ruin’d man Whom lawless times set free from fear: One evening to his house there rode A young and gentle cavalier. With curling hair and linen fair And jewel-hilted sword he went; The horse he rode he had ridden far, And he was with his journey spent. He asked a lodging for the night, His valise from his steed unbound, He let none bear it but himself And set it by him on the ground. ’Here’s gold or jewels,’ thought the host, ’That’s carrying south to find the king.’ He chattered many a loyal word, And scraps of royal airs gan sing. His guest thereat grew more at ease And o’er his wine he gave a toast, But little ate, and to his room Carried his sack behind the host. ’Now rest you well,’ the host he said, But of his wish the word fell wide; Nor did he now forget his son Who fell in fight by Cromwell’s side. Revenge and poverty have brought Full gentler heart than his to crime; And he was one by nature rude, Born to foul deeds at any time. With unshod feet at dead of night In stealth he to the guest-room crept, Lantern and dagger in his hand, And stabbed his victim while he slept. But as he struck a scream there came, A fearful scream so loud and shrill: He whelm’d the face with pillows o’er, And lean’d till all had long been still. Then to the face the flame he held To see there should no life remain:— When lo! his brutal heart was quell’d: ’Twas a fair woman he had slain.