"Remember Alonzo the Brave! God grants that, to punish thy falsehood and pride, My ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side, Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride, And bear thee away to the grave!" Thus saying, his arms round the lady he wound, While loudly she shriek'd in dismay, Then sank with his prey through the wide-yawning ground: Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found, Or the spectre who bore her away. Not long lived the Baron: and none since that time To inhabit the castle presume; For chronicles tell, that, by order sublime, There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime, And mourns her deplorable doom. At midnight four times in each year does her sprite, When mortals in slumber are bound, Array'd in her bridal apparel of white, Appear in the hall with the skeleton-knight, And shriek as he whirls her around. While they drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave, Dancing round them pale spectres are seen: Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave They howl:--"To the health of Alonzo the Brave, And his consort, the False Imogine!" ----M. G. Lewis (The Monk). LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER |A chieftain, to the Highlands bound, Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry."-- "Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" "O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter.-- "And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. "His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?"-- Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief--I'm ready:-- It is not for your silver bright; But for your winsome lady: "And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So though the waves are raging white, Til row you o er the ferry."-- By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of Heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer.-- "O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father."-- The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her,-- When, oh! too strong for human hand, The tempest gather'd o er her. And still they row'd amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing; Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, His wrath was changed to wailing.-- For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade, His child he did discover;-- One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,