On the proud steep of Ottenberg still may be found, That spring which arose his sad doom to complete; And oft on its verge sit the villagers round, In wonder recording the fiat of fate. For this do the walls of the castle to-day, No longer resound with the strains of delight; And for this does the harp of the bard once so gay, Now rest in the gloom of the stillness of night.[139] FOOTNOTE: [Footnote 139: "The editor is indebted for a copy of the above ballad to the obliging kindness of Dr. Rooke, of Scarborough." YORKSHIRE ANTHOLOGY, by James O. Halliwell, esq., F. R. S., F. S. A. _Printed for private circulation only_. London, 1851. To which work I am much indebted.] THE CRUEL STEP-MOTHER; OR, THE UNHAPPY SON. Giving 1, an account of squire Brown, of York, who had one only son; and how his lady fell sick, and on her death-bed begged of him not to marry for the sake of her child. 2. How he soon married a rich widow, who was very cruel to his son; and how his uncle died, and left him an estate of two hundred pounds a year. 3. How his step-mother sent him away for the sake of his money, by taking a ring from his father and putting it in the boy's pocket; for which his father sent him to sea, and the ship was taken by the Spaniards, and he made a slave of. 4. How the ghost of his mother came to this cruel wretch, and told his father of the ring; and how afterwards his father fell into despair, and hanged himself; and his son came home again, went to law with his step-mother, got five hundred pounds from her, which broke her heart. To the tune of "_Aim not too high_." I. You most indulging parents, lend an ear, And you a dismal tragedy shall hear; A story strange, but certain true, indeed, Enough to make a stony heart to bleed. In York, that famous city of renown, There lived a gentleman, one squire Brown, Whose wealth and riches was exceeding great, But yet he had no heir to his estate. He had a virtuous, kind, and loving wife, With whom he liv'd a very happy life; The want of children was their only grief, But to their relief,-- She was with child, and with a son we hear; Great was the joy when she delivered were; Much feasting, which for many days did last, Both rich and poor did of their bounty taste. It pleased God the child did live and thrive, Until it came to be the age of five; At five years old its sorrows first begun, And so continued many years to run. The greatest pleasure that we here can boast, Soon fades away, and very short at most; When death approaches, who can shun the dart? He has command, and strikes us to the heart. Th' squire's lady was took very ill, The doctors used in vain their best of skill; All wou'd not do, the fatal stroke death gave, And now no mortal here her life can save.