"This heath thou shalt not cross, for soon Its earth will hide thy form; That babbling tongue of thine shall make A morsel for the worm!" She leap'd upon the ling-clad heath, And, nerv'd with phrensied fear, Pursued her slippery way across, Until the wood was near. But nearer still two fiends appear'd, Like hunters of the fawn, Who cast their cumb'ring cloaks away, Beside that forest lone; And bounded swifter than the maid, Who nearly 'scap'd their wrath, For well she knew that woody glade, And every hoary path. Obscur'd by oak and hazel bush, Where milk maid's merry song Had often charm'd her lover's ear, Who blest her silv'ry tongue. But Mary miss'd the woodland stile-- The hedge-row was not high; She gain'd its prickly top, and now Her murderers were nigh. A slender tree her fingers caught-- It bent beneath her weight; 'Twas false as love and Mary's fate! Deceiving as the night! She fell--and villagers relate No more of Mary's hour, But how she rose with deadly might, And, with a maniac's power, Fought with her murd'rers till they broke Her slender arm in twain; But none could e'er discover where The maiden's corse was lain. When wand'ring by that noiseless wood, Forsaken by the bee, Each rev'rend chronicler displays The bent and treach'rous tree. Pointing the barkless spot to view, Which Mary's hand embrac'd, They shake their hoary locks, and say, "It ne'er can be effac'd!" ARMTHORPE BELLS.[173] I. I sing the church of ARMTHORPE town,[174] That stands upon a hill, And all who in the Fly[175] come down May see it if they will. II. But there to them it doth appear An humble barn, tho' neat, I wish the rector every year Had it choke full of wheat. III. I only mean, supposing it A very barn indeed; I'm sure he'd give thereof what's fit To them who stand in need. IV. The steeple then, you may presume, Is not like that of GRANTHAM, For bells and chimes there was no room, And now they do not want them. V. In vain the Quakers it abuse, And with their canting flout it, Calling this church a steeple-house, There's no such thing about it. VI. Altho' no steeple doth appear, Yet bells they're not without, High hung in air, aloft they are, But where? Ah! there's the doubt. VII. How this can be, for you to tell Requires somewhat to think on; And yet they serve the folks as well As would Great Tom of Lincoln. VIII. The architect, a silly man, (And artist too--God wot;) Some say, when up he drew his plan, The steeple he forgot. IX. But that was not the cause of it, Our wiser rector fancies; 'Twas not the builder's lack of wit, But want of the finances. X.