Find some strange succour, and come virgins out. I've watch'd a wint'ry night on castle-walls, I've stalk'd by moonlight through deserted halls, And when the weary world was sunk to rest, I've had such sights as may not be express'd. Lo! that chateau, the western tower decay'd, The peasants shun it,--they are all afraid; For there was done a deed!--could walls reveal, Or timbers tell it, how the heart would feel! Most horrid was it: --for, behold, the floor Has stain of blood, and will be clean no more: Hark to the winds! which through the wide saloon And the long passage send a dismal tune, - Music that ghosts delight in; and now heed Yon beauteous nymph, who must unmask the deed; See! with majestic sweep she swims alone, Through rooms, all dreary, guided by a groan: Though windows rattle, and though tap'stries shake, And the feet falter every step they take, 'Mid moans and gibing sprights she silent goes, To find a something, which will soon expose The villanies and wiles of her determined foes: And, having thus adventured, thus endured, Fame, wealth, and lover, are for life secured. Much have I fear'd, but am no more afraid, When some chaste beauty, by some wretch betray'd, Is drawn away with such distracted speed, That she anticipates a dreadful deed: Not so do I--Let solid walls impound The captive fair, and dig a moat around; Let there be brazen locks and bars of steel, And keepers cruel, such as never feel; With not a single note the purse supply, And when she begs, let men and maids deny; Be windows those from which she dares not fall, And help so distant, 'tis in vain to call; Still means of freedom will some power devise, And from the baffled ruffian snatch his prize. To Northern Wales, in some sequester'd spot, I've follow'd fair Louisa to her cot: Where, then a wretched and deserted bride, The injur'd fair-one wished from man to hide; Till by her fond repenting Belville found, By some kind chance--the straying of a hound, He at her feet craved mercy, nor in vain, For the relenting dove flew back again. There's something rapturous in distress, or oh! Could Clementina bear her lot of woe? Or what she underwent could maiden undergoe? The day was fix'd; for so the lover sigh'd, So knelt and craved, he couldn't be denied; When, tale most dreadful! every hope adieu, - For the fond lover is the brother too: All other griefs abate; this monstrous grief Has no remission, comfort, or relief; Four ample volumes, through each page disclose, - Good Heaven protect us! only woes on woes; Till some strange means afford a sudden view Of some vile plot, and every woe adieu! Now, should we grant these beauties all endure Severest pangs, they've still the speediest cure; Before one charm be withered from the face, Except the bloom, which shall again have place, In wedlock ends each wish, in triumph all disgrace; And life to come, we fairly may suppose, One light, bright contrast to these wild dark woes.