And Mary read prophetic words, That whisper'd of her doom-- "Oh! they will search for me, but where I am, they cannot come!" The tears forsook her gentle eyes, And wet the sacred lore; And such a terror shook her frame, She ne'er had known before. She ceas'd to weep, but deeper gloom Her tearless musing brought; And darker wan'd the evening hour, And darker Mary's thought. The sun, he set behind the hills, And threw his fading fire On mountain rock and village home, And lit the distant spire. (Sweet fane of truth and mercy! where The tombs of other years Discourse of virtuous life and hope, And tell of by-gone tears!) It was a night of nature's calm, For earth and sky were still; And childhood's revelry was o'er, Upon the daisied hill. The ale-house, with its gilded sign, Hung on the beechen bough, Was mute within, and tranquilly The hamlet stream did flow. The room where sat this grieving girl Was one of ancient years; Its antique state was well display'd To conjure up her fears; With massy walls of sable oak, And roof of quaint design, And lattic'd window, darkly hid By rose and eglantine. The summer moon now sweetly shone All softly and serene; She clos'd the casement tremblingly Upon the beauteous scene. Above that carved mantle hung, Clad in the garb of gloom, A painting of rich feudal state,-- An old baronial room. The Norman windows scarcely cast A light upon the wall, Where shone the shields of warrior knights Within the lonely hall. And, pendent from each rusty nail, Helmet and steely dress, With bright and gilded morion, To grace that dim recess. Then Mary thought upon each tale Of terrible romance:-- The lady in the lonely tower-- The murd'rer's deadly glance-- And moon-lit groves in pathless woods, Where shadows nightly sped; Her fancy could not leave the realms Of darkness and the dead. There stood a messenger without, Beside her master's gate, Who, till his thirsty horse had drunk, Would hardly deign to wait. The mansion rung with Mary's name, For dreadful news he bore-- A dying mother wish'd to look Upon her child once more. The words were, "Haste, ere life be gone;" Then was she quickly plac'd Behind him on the hurrying steed, Which soon the woods retrac'd. Now they have pass'd o'er Morton Bridge, While smil'd the moon above Upon the ruffian and his prey-- The hawk and harmless dove. The towering elms divide their tops; And now a dismal heath Proclaims her "final doom" is near The awful hour of death! The villain check'd his weary horse, And spoke of trust betray'd; And Mary's heart grew sick with fright, As, answering, thus she said-- "Oh! kill me not until I see My mother's face again! Ride on, in mercy, horseman, ride, And let us reach the lane!