"There slay me by my mother's door, And I will pray for thee-- For she shall find her daughter's corse"-- "No, girl, it cannot be. "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: That 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!" * * H. * * * * * SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY. _Tanning_.