Full closely to the fire she drew; Adown her cheek a salt tear stole, When, lo! a coffin out there flew, And in her apron burnt a hole! Spiders their busy death watch tick'd; A certain sign that fate will frown; The clumsy kitchen clock, too, click'd; A certain sign it was not down. More strong and strong her terrors rose;-- Her shadow did the maid appal;-- She trembled at her lovely nose-- It look'd so long against the wall. Up to her chamber, damp and cold, She clim'd lord Hoppergallop's stair;-- Three stories high, long, dull and old-- As great lords' stories often are. All Nature now appear'd to pause; And "o'er the one half world seem'd dead;" No "curtain'd sleep" had she;--because She had no curtains to her bed. Listening she lay;--with iron din, The clock struck twelve; the door flew wide; When Thomas grimly glided in, With little Bobtail by his side. Tall, like the poplar, was his size; Green, green his waistcoat was, as leeks, Red, red as beet root, were his eyes; And, pale, as turnips, were his cheeks! Soon as the spectre she espied, The fear struck damsel faintly said, "What would my Thomas?"--he replied, "O! Molly Dumpling! I am dead." "All in the flower of youth I fell, Cut off with health's full blossom crown'd; I was not ill--but in the well I tumbled backwards, and was drown'd. "Four fathom deep thy love doth lie; His faithful dog his fate doth share; We're friends;--this is not he and I; We are not here--for we are there. "Yes;--two foul water fiends are we; Maid of the moor! attend us now! Thy hour's at hand;--we come for thee! The little fiend cur said "bow wow!" "To wind her in her cold grave, A Holland sheet a maiden likes; A sheet of water thou shalt have; Such sheets there are in Holland dykes." The fiends approach; the maid did shrink; Swift through the night's foul air they spin; They took her to the green well's brink, And, with a souse, they plump'd her in. _Dessert to the True American_, I-No. 27, Jan. 12, 1799, Phila. [The author evidently had Bürger's _Lenore_ in mind when writing the above.] [Burlesque on the Style, in which most of the German romantic Ballads are written.] _Phil. Repos._, I-328, Aug. 22, 1801, Phila. [Also in _Dessert to the True American_, I-No. 27, Jan. 12, 1799, Phila.] For the Port Folio. AN AUTHOR'S EVENINGS. From the shop of Messrs. Colon and Spondee.