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11.

While 'mid the fern-brake sleeps the doe,

And owls alone are waking,
In white arrayed, glides on the Maid

The downward pathway taking,
That leads her to the torrent's side

And to a holly bower;
By whom on this still night descried ?
By whom in that lone place espied ?

By thee, Sir Eglamore!

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12.

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A wandering Ghost, so thinks the Knight,

His coming step has thwarted, Beneath the boughs that heard their vows,

Within whose shade they parted.
Hush, hush, the busy Sleeper see !

Perplexed her fingers seem,
As if they from the holly tree
Green twigs would pluck, as rapidly

Flung from her to the stream.

13.

What means the Spectre ? Why intent

To violate the Tree,
Thought Eglamore, by which I swore

Unfading constancy?
Here am I, and to-morrow's sun,

To her I left, shall prove
That bliss is ne'er so surely won
As when a circuit has been run

Of valour, truth, and love.

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16.

In plunged the Knight! when on firm ground

The rescued Maiden lay,
Her eyes grew bright with blissful light,

Confusion passed away;
She heard, ere to the throne of grace

Her faithful Spirit flew,
His voice; beheld his speaking face,
And, dying, from his own embrace,

She felt that he was true.

17.

So was he reconciled to life:

Brief words may speak the rest ;
Within the dell he built a cell,

And there was Sorrow's guest;
In hermits' weeds repose he found,

From vain temptations free;
Beside the torrent dwelling — bound
By one deep heart-controlling sound,

And awed to piety.

18.

Wild stream of Aira, hold thy courso,

Nor fear memorial lays,
Where clouds that spread in solemn shade,

Are edged with golden rays !
Dear art thou to the light of Heaven,

Though minister of sorrow; Sweet is thy voice at pensive Even; And thou, in Lovers' hearts forgiven,

Shall take thy place with Yarrow!

14.

THE IDIOT BOY.

So from the spot whereon he stood,

He moved with stealthy pace;
And, drawing nigh, with his living eye,

He recognised the face;
And whispers caught, and speeches small,

Some to the green-leaved tree,
Some muttered to the torrent fall, -
“ Roar on, and bring him with thy call;

“I heard, and so may he !"

'Tis eight o'clock,

- a clear March night,
The Moon is up, - the Sky is blue,
The Owlet, in the moonlight air,
Shouts, from nobody knows where ;
He lengthens out his lonely shout,
Halloo! halloo! a long halloo !

15.

- Why bustle thus about your door, What means this bustle, Betty Foy? Why are you in this mighty fret ? And why on horseback have you set Him whom you love, your Idiot Boy ?

Soul-shattered was the Knight, nor knew

If Emma's Ghost it were,
Or boding Shade, or if the Maid

Her very self stood there.
He touched, what followed who shall tell ?

The soft touch snapped the thread
Of slumber — shrieking back she fell,
And the Stream whirled her down the dell

Along its foaming bed.

There's scarce a soul that's out of bed;
Good Betty, put him down again;
His lips with joy they burr at you;
But, Betty! what has he to do
With stirrup, saddle, or with rein?

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So through the moonlight lanes they go,
And far into the moonlight dale,
And by the church, and o'er the down,
To bring a Doctor from the town,
To comfort poor old Susan Gale.

And Betty, now at Susan's side,
Is in the middle of her story,
What comfort soon her Boy will bring,
With many a most diverting thing,
Of Johnny's wit, and Johnny's glory.

1

And Betty, still at Susan's side,
By this time is not quite so furried:
Demure with porringer and plate
She sits, as if in Susan's fate
Her life and soul were buried,

But Betty, poor good Woman! she,
You plainly in her face may read it,
Could lend out of that moment's store
Five years of happiness or more
To any that might need it.

But yet I guess that now and then
With Betty all was not so well;
And to the road she turns her ears,
And thence full many a sound she hears,
Which she to Susan will not tell.

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And Susan's growing worse and worse,
And Betty's in a sad quandary;
And then there's nobody to say
If she must go, or she must stay!
She's in a sad quandary.

The clock is on the stroke of one;
But neither Doctor nor his Guide
Appears along the moonlight road;
There's neither horse nor man abroad,
And Betty's still at Susan's side.

And Susan now begins to fear
Of sad mischances not a few,
That Johnny may perhaps be drowned,
Or lost, perhaps, and never found;
Which they must both for ever rue.

She prefaced half a hint of this
With, “ God forbid it should be true!"
At the first word that Susan said,
Cried Betty, rising from the bed,
“Susan, I'd gladly stay with you.

“I must be gone, I must away,
Consider, Johnny's but half-wise;
Susan, we must take care of him,
If he is hurt in life or limb"-
“Oh God forbid !" poor Susan cries.

" What can I do?” says Betty, going,
“What can I do to ease your pain ?
Good Susan, tell me,

and I'll stay; I fear you 're in a dreadful way, But I shall soon be back again.”

"Nay, Betty, go! good Betty, go!
There's nothing that can ease my pain."
Then off she hies; but with a prayer
That God poor Susan's life would spare,
Till she comes back again.

So, through the moonlight lane she goes,
And far into the moonlight dale ;
And how she ran, and how she walked,
And all that to herself she talked,
Would surely be a tedious tale.

In high and low, above, below,
In great and small, in round and square,
In tree and tower was Johnny seen,
In brush and brake, in black and green,
'T was Johnny, Johnny, everywhere.

The bridge is past — far in the dale;
And now the thought torments her sore,
Johnny perhaps his horse forsook,
To hunt the moon within the brook,
And never heard of more.

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"O woe is me! O woe is me! Here will I die; here will I die; I thought to find my lost one here, Rut he is neither far nor near, Ob! what a wretched Mother I!"

P

O Reader! now that I might tell
What Johnny and his Horse are doing!
What they've been doing all this time,
O could I put it into rhyme,
A most delightful tale pursuing!

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