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Three times, all in the dead of night, is of
A bell was heard to ring,
A raven flapp'd his wing.
The solemn boding sound,
The virgins weeping round.
Which says, I must not stay;
Which beckons me away.
In early youth I die:
Is thrice as rich as I?
"Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows,
Vows due to me alone;
Nor think him all thy own.
Impatient both prepare;
That Lucy will be there! “There bear my corpse, ye comrades, bear,
The bridegroom blithe to meet; He in his wedding-trim so gay,
I in my winding-sheet.'She spoke, she died ! her corse was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet, He in his wedding trim so gay,
She in her winding-sheet.
Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
How were those nuptials kept?
And all the village wept.
At once his bosom swell;
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
From the vain bride (ah, bride no more !)
The varying crimson fled,
She saw her husband dead.
Convey'd by trembling swains,
For ever now remains.
Oft at this grave the constant hind
And plighted maid are seen ;
They deck the sacred green.
This hallow'd spot forbear;
OUTRAGEOUS did the loud wind blow
Across the sounding main ! The vessel tossing to and fro,
Could scarce the storm sustain.
Matilda to her fearful breast,
Held close her infant dear;
And wak'd the tender tear.
Now nearer to the grateful shore,
The shatter'd vessel drew: The daring waves now cease to roar,
Now shout th' exulting crew.
Matilda with a mother's joy
Gave thanks to Heaven's power: How fervent she embrac'd her boy!
How bless'd the saving hour!
Oh much deceiv'd and hapless fair!
Though ceas'd the waves to roar, Thou from that fatal moment ne'er
Didst taste of pleasure more.
For, stepping forth from off the deck,
To reach the welcome ground,
Plung'd in the gulf profound.
Amazement-chain'd! her haggard eye
Gave not a tear to flow; Her bosom heav'd no conscious sigh ;
She stood a sculptur'd woe.
To snatch the child from instant death,
Some brav'd the threatning main; And to recal his fleeting breath,
Tried every art in vain.
But when the corse first met her view,
Stretch'd on the pebbly strand : Awak’ning from her trance she flew,
And pierc'd th’ opposing band:
With tresses discompos'd and rude,
Fell prostrate to the ground;
And sorrow burst its bound.
Uprising now with frantic air,
To the wide-circling crowd,
She thus discours'd aloud:
* Heard ye the helpless infant weep?
Saw ye the mother bold?
The billows o'er him roll'd.
May deak’d remorse her bosom tear,
Despair her mind up-plough! Its angry arm let justice rear,
To dash her impious brow.
• But soft, awhile-see there he lies,
Enbalm'd in infant sleep :
What cause is here to weep?.
Yes, yes! his little life is fled,
His heaveless breast is cold;
When thy sad tale is told !
• Ah me, that cheek of livid-hue,
If much I do not err!. ,
All, all my son declare.
Strange horrors chill my ev'ry vein,
A voice confus'd and wild Whispers to this distracted brain,
Matilda slew her child.'
She added not-but sunk oppress'de
Death on her eyelids stole:
BRYAN AND PEREENE, A WEST-INDIAN BALLAD,
FOUNDED ON A REAL FACT THAT HAPPENED
IN THE ISLAND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER's.
The ship was safely moor’d;
And so leap'd overboard.
Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,
His heart long held in thrall; And whoso his impatience blames,
I wot, ne'er lov'd at all.
A long, long year, one month and day,
He dwelt on English land;
Though ladies songht his hand.