Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

Unmov'd by his forrow, unmov'd by his pray'r,
Fierce Ofric had twisted his hand in his hair,

And aims at his bofom a knife.
But ere the steel blushes with blood, strange to tell !
Self-ftruck, does the tongue of the hollow-ton'd bell

The presence of midnight declare :
And while, with amazement, his hair bristles high,
Hears Ofric a voice, loud and terrible, cry,

In sound heart-appalling—" Forbear !""
Straight, curses and shrieks through the chambers resound,
With hellish mirth mingled; the walls shake around;

The groaning roof threatens to fall;
Loud bellows the thunder; blue lightnings still flash;
The casements, they clatter; chains rattle; doors clash;

And flames spread their waves through the hall.
The clamour increases; the portals expand;
O’er the pavement's black marble now rushes a band

Of demons, all dropping with gore;
In visage fo grim, and so monstrous in height,
That Charloman screams, as they burst on his fight,

And sinks, without sense, on the floor.
Not so fell his uncle: he sees that the throng
Impels, loudly shricking, a female along,

And well the sad spectre he knows : The demons, with curses, her steps onwards urge, Her shoulders, with whips form’d of serpents, they scourge,

And fast from her wounds the blood flows. “Oh! welcome,” she cry'd, and her voice spoke despair ; « Oh! welcome, Sir Osric, the torments to share, Of which thou hast made me the

prey ; Twelve years have I languish'd thy coming to fee; Ulrilda, who perish'd dishonour'd by thee,

Now calls thee to anguish away! My ruin completed, thy love became hate, Thy hand gave the draught which consign'd me to fate;

Nor thought I death lurk'd in the bowl: Unfitted for dying, in guilt, and in pride, Uublefl, unabsolvd, unrepenting, I dy'd, And demons straight seiz'd on my

foul.

Thou com'ít, and with transports I feel my breast swell:
Full long have I suffer'd the torments of hell,

And now shall its pleasures be mine !
See, see, how the fiends are athirst for thy blood!
Twelve

years

has my panting heart furnish’d their food, Come, wretch, let them feaft upon thine !" She said, and the demons their prey flock'd around; They dash'd him, with horrible yell, on the ground,

And blood down his limbs trickled fast: His eyes

from their sockets, with fury, they tore, They' fed on his entrails, all reeking with gore,

And his heart was Ulrilda's repaft.
But now the grey cock told the coming of day:
The fiends with their victim straight vanish'd away,

And Carloman's heart throbb’d again :
With terror, recalling the deeds of the night,
He rose, and, from Falkenstein speeding his flight,

Soon reach'd his paternal domain.
Since then, all, with horror, the ruins behold;
No shepherd, though stray'd be a lamb from his fold,

No mother, though lost be her child,
The fugitive dares in these chambers to seek,
Where fiends nightly revel, and guilty ghosts shriek,

In accents most fearful and wild.
Oh! shun them, ye pilgrims! though late be the hour,
Though loud howl the tempeft, and fast fall the show's,

From Falkenstein Castle be gone !
There still their sad banquet hell's denizens share ;
There Ofric--the Lion, 'fill raves in despair ;

Breathe a pray’r for his soul, and pass on!

THE TOPER AND THE FLIES.

BY PETER PINDAR, ESQ.

A Group of topers at a table fat,

With punch that much regales the thirsty soul: Flies soon the party join'd, and join'd the chat,

Humming, and pitching round the mantling bowl;

At length those flies got drunk, and, for their fin,"
Some hundreds lost their legs, and tumbled in;
And, sprawling ʼmidst the gulph profound,
Like Pharaoh and his daring host, were drown'd!
Wanting to drink one of the men

Dipp'd from the bowl the drunken host,

And drank--then taking care than none were loft,
He put in every mother's son agen:
Up jump'd the bacchanalian crew on this,

Taking it very much amiss-
Swearing, and in the attitude to smite;

“ Lord !" cry'd the man, with gravely-lifted eyes,

“ Though I don't like to swallow flies, " I did not know but others might.

GILES JOLLUP the GRAVE and BROWN

SALLY GREEN.

A PARODY.

BY M. G. LEWIS, ESQUIRE.

A

Doctor so prim and a fempftress so tight They fuck'd

up

the cordial with truest delight: Giles Jollup the Grave was just five feet in height,

And four feet the Brown Sally Green. “ And as,” said Giles Jollup, to-morrow I go

“ To physic a feveriíh land, At some fix-penny hop, or perhaps the may’r's show, “ You'll tumble in love with some finart city beau,

And with him share your shop in the Strand." Lord! how can you think fo?” Brown Sally Green said,

“ You must know mighty little of me; For if you be living, or if you be dead, “ I swear, 'pon my honour, that none in your stead

“ Shall husband of Sally Green be. " And if e'er for another my heart should decide,

“ False to you and the faith which I gave,

“ God grant, that, at dinner, too amply supply'd, Over-eating may give me a pain in my lide ; “ May your ghost then bring rhubarb to physic the bride,

« And lend her well-dos’d to the grave !" Away went poor Giles, to what place is not told.

Sally wept, till she blew her nose fore!
But scarce had a twelvemonth elaps’d, when, behold!,
A Brewer, quite ftilish, his gig that way rollid,

And stopp'd it at Sally Green's door.
His wealth, his pot-belly, and whisky of cane,

Soon made her untrue to her vows :
The steam of strong beer now bewild'ring her brain,
He caught her while tipsy! Denials were vain,

So he carried her home as his spouse.
And now the roast beef had been bleft by the priest,

To cram now the guests had begun;
Tooth and nail, like a wolf, fell the bride on the feast,
Nor yet had the clash of her knife and fork ceas'd,

When a bell('twas a dustman's)-tolld“ one !" Then first, with amazement, Brown Sally Green found,

That a stranger was stuck by her side :
His cravat and his ruffles with snuff were embrown'd;
He ate not, he drank not, but, turning him round,

Sent some pudding away to be fry’d!!!
His wig was turn’d forwards, and short was his height;

His apron was dirty to view :
The women (oh! wondrous !) were hush'd at the fight:
The cats, as they ey'd him, drew back, (well they might,}

For his body was pea-green and blue ! Now as all wish'd to speak, but none knew what to say,

They look'd mighty foolish and queer. At length spoke the bride, while she trembled"I pray, “ Dear Sir, your peruke that aside you would lay,

." And partake of some strong or small beer!" The fempftress is filent; the stranger complies,

And his wig from his phiz deigns to pull. Adzooks! what a fquall Sally gave, through surprise! Like a pig that is stuck, how she open'd her eyes,

When the recogniz'd Jollup's bare skull!

66

Each miss then exclaim'd, while she turn'd up her snout,

“ Sir, your head isn't fit to be seen !" The pot-boys ran in, and the pot-boys ran out, And could'nt conceive what the noise was about,

While the Doctor address’d Sally Green: “ Behold me, thou jill-flirt! behold me!” he cry'd:

“ You've broken the faith which you gave ! " God grants, that, to punish your falsehood and pride,

Over-eating should give you a pain in your side: “Come, swallow this rhubarb! I'll physic the bride,

“ And send her well-dos'd to the grave !" Thus saying, the phyfic her throat he forc'd down,

In spite of whate'er she could say ;
Then bore to his chariot the damsel so brown;
Nor ever again was she seen in that town,

Or the Doctor who whisk'd her away.
Not long liv’d the Brewer: and none, since that time,

To make use of the brew-house presume;
For 'tis firmly believ'd, that, by order sublime,
There Sally Green suffers the pain of her crime,

And bawls to get out of the room.
At midnight, four times in each year does her sprite,

With shrieks, make the chamber resound;
“ I won't take the rhubarb!" she squalls, in affright,
While, a cup in his left hand, a draught in his right,

Giles Jollup pursues her around. With wigs so well powder’d, their fees while they crave,

Dancing round them, twelve doctors are seen: They drink chicken-broth, while this horrible stave Is twang'd thro' each nose—" To Giles Jollup the Grave,

“ And his patient, the sick Sally Green!"

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

WILLIAM PENN, NATHAN, and THE BAILIFF.

BY PETER PINDAR, ESQ.

AS

S well as I can recollect,

It is a story of fam'd William Penn,
By Bailiffs oft belet, without effect,

Like numbers of our Lords and Gentlemen

« ПредишнаНапред »