"
He went unto the feast, and much
He thought upon his ring;
And marvelled sorely what could mean
So very strange a thing!
The feast was o'er, and to the court
He hied without delay,
Resolved to break the marble hand
And force the ring away.
But, mark a stranger wonder still--
The ring was there no more
And yet the marble hand ungrasped,
And open as before!
He searched the base, and all the court,
But nothing could he find;
Then to the castle hied he back
With sore bewildered mind.
Within he found them all in mirth,
The night in dancing flew:
The youth another ring procured,
And none the adventure knew.
And now the priest has joined their hands,
The hours of love advance:
Rupert almost forgets to think
Upon the morn's mischance.
Within the bed fair Isabel
In blushing sweetness lay,
Like flowers, half-opened by the
dawn,
And waiting for the day.
And Rupert, by her lovely side,
In youthful beauty glows,
Like Phoebus, when he bends to cast
His beams upon a rose.
And here my song would leave them both,
Nor let the rest be told,
If 'twere not for the horrid tale
It yet has to unfold.
Soon Rupert, 'twixt his bride and him
A death cold carcass found;
He saw it not, but thought he felt
Its arms embrace him round.
Pages:
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174