And when he saw the blood-scrawled name,
His eyes with fury shine;
"I thought," cries he, "his time was out,
"But he must soon be mine!"
Then darting at the youth a look
Which rent his soul with fear,
He went unto the female fiend,
And whispered in her ear.
The female fiend no sooner heard
Than, with reluctant look,
The very ring that Rupert lost,
She from her finger took.
And, giving it unto the youth,
With eyes that breathed of hell,
She said, in that tremendous voice,
Which he remembered well:
"In Austin's name take back the ring,
"The ring thou gavest to me;
"And thou'rt to me no longer wed,
"Nor longer I to thee."
He took the ring, the rabble past.
He home returned again;
His wife was then the happiest fair,
The happiest he of men.
[1] I should be sorry to think that my friend had any serious intentions
of frightening the nursery by this story; I rather hope--though the manner
of it leads me to doubt--that his design was to ridicule that distempered
taste which prefers those monsters of the fancy to the _"speciosa
miracula"_ of true poetic imagination.
TO .... ....
ON SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL AND A RICH GIRDLE.
Put off the vestal Veil, nor, oh!
Let weeping angels View it;
Your cheeks belie its virgin snow.
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