Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1835.pdf/86



Legend, on which this story is founded, is immediately taken from Mr. Thomas's most interesting collection. I have allowed myself some licence, in my arrangement of the story: but fairy tales have an old-established privilege of change; at least, if we judge by the various shapes which they assume in the progress of time, and by process of translation.

did she love her mother's so? It hath wrought her wondrous wo.

Once she saw an armed knight In the pale sepulchral night; When the sullen starbeams throw Evil spells on earth below; And the moon is cold and pale, And a voice is on the gale, Like a lost soul's heavenward cry, Hopeless in its agony.

He stood beside the castle gate, The hour was dark, the hour was late; With the bearing of a king Did he at the portal ring, And the loud and hollow bell Sounded like a Christian's knell. That pale child stood on the wall, Watching there, and saw it all. Then she was a child as fair As the opening blossoms are: But with large black eyes, whose light Spoke of mystery and might. The stately stranger's head was bound With a bright and golden round; Curiously inlaid, each scale Shone upon his glittering mail; His high brow was cold and dim, And she felt she hated him. Then she heard her mother's voice, Saying, "'Tis not at my choice! "Wo for ever, wo the hour, "When you sought my secret bower, "Listening to the word of fear, "Never meant for human ear.

"Thy suspicion's vain endeavour, "Wo! wo! parted us for ever."

Still the porter of the hall Heeded not that crown'd knight's call. When a glittering shape there came, With a brow of starry flame; And he led that knight again O'er the bleak and barren plain. He flung, with an appealing cry, His dark and desperate arms on high; And from Melusina's sight Fled away through thickest night. Who has not, when but a child, Treasured up some vision wild; Haunting them with nameless fear, Filling all they see or hear, In the midnight's lonely hour, With a strange mysterious power? So a terror undefined Entered in that infant mind;— A fear that haunted her alone, For she told her thought to none.

Years passed on, and each one threw O'er those walls a deeper hue; Large and old the ivy leaves Heavy hung around the eaves, Till the darksome rooms within Daylight never entered in. And the spider's silvery line Was the only thing to shine. Years past on,—the fair child now Wore maiden beauty on her brow— Beauty such as rarely flowers In a fallen world like ours.