The fignal-lamp by Jane was feen
To glimmer on the waves of Clyde.

She cares not for her father's tears,
She feels not for her father's fighs;
No voice but headftrong Love's fhe hears,
And down the staircase swift she hies.

Though thrice the Brownic* fhriek'd" Beware!"?
Though thrice was heard a dying groan,
She op'd the caf le gate.--Lo! there

She found the friendly monk alone,

-Oh! where is Edgar, father, fay?--
-"On! on!" the friendly monk replied;
"He fear'd his berry-brown fteed fhould neigh,
"And waits us on the banks of Clyde.".

Then on they hurried, and on they hied,
Down Bothwell's flope fo fteep and green,
And foon they reach'd the river's fide————
Alas! no Edgar yet was feen!

Then, bonny Jane, thy fpirits funk;

Fill'd was thy heart with ftrange alarms!

"Now thou art mine !" exclaim'd the monk,

And clasp'd her in his ruffian arms.

*The Brownie is a domeftic fpirit, whofe voice is always heard lamenting, when any accident is about to befall the family to which fhe has attached herself,

"Know,

"Know, yonder bark must bear thee straight,
"Where Blantyre owns my gay controul :
"There Love and Joy to greet thee wait,
"There Pleasure crowns for thee her bowl.

"Long have I loved thee, bonny Jane,

66

Long breathed to thee my fecret vow! Come then, fweet maid !-nay, ftrife is vain; "Not heaven itself can fave thee now !"

The damfel fhriek'd, and would have fled,
When lo! his poniard prefs'd her throat!
"One cry, and 'tis your last !"—he said,
And bore her fainting tow'rds the boat,

The moon fhone bright; the winds were chain'd;
The boatman swiftly plied his oar;

But ere the river's midft was gain'd,
The tempeft-fiend was heard to roat.

Rain fell in sheets; high fwell'd the Clyde ; Blue flam'd the lightning's blafting brand! "Oh! lighten the bark!" the boatman cried, "Or hope no more to reach the strand.

"E'en now we stand on danger's brink! "E'en now the boat half fill'd I fee!

"Oh! lighten it foon, or elfe we fink! "Oh! lighten it of.... your gay la-die!"

With fhrieks the maid his counsel hears;
But vain are now her prayers and cries,
Who cared not for her father's tears,
Who felt not for her father's sighs!

Fear conquer'd love !-In wild despair
The abbot view'd the watery grave,
Then feized his victim's golden hair,

And plunged her in the foaming wave!

She fcreams!-fhe finks!" Row, boatman, row!
"The bark is light!" the abbot cries,
Row, boatman, row to land!"-When lo!
Gigantic grew the boatman's fize.!

With burning fteel his temples bound
Throbb'd quick and high with fiery pangs;
He roll'd his blood-fhot eyeballs round,
And furious gnath'd his iron fangs :

His hands two gore-fed fcorpions grafp'd;
His eyes fell joy and fpite exprefs'd.
-"Thy cup is full!"-he faid, and clafp'd
The abbot to his burning breaft.

With hideous yell down finks the boat,
And straight the warring winds fubfide;
Moon-filver'd clouds through æther float,
And gently murmuring flows the Clyde.

Since then full many a winter's powers

In chains of ice the earth have bound; And many a spring, with blushing flowers And herbage gay, has robed the ground;

Yet legends fay, at Hallow-E'en,

When Silence holds her deepest reign,
That still the ferryman-fiend is feen
To waft the monk and bonny Jane ;

And still does Blantyre's wreck difplay.
The fignal-lamp at midnight hour ;
And ftill to watch its fatal ray,

The phantom-fair haunts Bothwell Tower

Still tunes her lute to Edgar's name,

Still chides the hours which stay her flight; Still fings," In Blantyre fhines the flame? Ah! no!-'tis but the northern-light!"

No. II.

OSRIC THE LION.

ORIGINAL.- -M. G. LEWIS,

Since writing this Ballad, I have seen a French one, entitled "La Veillée de la Bonne Mère," which has some resemblance with it.

SWIFT roll the Rhine's billows, and water the plains,
Where Falkenftein Caftle's majestic remains

Their moss-cover'd turrets still rear:

Oft loves the gaunt wolf midft the ruins to prowl,
What time from the battlements pours the lone ow!
Her plaints in the paffenger's ear.

No longer refound through the vaults of yon hall
The fong of the minstrel, and mirth of the ball;
Those pleasures for ever are fled :

There now dwells the bat with her light-fhunning brood,
There ravens and vultures now clamour for food,

And all is dark, filent, and dread !

Ha!