Gave but one look the cavalier—
Murmur'd a vow the lady fair—
His right arm is around her thrown
Her form close-gather'd to his own;
While his brave steed, white as the snow,
Darts like an arrow from the bow;
His hoofs fall fast as tempest rain
Spurning the road that rings again.
Onward the race!—now fainter sounds
The yell and whoop; but still like hounds
The pirate band behind him rush
Breaking the mountains solemn hush.
On speeds he now—his steed so white
Far in advance, proclaims his flight;
God speed him and his bride!
But ah! that chasm's fearful gape
Seems to forbid hope of escape,
He cannot turn aside.
He bends his head; is it in pray'r?
Is it to shed a bitter tear?
Or utter craven vow?
No; 'tis to gaze into those eyes
Which are to him love-litten skies—
To kiss his lady's brow.
And must he on? full well he knew
That none were spar'd by that wild crew—
Never a lady fair.
And now a shout, a fierce halloo,
Told that they were again in view—
Close to his ear a bullet sings,
And then the distant carbine rings.
Why pales the cavalier?
And why does he now set his teeth
And draw his dagger from its sheath?
He breasts his charger at the leap—
He pricketh him full sharp and deep:
He leaps, and then with heaving flank
Gains footing on the other bank:
A moment—'mid the pass's gloom,
Vanish both veil and dancing plume—
It seems a dream. No! there is proof,
The clatter of a flying hoof,
And too, the lady's steed remains,
With empty seat, and flying reins;
And then is borne to that wild rout,
A long and proud triumphant shout.
And he who led the pirate band,
Urg'd on his horse, with spur and hand;
The long locks drifted from his brow,
Like midnight waves from storm-vexed prow;
And darkly flashed his eyes of jet
Beneath the brows which almost met.
Stern was his face; but war and crime,
—For he had sinn'd in many a clime—
Had plough'd it deeper far than time.
He was their chief: will he draw rein?
Will he the yawning rift refrain?
And with his halting band remain?
He rais'd up in his stirrups, high,
Better the chasm to descry,
And measure with his hawk-like eye,
While his dark steed begrim'd with toil,
Tried madly, vainly, to recoil!
A mutter'd curse—a sabre goad—
Full at the leap the robber rode:
Great God! his horse near dead and spent,
Scarce halfway o'er the chasm went.
That fearful rush, and daring bound,
Was followed by a crashing sound—
A sudden, awful knell!
For down, more than a thousand feet,
Where mist and mountain torrent meet,
That reckless rider fell.
His band drew up:—they could not speak,
For long, and loud his charger's shriek
Was heard in an unearthly scream,
Above that roaring mountain stream—
Like fancied sound in fever'd dream,
When the sick brain with crazy skill
Weaves fantasies of woe and ill.
Some said: no steed gave forth that yell,
And hinted solemnly of—hell!
And others said, that from his vest
A miniature with haughty crest
And features like the lady's 'pressed,
Fell on the rugged bank:
But who he was, none knew or tell;
They simply point out where he fell
When horse and horseman sank.
Like Ravenswood he left no trace—
Tradition only points the place.
Rude is my hand, and rude my lay—
Rude as the Inn, time-worn and grey,
Where resting, on the mountain-way,
I heard the tale which I have tried
To tell to thee; and saw the wide
Deep rift—ten yards from side to side—
Great God! it was a fearful ride
The robber took that day.
THREE SUMMER STUDIES.
I.
The cock hath crow'd. I hear the doors unbarr'd;
Down to the moss-grown porch my way I take,
And hear, beside the well within the yard,
Full many an ancient, quacking, splashing drake,
And gabbling goose, and noisy brood-hen—all
Responding to yon strutting gobbler's call.
The dew is thick upon the velvet grass—
The porch-rails hold it in translucent drops,
And as the cattle from th' enclosure pass,
Each one, alternate, slowly halts and crops
The tall, green spears, with all their dewy load,
Which grow beside the well-known pasture-road.