“God grants, that to punish thy falsehood and pride,
“My ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side,
“Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride,
“And bear thee away to the grave!”
Thus saying, his arms round the lady he wound,
While loudly she shriek’d in dismay;
Then sank with his prey, through the wide yawning ground,
Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found,
Or the spectre who bore her away.
Not long liv’d the Baron; and none since that time,