Still sat he deep musing till midnight hour,
And then in a waking dream—
He quailed to hear mid the tempest a crash,
And eke a wild piercing scream.
O mercy! cried he, with faltering breath,
What sounds are these which I hear?
May evil be far from both me and mine!
Good Lord, be thou to us near!
No longer sat he in that old arm-chair,
But prayed and lay down in bed;
And strove hard to sleep, and not hear the storm
That scowled and raged o'er his head.
But sleep seldom comes when 'tis most desired,
And least to a troubled mind;
And the Parson lay wake long time, I ween,
Ere soft repose he could find.
As the dark hours of night passed slowly on,
He slept as weary man will;
But light was his sleep, and broken his rest,
And sad his fore-dread of ill.
Thus restless he lay, and at early dawn
He dream'd that he fell amain,
Down—down an abyss of fathomless depth,
Loud shrieking for help in vain.
He woke up at once with a sudden shock,
And threw out his arms wide-spread;
"Good heavens!" he gasped, "what ill-omen is this?
Where am I—with quick or dead?"
Right well was he pleased to find 'twas a dream—
That still he was safe and sound:
With the last shades of night, fear passed away,
And joy once again came round.
The morning was calm, and the storm was hushed,
Nor wind nor rain swept the sky;
And betimes he arose, for bound was he
To Bakewell that day to hie.
Old Hugh brought his horse to the garden gate,
And saw him all safe astride;
"Good-bye!" quoth the Parson; quoth Hugh, "good-bye!
I wish you a pleasant ride!"