But the rose of her lips had faded away,
And her cheek was as white, and as cold as clay, And torn was her raven hair.
Ah, ha!" said the Fisher, in merry guise,
"Her gallant was hook'd before."
And the Abbot heaved some piteous sighs,
For oft had he bless'd those deep blue eyes,
The eyes of Mistress Shore !
There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks,
As he took forth a bait from his iron box.
Many the cunning sportsman tried,
Many he flung with a frown aside;
A minstrel's harp, and a miser's chest,
A hermit's cowl, and a baron's crest,
Jewels of lustre, robes of price,
Tomes of heresy, loaded dice,
And golden cups of the brightest wine
That ever was pressed from the Burgundy vine.
There was a perfume of sulphur and nitre,
As he came at last to a bishop's mitre !
From top to toe the Abbot shook,
As the Fisherman armed his golden hook;
And awfully were his features wrought
By some dark dream, or wakened thought.
Look how the fearful felon gazes
On the scaffold his country's vengeance raises,
When the lips are cracked, and the jaws are dry,
With the thirst which only in death shall die:
Mark the mariner's frenzied frown,
As the swaling wherry settles down,
When peril has numbed the sense and will,
Though the hand and the foot may struggle still:
Wilder far was the Abbot's glance,
Deeper far was the Abbot's trance:
Fixed as a monument, still as air,
He bent no knee, and he breathed no prayer;
But he signed-he knew not why or how-
The sign of the cross on his clammy brow.
There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks,
As he stalked away with his iron box.
Oh oh! Oh oh! the cock doth crow;
It is time for the Fisher to rise and go,
Fair luck to the Abbot, fair luck to the shrine !
He hath gnawed in twain my choicest line;
Let him swim to the north, let him swim to the south,
The Abbot will carry my hook in his mouth!
The Abbot had preached for many years,
With as clear articulation,
As ever was heard in the House of Peers
Against emancipation.
His words had made battalions quake,
Had roused the zeal of martyrs ;
Had kept the court an hour awake,
And the king himself three quarters;
But ever, from that hour 'tis said,
He stammered, and he stuttered,
As if an axe went through his head,
With every word he uttered.
He stutter'd o'er blessing, he stutter'd o'er ban,
He stutter'd, drunk or dry,
And none but he and the Fisherman
Could tell the reason, why!
There sat an owl in an old oak tree,
Whooping very merrily;
He was considering, as well he might,
Ways and means for a supper that night:
He look'd about with a solemn scowl,
Yet very happy was the owl,
For, in the hollow of that oak tree.
There sat his wife, and his children three.
She was singing one to rest,
Another, under her downy breast
'Gan trying his voice, to learn her song,
The third (a hungry owl was he)
Peep'd slyly out of the old oak tree,
And peer'd for his dad, and said, "You're long;"
But he hooted for joy, when he presently saw
His sire, with a full grown mouse in his claw.
Oh what a supper they had that night!
All was feasting and delight;
Who most can chatter, or cram, they strive,
They were the merriest owls alive.
What then did the old owl do?
Ah! not se gay was his next too-whoo!
It was very sadly said,
For after his children had gone to bed,
He did not sleep with his children three,
For, truly, a gentleman owl was he,
Who would not on his wife intrude,
When she was nursing her infant brood,
So not to invade the nursery,
He slept outside the hollow tree.
So when he awoke at the fall of the dew,
He call'd his wife with a loud too-whoo;
"Awake, dear wife, it is evening gray,
And our joys live from the death of day."
He call'd once more, and he shudder'd when
No voice replied to his voice again;
Yet still unwilling to believe,
That Evil's raven wing was spread,
Hovering over his guiltless head,
And shutting out joy from his hollow tree.
"Ha-ha-they play me a trick," quoth he,
"They will not speak,-well, well, at night
They'll talk enough, I'll take a flight."
But still he went not in nor out,
But hopp'd uneasily about.
What then did the father owl?
He sat still, until below
He heard cries of pain and woe,
And saw his wife and children three,
In a young boy's captivity.
He follow'd them with noiseless wing,
Not a cry once uttering.
They went to a mansion tall,
He sat in a window of the hall;
And he heard the hall with laughter ring,
When the boy said, "Blind they'll learn to sing."
And he heard the shriek, when the hot steel pin
Through their eyeballs was thrust in !
He felt it all! Their agony
Was echoed by his frantic cry,
His scream rose up with a mighty swell,
And wild on the boy's fierce heart it fell;
It quail'd him, as he shuddering said,
"Lo, the little birds are dead.'
But the father owl!
He tore his breast in his despair,
And flew he knew not, reck'd not, where!
But whither then went the father owl.
With his wild stare and deathly scowl ?
Many seasons travell'd he,
With his load of misery,
Striving to forget the pain
Which was clinging to his brain;
But all in vain his wanderings were,
He could not from his memory tear
The things that had been, still were there.
One night, very, very weary,
He sat in a hollow tree,
With all his thoughts-ah! all so dreary
For his only company;-
He heard something—'t was a stroke
Strong on the root of the sturdy oak
It shook him from his reverie-
He looked down, and he might see
A stranger close to the hollow tree!
His looks were haggard, wild, and bad,
Yet the owl knew in the man, the lad
Who had destroy'd him !—he was glad!
And a lady, once lovely, too, was there,
But now no longer bright nor fair;
She was lying on the ground,
Mute and motionless, no sound
Came from her coral lips, for they
Were seal'd in blood; and, as she lay,
Her locks of the sun's most golden gleam,
Were dabbled in the crimson stream,
Which ran all wildly forth to meet,
And cling around the murderer's feet.
He was digging a grave-the bird
Shriek'd aloud-the murderer heard
Once again that boding scream,
And saw again those wild eyes gleam-
And "Curse on the fiend," he cried, and flung
His mattock up-it caught and hung-
The felon stood awhile aghast
Then fled through the forest-fast, fast, fast.
|