 | The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie |  |
XIV.
And she, ere stroke of midnight bell,Did bound her for that dismal cell;
And took that haunted, fearful way,
Which, till that hour, in twilight grey,
She never by herself had past,
Or e'en athwart its copse-wood cast
A hasty glance, for dread of seeing
The form of some unearthly being.
But now, far other forms of fear
To her scared sight appear,
And, like a sudden fit of ague move her;
The stump of some old, blasted tree,
Or upright stone, or colt broke free
To range at will the dewy lea,
Seem lurking spy or rustic lover,
Who may, e'en through the dark, her secret drift discover.
| The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie | |