Ellen Gray or, The dead maiden's curse. A poem, by the late Dr. Archibald Macleod [i.e. W. L. Bowles] |
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 | Ellen Gray |  |
Come, hasten—yonder is the church; away
All cares, for who can mournful be to-day?
The bells are ringing, and the rites are o'er,—
The nuptial train return along the shore,
Cheer'd by new hopes of life: as thus they pass'd,
In sudden blackness rush'd the impetuous blast ;
Deep thunder roll'd, with long portentous sound,
At distance: nearer now, it shakes the ground,
Whilst Hubert sinks with speechless dread oppress'd,
As the fork'd flash seems darted at his breast.
His beating heart was heard,—bleach'd was his cheek,—
A well-known voice seem'd in the storm to speak;
Aghast he cried, wild phrenzy in his look,
“Oh! shut the book, dear Ellen, shut the book!”
All cares, for who can mournful be to-day?
The bells are ringing, and the rites are o'er,—
The nuptial train return along the shore,
Cheer'd by new hopes of life: as thus they pass'd,
In sudden blackness rush'd the impetuous blast ;
Deep thunder roll'd, with long portentous sound,
At distance: nearer now, it shakes the ground,
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As the fork'd flash seems darted at his breast.
His beating heart was heard,—bleach'd was his cheek,—
A well-known voice seem'd in the storm to speak;
Aghast he cried, wild phrenzy in his look,
“Oh! shut the book, dear Ellen, shut the book!”
| Ellen Gray | |