Tales of Terror :: :: University of Virginia Library

The clock it struck twelve, clear and calm was the night,
Bright beam'd from the heavens the moon's paly light;
No sentinel watch'd on steep Karlofelt's wall,
Scarce a breath shook the banners that waved in the hall,
While through the wide courts silent echo reposed,
And in sleep every eye in the castle was closed.

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All, all but poor Bertha's! there tears flow'd amain,
And hope in her breast held its wavering reign;
Full sore she lamented her lover's delay,
'Twas the hour when he promised to bear her away;
Her eyes o'er the mountains she wistfully cast,
And her heart quicker throbb'd at each sigh of the blast.

—“Haste! haste! my Geraldus, time urges,” she said,
“'Twill be dawn-light ere far we've from Karlofelt fled;
“O'er the mountains of Sevo fast prick on your steed,
“Let the impulse of love give new wings to your speed;
“Haste, haste, to your Bertha, and hush her alarms,
“For no danger she'll fear when she's lock'd in your arms!”—

She spake; when her lamp's trembling glimmer display'd
Full many a form on the arras portray'd;
Gloomy thoughts on her ill-boding fancy arose,
When her eyes met the stories of true lovers' woes;
When depicted she saw, in his wide-yawning den,
The blaster of love, the grim Sprite of the Glen!

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—“Great God!” she exclaimed, “Oh! preserve me this night,
“From the deep-lurking snares of this mischievous sprite,
“For tradition declares, that when young he oft tried,
“From the damsels of Sevo, to bring home a bride;
“But refused, he revengeful now strives by his charms
“To tear the fond maid from her true lover's arms.”—

As she gazed on the picture, all sad and dismay'd,
His dark-scowling visage new terrors array'd;
She saw in the face indignation arise,
And the fire of revenge brightly flash'd in his eyes;
No longer the moon on the battlements beam'd,
And the owl, at her window, ill-ominous scream'd!

Bewilder'd by fancy, and conquer'd by dread,
The terror-struck maiden now sunk on her bed;
O'er her woe-begone bosom, while fear held its sway,
She sigh'd a sad sigh, and then motionless lay;
Nor again with new life did her languid pulse move
E'er she heard, in low whispers, the voice of her love.

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—“Descend now, my Bertha, and banish affright,
“The winds they all sleep, and the moon-beams shine bright,
“My courser awaits thee, sweet Bertha,” he said,
“Ere dawn we shall far have from Karlofelt fled.”—
Quick Bertha descended, and hush'd her alarms,
For no danger she fear'd when fast lock'd in his arms.

To his bosom he press'd her, so white and so wan,
And kiss'd off the tears that slow trickle-ing ran;
To his bosom he press'd her, and oft as she sigh'd,
Her fears he'd in accents of tenderness chide.
Full quickly they sped o'er the reed-skirted fen,
And enter'd the shades of Duvranno's dark glen!

On each side of the dell a rude precipice frown'd,
Whose craggs were with deep-tangled thickets embrown'd;
O'er the dale a chill horror the pine-branches shed,
Night blacken'd the steep, all was darkness and dread!
Oft was heard from its eyrie the hawk's piercing scream,
While o'er the loose pebbles hoarse-babbled the stream.

This prospect so frightful poor Bertha alarm'd,
And fear froze the bosom which love lately warm'd;

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—“Oh, stop thee, my true-love! my spirits now fail,
“Must we pass through the shades of Duvranno's dark dale?”—
—“Oh! hush thee, sweet-heart, nor thus shrink with dismay,
“In this glen waits my courser to bear thee away.”—

Now onward they hasten'd, all drear was the view,
To their nests sped the night-birds, and croak'd as they flew;
—“See, my love,” said the knight, “near yon far-spreading pine,
“My courser awaits thee, now Bertha is mine!”—
—“Yes, I'm thine!” cried the maiden, “with you will I flee,
“For Bertha's fond bosom beats only for thee!”—

—“Then perish, thou false one! let death be thy doom!”—
Cried a youth, as he sprang from a thicket's dark gloom;
“This drinks thy life-blood!”—with a shriek fell the maid,
As deep in her bosom he struck the cold blade!

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But, O God! what a pang rent her breast when she found,
'Twas the steel of Geraldus inflicted the wound!

—“Nor,” frantic, he cried, “is my vengeance complete,
“Till thou too, cursed rival, shall bleed at my feet!”—
His sword then he brandish'd and rush'd on his foe,
In vain on the helmet resounded the blow,
When again did he eager the breast-plate assail,
His steel shiver'd short on the well-twisted mail!

But how started Geraldus with fear and affright,
When sudden the armour fell off from the knight!
On the ground rung his hauberk, his vizor unclosed,
And a face fraught with grim exultation exposed;
A shriek from poor Bertha her horror express'd,
For before her the Sprite of the Glen stood confess'd!

On his form so gigantic, all reeking with gore,
A rough shaggy mantle of bear-skin he wore,
Malignity scowl'd in his features so ghast,
His broad sable pinions he waved in the blast:

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—“Mine's the conquest!” he cried, “for my spells and my charms,
“Have torn a fond maid from her true-lover's arms!”—

—“Look up,” cried Geraldus, “look up my pale love,
“For us this deep snare hath the wily fiend wove!
“He prompted the blow, yet forgive me, sweet heart,
“O! my Bertha, one look ere for ever we part!”—
Poor Bertha look'd up, and full sadly she sigh'd,
Gave a smile of forgiveness, faint murmur'd, and died.

—“Stop, my love,” he exclaim'd, “for together we'll flee,
“And the grave, the cold grave, shall our bridal-bed be;”—
Thrice in agony speechless he gazed on her form,
Thrice he kiss'd her pale lips that with life still were warm,
Thrice he plunged in his bosom the blade wet with gore,
Then clasp'd his poor Bertha, to clasp her no more.

Like the crash of an earthquake the fiend's hideous yell
Fill'd each wood and each vale as the true lovers fell;

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The forest-clad mountains, convulsed at the sound,
Shook the pines from their summits, and hurled them around;
Each cavern's dark spirit, aroused by the cry,
Burst forth in a hollow-toned echo of joy!

Oft the fond wakeful maid wets her pillow with tears,
When at midnight these heart-freezing murmurs she hears;
Full oft too, at eve, when she bids him “farewel,”
Her soul's horror and dread to her lover she'll tell,
Who will spur on his steed o'er the rush-cover'd fen,
Lest he meet, in the twilight, the Sprite of the Glen!

Magic-spells.