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JOSEPH NCDONOUGI 
 RARE BOOKS 
 
 ^ ALBANY -NY. 
 
BETRAYED: 
 
 A NORTHERN TALE. 
 
 IN SEVEN PARTS. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. D. HYLTON, 
 
 Author of " The Heir of Lyolynn, &^(- , iS-^r- 
 
 PALMYRA, NEW JERSEY, 
 1880. 
 
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 COPYRIGHT SECURED. 
 
DEDICATION, 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 A son have I, a ruddy boy, 
 All full of health and life and joy, 
 Whose burly form doth promise give, 
 If he to man's estate should live. 
 That we a health}' man shall find • 
 Alike in body and in mind. 
 He drives his goat, his, pou}' rides, 
 Like pei'fect horseman, him bestrides ; 
 Flies forth on him o'er hill and dale. 
 Leaps broadest ditch and highest rail ; 
 LeajDS with his dog, or him outruns. 
 Nor any danger shirks nor shuns ; 
 Swims on the stream, or rows his boat, 
 And shouts the songs he has by rote. 
 Does everything I bid him do. 
 To me is alwaj^s kind and true ; 
 And while on winter nights ni}' time 
 I spent in building up this rh3'me. 
 Beside my chair his own he drew. 
 His blue eyes fix'd on me their view, 
 And as I wrote each couplet down, 
 I saw him either smile or frown — 
 Just as it chanced his list'ning ear 
 Did plain or not my mutterings hear ; 
 For as with verse I paper don 
 Aloud m}' song I alwa3'S con ; 
 It seems to give it smoother flow, 
 And make mj^ song more rapid grow ; 
 And when a coviplet pleased his ear 
 He would repeat it loud and clear. 
 This rh3'me -alone amongst this host 
 Has alwaj' s seemed to please him most : 
 " Forward the stream of time has drawn. 
 To gulfs that never cease to j-awn." 
 Both night and day I hear his voice 
 Repeat aloud and oft his choice. 
 With me he'd sit right late at night, 
 Till drowsiness o'ercame him quite ; 
 Then on the lounge he'd sink to rest, 
 His burly arms across his breast ; 
 And when Aurora's ros}^ car 
 Lit up the east and paled each star, 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 From off the lounge he lightly sprung, 
 
 Around my neck his arms he flung, 
 
 Upon my lips his kisses press'd 
 
 And me all tenderly caressed ; 
 
 Then bade me read him every thought 
 
 That I through night in ink had wrought. 
 
 While this I did, I saw his e3^es 
 
 Sparkle with'joy or deep surprise — 
 
 Display in it an interest strong, 
 
 Which might to fuller years belong — 
 
 Yes, yes, to one of man's estate ; 
 
 So to him this tale I dedicate. 
 
 He is my best and truest friend. 
 
 And his I'll be till life shall end. 
 
 Yes, through all life or death for him 
 
 I'd slum no peril, dark nor grim. 
 
 No mortal nor immortal woe. 
 
 And he the same for me will show 
 
 Through every varied change of fate. 
 
 Let my success be small or great. 
 
 So this, and all verses I create, 
 
 I do to him them dedicate 
 
 May love of God by him be won. 
 
 And every blessing crown my son. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 About a year has ta'en its flight 
 Across this realm of day and night, 
 Since I brought forth through joy and 
 
 pain, 
 Another vintage of, my brain 
 I styled the Bride of Gettysburg, 
 Whose metre charmed John Odenswurg, 
 A friend of mine, whose hand and pen 
 Is foremost 'mongst the sons of men ; 
 Whose mind soars o'er the noblest walks 
 Wherever knowledge sings or talks ; 
 Whose judgment ever stands supreme 
 'Mongst men, whatever be the theme ; 
 Who is a critic sharp and keen 
 As ever in this sphere was seen, 
 But void of all things base and mean ; 
 Whose spirit knows no spite nor spleen. 
 But is of every baseness clean 
 As is the purest gold, I ween, 
 That ever gleamed on hand of queen. 
 Or rosy lass of seventeen. 
 I've never known his soul to lean 
 To'rds that grim monster all obscene 
 Whose eyes they say are bleared and 
 
 green, 
 With flaming tongue foul lips between. 
 Whose haggared features plainly show 
 Its servile nature, grim and low, 
 Where never thought nor deed did glow 
 To comfort j 03^ or solace woe, 
 Which ne'er heroic feeling felt 
 And where no thought of courage dwelt ; 
 But is all low, depraved and vile, 
 Concentred mass of fraud and wile. 
 Yes, void of jealousy is he. 
 As is the earn that breaks the sea ; 
 And brave is he as is the rock 
 That backward turns the billow's shock. 
 And this friend of mine, John Odenswurg, 
 Pronounced my Bride of Gettysburg 
 A noble tale, from end to end. 
 As ever yet by man was penn'd ; 
 Sublime in thought, in action grand. 
 Let the scene be on flood or land — 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 All, all, was limned to nature true, 
 
 Whate'er the figure, shade or hue — 
 
 The grass within my story grew 
 
 The way that laughing nature knew. 
 
 And flowers bloomed upon the earth, 
 
 As they in nature found their birth, 
 
 The mountains reared their peaks on high, 
 
 And o'er them spread the sacred sky 
 
 Just as they are in nature seen, 
 
 With winter's rime or summer's green , 
 
 The floods gushed forth in streams or rills 
 
 As they gush over nature's hills ; 
 
 The ocean looked, in calm or storm, 
 
 As in the lap of nature warm. 
 
 And when the human heart I drew, 
 
 I painted it to nature true ; 
 
 Limn'd it in either ill or good 
 
 As it has aye in nature stood. 
 
 My battle scenes were limn'd complete, 
 
 In either triumph or defeat ; 
 
 As swept the tide of verse along, 
 
 The cannon thundered in my song, 
 
 And plain the charger's neigh was heard, 
 
 As death and tumult round him stirr'd ; 
 
 And defeat, victory, or death. 
 
 Rolled from the drum or trumpet's breath. 
 
 Thus speaks my friend, John Odenswurg, 
 
 About my Bride of Gettysburg. 
 
 And yet I do not thank him more 
 
 Than other critics, full a score. 
 
 Who said my tale was full of fault, 
 
 Did all in rhyme and nonsense wait. 
 
 From end to end all lame and halt — 
 
 Tasted like bread all void of salt 
 
 Mixed with sand or flinty gault, 
 
 Or porter with no taste of malt. 
 
 That mouldering lies in the vault. 
 
 That will in silence waste away 
 
 ¥/hen vats that hold it shall decay. 
 
 I do not care if good or ill 
 
 The critics speak of me, I still 
 
 In heart and soul shall feel the same, 
 
 Let them bestow me praise or blame. 
 
 I know my tale is really good, 
 
 And if 'tis rightly understood 
 
 By those who read it through and throvigh, 
 
 Thejr'll view my verse as it I view 
 
 And credit me as is my due — 
 
 Bear witness what I say is true ; 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 They'll see it is not full of fault, 
 
 Nor in the least way lame and halt, 
 
 But sturdy, native strength is thrown 
 
 In every line unto them shown, 
 
 And none of feebleness is known 
 
 In any of its flow or tone. 
 
 Those who praise, give but what's my due 
 
 And tell me what I know is true ; 
 
 And while I thank them for all this, 
 
 Yet I feel, nor do I feel amiss. 
 
 Nor am I it asliamed to tell. 
 
 That I have really paid them well 
 
 For all the trouble, praise and time 
 
 They've spent a'conning o'er my rhyme ; 
 
 For surely, they have in it found 
 
 Some things that made their spirits bound 
 
 With sorrow, joy, delight or hope. 
 
 Or made them altogether cope. 
 
 Perhaps they far better spent their time 
 
 A'reacling o'er my flowing rhyme, 
 
 Than had it never met their view, 
 
 Nor vital breath its author drew. 
 
 To those who blindly me condemn, 
 
 I'd speak a word or two with them: 
 
 If me the3^'d only deign to meet 
 
 Within some classical retreat, 
 
 I'd still their jealousy awliile. 
 
 Make reason through their beings smile. 
 
 If e'er with them I chance to meet, 
 
 A gallant friend or foe they'll greet. 
 
 And with my mind and spirit fraught 
 
 With just such feelings and such thought, 
 
 I send forth on the stream of time 
 
 Another tale in flowing rhyme. 
 
 Which I, its father, style Betrayed, 
 
 Nor feel I for its success afraid. 
 
 Go forth, my child, upon your course, 
 
 You o'er the world your way shall force ; 
 
 Nor shall human hands your progress mar, 
 
 Nor 3^ou from your just glory bar. 
 
 Press on ; I'll put you to the test ; 
 
 I've blest .you, and you shall be blest. 
 
 Pres on, press on ; your sire's arm 
 
 Shall shield you from all dole and harm. 
 
 The good will hail ^'ou with a zest, 
 
 And bless you, as j^ou I have blest. 
 
 You shall not beg, but force your way. 
 
 And nothing fear by night nor day 
 
BETRAYED. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Autumn's lazy mists spread soft and still, 
 With amber hues o'er sky and hill ; 
 The setting sun all bright and fair, 
 With yellow glorj'" fills the air ; 
 Gives unto hill and dale below, 
 An all-bewitching, crimson glow. 
 And sweet does sparkling rill and stream 
 Reflect the fast departing beam, 
 O'er trees where frost but late has been, 
 And turned to red their leaves of green ; 
 Huge gums and oaks and maples tall. 
 Poplars vast, scrub-wood dense but small, 
 The sun bestowes his parting glow, 
 Makes all the hues of fire show ; 
 Like sparks of flame amidst the glare, 
 Their leaves at times fall on the air — 
 Far from their parent stems repair. 
 Then spark-lilte, make on earth their lair 
 Along the base of those bright hills. 
 Whence gush a hundred rippling rills, 
 Which form a river broad and clear 
 Of waters pure as ever were ; 
 
1 BETRAYED. 
 
 Whose shallow crystal ripples show, 
 The pebbles white o'er which they flow. 
 And pastures broad and rich and green, 
 On which are herds of cattle seen, 
 And bleating sheep b}^ thousands graze. 
 O'er fields that midst the sun-set blaze. 
 
 II. 
 
 High on the mountain's rocky side, 
 O'erlooking all the pastures wide, 
 There stood, built of dark-gray stone, 
 A mansion fair as e'er was known. 
 Its stately walls and slated roof. 
 To flame and rain and storms are proof 
 Full many a spacious room, I ween. 
 Is in that stately mansion seen. 
 It looks all like some castle-hold 
 Reared b}^ some gallant prince of old, 
 Save that no battlements are there. 
 Such as round ancient castles were ; 
 But all around are porches seen. 
 And o'er them crawls the ivy green ; 
 Near by are walks with hedges trim. 
 And stately trees of giant limb. 
 And gardens that in summer time 
 Breathe round a fragrance all sublime. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Upon its porch the owner stands, 
 And gazes o'er his fertile lands ; 
 Happy is he, no care he knows, 
 For not a cent to man he owes ; 
 O'er all his home and pastures broad, 
 He is the sole and only lord ; 
 
BETRAYED. 1 1 
 
 No dime to any man owes he, 
 
 Though in his debt full many be. 
 
 Large is his heart and kind his soul, 
 
 And chanty his thoughts control ; 
 
 Good will he bears the human race, 
 
 Whate'er their station, call or place. 
 
 No mortal ever sore in need 
 
 Of aid, to him did vainly plead; 
 
 If gold they craved he gave the hoard. 
 
 Oft more than he could well afford ; 
 
 To them man^^ a loan he made. 
 
 Which unto him was ne'er repaid ; 
 
 O'er such losses he'd ne'er grieve nor fret, 
 
 But give the borrower the debt. 
 
 To losses he was aye resigned. 
 
 And soon would cast them from his mind ; 
 
 Far o'er the country was he known, 
 
 As one who ne'er called in a loan. 
 
 Though hard to gain his wealth he'd toil. 
 
 And made it all from out his soil, 
 
 His beaming face and smiling brow, 
 
 Tell plain that he is happy now ; 
 
 That not a care disturbs his soul, 
 
 And placidly his feelings roll. 
 
 His clean-shaved, ruddy cheeks disclose 
 
 The perfect health that through him flows ; 
 
 From their hue strangers might divine 
 
 Their florid color came from wine ; 
 
 But none of this e'er made his fare — 
 
 'Twas perfect health that reddened there. 
 
 His stalwart form and brawny limb 
 
 Shows 3'ou no man more strong than him; 
 
 His form and limbs all, all reveal, 
 
 A perfect man from head to heel ; 
 
1 2 BETRAYED. 
 
 Though from his look it plain appears 
 That he is "well advanced in ^^ears ; 
 For his thin hair is white as snow, 
 Or foam that rolling billows show ; 
 But if not for their milk-white rime 
 He'd look like one in hardy prime, 
 So stalwart is his look and tread ; 
 But five and sixty years have fled 
 Since dawned on earth that rosy morn 
 When was this man, John Logan, born. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The broad domains his eyes survey, 
 And many herds that o'er them stray. 
 Were now the grand reward and spoil 
 Of his own thrift}^, constant toil : 
 Yea, all the lands and home he'd won, 
 Came through the patient work he'd done ; 
 All had been gained by his own hands — 
 His mansion, herds, and fertile lands, 
 And God he thanked, his actions showed, 
 For what to him He had bestowed. 
 Beside him now his daughter stands, 
 And on his shoulder rests her hands. 
 Looks on his ruddy face the while. 
 With happy heart and loving smile ; 
 Bare is her head of scarf or hood, 
 Her tresses bound with silken snood. 
 Her long thick curls of light brown hair, 
 Sport freely on the balmy air. 
 Her form is slender, frail and tall, 
 But graceful, and majestic all. 
 Fair is her forehead, broad and high, 
 And 'neath it darts a hazel eye ; 
 Her ruby lips reveal to sight 
 
BETRAYED. ' [3 
 
 Her even teeth all pearly white ; 
 Her rosy face, her ruddy cheek, 
 Do her own perfect health bespeak ; 
 All o'er her face from chin to brow, 
 Such beauty ne'er was seen till now 
 Since first the lovely race began, 
 And came to bless and comfort man. 
 The hues of blood and driven snow, 
 In mingled shades divinely glow ; 
 Each strives the mastership to win, 
 O'er all that face from brow to chin. 
 Her swan-like neck and bare round arms 
 Compete with all her glowing charms, 
 And like the milk-white mists are fair, 
 That near the moon's full disk repair, 
 And o'er her seem to make their lair, 
 Or float at night in moon-ljt air ; 
 And light her tread, as fleecy snow 
 The cloud-land sends to earth below, 
 Her voice is soft, and sweet and low 
 As music in its sweetest flow. 
 And ne'er a soul more good and pure 
 Did ever human flesh immure.] 
 A tear she had for other's woes. 
 And sorrow o'er her soul arose, 
 While pity all her being stirred 
 Whene'er a tale of grief she heard. 
 She Avas that country's boast and pride, 
 And famed for beauty far and wide ; 
 Yea, prized o'er all that country's range, 
 Was Mary of the Logan Grange. 
 
 And happy might John Logan be, 
 With such a daughter as was she ; 
 
14 BETRAYED. 
 
 In owning such a glorious child, 
 
 One so gentle, pure, and meek and mild ; 
 
 A paradise his home she made. 
 
 And all his cares to rest she laid ; 
 
 Made all his days serenely pass. 
 
 As sunshine o'er his fields of grass ; 
 
 Or in one even tenor glide 
 
 As crystal rill down mountain si„e, 
 
 On which no ruffling tempests blow, 
 
 Nor falls no chilling winds nor snow ; 
 
 But b}^ it rose and lily glow, 
 
 And form in arches o'er its flow, 
 
 While summer suns eternal shine. 
 
 And cheer it down its steep incline. 
 
 If faults in either one were seen. 
 
 As are in humankind, I ween, 
 
 They never troubled either mind. 
 
 For both to such seemed always blind. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Within his child he sees portra3'ed. 
 With every grace and charm arrayed, 
 The image of that lovely one. 
 Long years ago he woo'd and won ; 
 That lovely maiden pure and mild, 
 Ile'd made the mother of his child — 
 The lustre of whose hazel eyes 
 Was pure and bright as dew that lies 
 On the flower at early morn, 
 When first the sun doth it adorn — 
 Pure and serene as is the light 
 The stars shed on a frosty night, 
 Which only tell of peace and love 
 Within their silent vaults above. 
 
BETRAYED. ] 5 
 
 And straight his memory is cast 
 
 Adown the vista of the past, 
 
 Far swifter than the sunbeams pass 
 
 Along a field of waving grass, 
 
 Cast through the cloud's dark, broken 
 form, 
 
 That speeds before the mountain storm ; 
 
 And all his joys and woes of 3'ore 
 
 Pass through his musing soul once more 
 
 As through the past his musings range. 
 
 It rises up with all its ceaseless change, 
 
 And limns a panorama strange. 
 
 And midst its scenes his daughter, there, 
 
 Who smiles so blooming, grand and fair, 
 
 With all her mother's peerless charms, 
 
 He sees a babe brought to his arms — 
 
 Like on that bright and happy day, 
 
 When first he did his child survey. 
 
 Yea, hailed his first-born with a joy, 
 
 Nor time nor care could e'er destroy : 
 
 Hailed her a gift sent from above, 
 
 To crown his days with peace and love. 
 The joyous thrill his bosom knew 
 When first to him the tidings flew 
 That he a father was, once more 
 He feels as holy as of yore. 
 A year of time flies on, again 
 He hears the nurse's voice amain 
 Shout unto him with teeming joy — 
 His second ofl'spi-ing is a boy. 
 Feels as of old through all his form, 
 The blood sweep pulsing swift and w^rm ; 
 In thought he climbs the winding stair, 
 Doth to its mother's coucli repair, 
 
1 6 BETRAYED. 
 
 And on the twain he plants once more, 
 The loving kiss he gave of yore ; 
 His soul feels with that joy assailed, 
 As when his second born he hailed, 
 And o'er his features beams the while, 
 Just as of old, his tender smile. 
 Two years sweep by, that boy he sees 
 A little prattler on his knees. 
 With azure eyes just like his own, 
 An image of himself is shown, 
 In all that infant's features pure, 
 Which years shall strengthen, not obscure. 
 O'er dale and hill he leads his child, 
 Till comes a night with tempest wild ; 
 Though falls no rain fierce roars the storm, 
 And flying clouds the sky deform. 
 Sudden a glaring flame is seen. 
 Below amidst his pastures green, 
 And swift a roaring fire glows 
 From out a barn that there arose ; 
 Right soon is wrapped its stately frame 
 In one all-devouring flame. 
 From out his couch with speed he hies, 
 And to the scene of ruin flies ; 
 While round the burning wreck he toils, 
 The flames of other buildings foils ; 
 Tears down the gates and fences all, 
 Around those burning structures tall, 
 And from the flame's terrific ray 
 Swift drives his frighted herds awaj^. 
 To stables hastes, and from each stall, 
 Leads out his trembling coursers all, 
 And saves all things his hand can find. 
 That some one had to flame consigned. 
 While thus he toiled, the very hands 
 That there had cast the flaming brands, 
 
BETRAYED. 1 T 
 
 An entrance to his mansion found, 
 
 His wife they seized, and gagged and 
 
 bound, 
 And while she thus all helpless lay. 
 The bo}'^ the ruffians bore away. 
 The night sped on, and morning came, 
 Still Logan fought the roaring flame ; 
 The barn was ail to ashes burned, 
 Ere he unto his home returned, 
 And all the horrid tidings learned 
 Of what had in his absence passed. 
 
 VII. 
 
 O'er all that country wild and vast, 
 Like dust that flies before the blast, 
 The fearful news spread far and wide, 
 And men flew forth on every side. 
 To find that child, none, none delayed, 
 In search were neighbors swift arrayed, 
 And everywhere keen search was made ; 
 By day and night, o'er hill and glen, 
 Through woods and swamps and robber's 
 
 den. 
 Through cit}^, hamlet, town and shed, 
 The feet of seai'ching thousands sped. 
 And though they searched that country 
 
 round. 
 No trace they of the infant found ; 
 E'en through ships on the sea they sought, 
 But not a single trace they caught ; 
 Although they offered huge reward. 
 To those whoe'er the child restored ; 
 And swore that those who did the deed, 
 Should of their fearful crime be freed, 
 And should to them be paid the meed, 
 
1^ BETRAYED. 
 
 If they returned the child with speed. 
 Though this was widely noised abroad, 
 Yet, yet the child was not restored. 
 The days and months flew on apace. 
 Yet of the child was found no trace ; 
 A year sped by, another flew, 
 Yet of the child was found no clue. 
 The mother wept and prayed and3^earned, 
 Yet, to her arms no child returned. 
 Its solace Hope at last denied. 
 And with her grief the mother died. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 This is a scene in Logan's life, 
 Which, with sad episodes is rife. 
 But though the cruel, dreary past 
 Has man}^ sorrows round him cast, 
 He has survived them, and looks back 
 Along his life's long, gloomy track, 
 "With lesser, far, of grief than joy, 
 Which time doth strengthen, not destroy. 
 Heavenly hope assails his soul. 
 Keeps all his thoughts in sweet control. 
 Looks on his sorrows of the past 
 As trials God has round him cast 
 For some all-wise, divine intent. 
 Which only for his weal were meant ; 
 Which God will yet to him make plain, 
 And for each loss give ample gain ; 
 And lead him to that blissful shore, 
 Where he shall meet his lost of yore, 
 Whom here on earth he did adore ; 
 And they shall meet to part no more ; 
 Yea, meet each cherished one again. 
 Where dwell no parting, grief nor pain. 
 
BETRAYED. 
 
 Swayed only by these hopes, he lives, 
 And unto God his thoughts he gives — 
 Breathes on at peace with God and man, 
 Aids all his fellow-men he can, 
 
 IX. 
 
 The sun goes down, and Logan's eye. 
 Enraptured views the crimson sky, 
 For rifted clouds around him lie. 
 And these receive his reddening dye ; 
 Seldom a pageantry more fair. 
 The setting sun made nature wear ; 
 Bright o'er the heaven's vast expanse 
 His j^ellow glories upward glance — 
 To every far off cloud advance, 
 Till all the arch divinely glows 
 "With the mellowing hues he throws. 
 On mists that o'er the mountains spread. 
 And veil from sight each summit's head, 
 His brightest tints effulgent glow, 
 And hues of gold and amber show. 
 So bright and long the splendor lasts. 
 The setting sun on nature casts. 
 It seems his flight he stays a while. 
 To shed o'er all one loving smile — 
 Make earth and sky together blaze. 
 Beneath the splendor of his rays. 
 Make all things in nature wide. 
 Their many hues of darkness hide ; 
 And all in sweetest tints be shown. 
 Although a splendor not their own ; 
 Force Nature through her boundless clime, 
 To confess his power sublime. 
 
 .19 
 
20 BETRAYED. 
 
 From Logan's sight the sun has sped, 
 And all that pageantry has fled, 
 jS^ot e'en one tint the heavens show, 
 Of all that dazzling pomp and glow ; 
 But over sky and earth below, 
 The darkening shades of evening grow ; 
 Fast o'er each mountain's shaggy head, 
 The moving mists begin to spread — 
 Dark, dense and vast to vales repair. 
 And settle o'er their nightly lair. 
 While from the pastures broad and green, 
 The herds are homeward moving seen. 
 And sheep with lambs that skip and play, 
 Come bleating on their homeward way ; 
 And throng the ample folds below. 
 Those hills' green sides and bases show 
 Where enormous barns and stables rise, 
 As ever met a Granger's eyes. 
 Come from the pools the noisy geese 
 To pens and settle down in peace ; 
 To stately roosts the poultry fly 
 And crowd upon their perches high. 
 The air grows moist with breath of kine, 
 And noisy with the squeal of swine. 
 While waiting for their corn and hay, 
 Is frequent heard the horses neigh. 
 The corn within the manger falls, 
 Hay placed in racks along the stalls. 
 The grunting swine receive their fill 
 Of moistened bran and floods of swill. 
 Amongst the gentle, lowing herd, 
 The sprightly milkmaids' feet have stirr'd, 
 
BETRAYED. Jl 
 
 Ceased are the lively songs they trilled, 
 While with reeking milk their pails they 
 
 filled ; 
 And to the milk-house down the hill, 
 Into which flows a rippling rill, 
 As clear as crystal, cold as snow, 
 Tljat milk is placed in cans that glow 
 Like i^vire and jDolished silver sheen, 
 And as is polished silver, clean. 
 And all the toil and work is done. 
 Which comes on after set of sun ; 
 And over dell and mountain's brow 
 The shades of night are settled now, 
 And scarcely can John Logan trace 
 Midst growing gloom his daughter's face, 
 As thus she breathes within his ear 
 What none but him she wished to hear. 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Father," she said, " I would not giye 
 Earl Ragan for all men that live ; 
 And if I ever wedded be. 
 He'll be my lord, and only he. 
 His soul is noble, good and kind, 
 As ever God to flesh consigned ; 
 His eyes are full of truth and love, 
 And azure as the skies above ; 
 And though he poor and humble be, 
 Yet, he is dearly loved by me ; 
 And with none other will I wed, 
 Far sooner would I join the dead." 
 " Your love for him I will not chide," 
 The Father with a smile replied, 
 " For truth to tell, in him I see, 
 A noble spirit, frank and free ; 
 
22' BETRAYED. 
 
 Though poor he is, he is the peer 
 Of all the youths who journey here, 
 And seek to woo my daughter fair. 
 Poor, did I say ? no, no, my child ; 
 As poor, he can no more be styled. 
 'Twas I who loaned him all the hoard 
 With which he bought his acres broad. , 
 One-half of it he has restored ; 
 And every mite he won through toil, 
 And from the yielding of that soil. 
 If he repa3's me at the rate, 
 He has been pa^dng me of late. 
 In two years he'll own his whole estate ; 
 And not a man save me, he owes, 
 Is solemn truth, your father knows. 
 And just suppose I now should whim, 
 To cancel all I hold 'gainst him ; 
 He'd the wealthiest wooer be 
 'Mongst all who come my child to see. 
 And ere shall rise to-morrow's morn, 
 That mortgage shall to shreds be torn ; 
 I will forgive him all the debt, 
 Though of it I'll not tell him yet. 
 In truth I really like the lad. 
 And that you love him I am glad. 
 But there is that gay Crawford Storm, 
 Of handsome face and agile form. 
 With garb forever neat and trim. 
 How will you free yourself from him ? 
 For it is whispered far and wide, 
 My Mary is his promised bride. 
 And if one word of this be true. 
 If he's at all beloved by you, 
 First see that love is sere and dead, 
 As leaf the stem past ages shed, 
 
BETRAYED. 23 
 
 That wasted on the rock is seen, 
 And never can again be green." 
 
 XII. 
 
 Bright flashed the maiden's ej'es with pride 
 Night could not from her father hide, 
 And on her cheek the color died, 
 As with a frown she thus replied : 
 " Though such reports are whispered wide, 
 By me they have been oft denied ; 
 For they are false, as void of truth, 
 As is a rock of love or ruth. 
 Oft have I wished he'd keep from here, 
 And o'er our threshhold never dare ; 
 Respect to him I simply show, 
 Because I would not have him know 
 The deep contempt for him I feel, 
 Lest he some harm to us might deal. 
 I hail him as some loathsome weed, 
 Of which our garden must be freed ; 
 When time a proper chance shall give, 
 He'll learn it, truly as we live. 
 But think not, father, I will wed, 
 Ere many years shall yet be sped — 
 Till Ragan every mite has made, 
 He owes to you, and it has paid ; 
 When this has my own Ragan done, 
 And not till then, his bride he's won. 
 A solemn compact we have made, 
 And it shall stand though long delayed — 
 When he his lands from debt shall free, 
 Wed on that very day are we. 
 And he by his own thrift and toil, 
 No other means must win his spoil ; 
 
24 BETRAYED. 
 
 Far, far too proud of soul is he, 
 
 To take your gift, though grand it be ; 
 
 Though years of toil 'twould him relieve, 
 
 The gift I know he'd not receive ; 
 
 So ne'er such thoughts to Ragan tell — 
 
 You'll shortly see him prosper well ; 
 
 For day and night to God I pray, 
 
 That He will Ragan bless alway ; 
 
 And far more things through prayer are 
 
 wrought 
 Than of this world has ever thought. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Now, just two weeks have ta'en their flight 
 Since Crawford Storm last met my sight, 
 And when he left he said to me. 
 This evening here again he'd be ; 
 And I have vowed not to be thrown, 
 Within his company alone. 
 This very eve, by my request, 
 Here will gather many a guest ; 
 Yea, all the neighbors far and near. 
 Both old and 3'oung will gather here ; 
 You seem to have forgotten, quite, 
 That you are sixty-five to-night — 
 Or, of the day that j-ou were born. 
 The anniversary came this morn ; 
 And while to-day away 3^ou were, 
 I have prepared more ample cheer, 
 And summoned all the neighbors here. 
 When lights are lit you'll find each board 
 With choicest food is amply stored ; 
 And should sly Cjawford come to-night, 
 You'll see how him I'll shun and slight; 
 And all the neighbors, young and old, 
 
BETRAYED. '20 
 
 Shall my contempt for him behold. 
 And all such tales are false, they'll see, 
 That I am Crawford's bride to be. 
 The}" '11 see that Ragan has my love — 
 Is prized all others far above, 
 And only, me as bride shall win." 
 At this her father swift broke in : 
 " My daughter, do not so to-night. 
 Nor show to him the least of slight ; 
 That 3'ovi do naught, I would prefer, 
 To forth the neighbors' gossip stir ; 
 Oh, bring not this upon your head, 
 ; Their gossip is a thing I dread ; 
 For, be 30U pure and white as snow. 
 Ere from the cloud it falls below — 
 That in the ether has its birth. 
 Nor yet has ta'en one taint of earth, 
 'Twill not let you pass, whate'er you do, 
 Without 3'our share of scandal, too. 
 Leave Crawford unto me alone, 
 Nor be to him jour feelings known ; 
 Of him 3' ou shall be shortly rid. 
 His presence here I will forbid. 
 And then, I trust, he'd keep away, 
 Nor ever near you dare to stray. 
 This eve I shall engross him, quite, 
 Give you no cause to show him slight." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 While thus they spake, adown the hill. 
 Were voices heard, and laughter shrill, 
 And tramp of steeds mixed with the sound 
 Of jolting wheels o'er rocky ground. 
 The sounds came nearer, and more near, 
 
26 ETRAYED. 
 
 Till Ragan's voice could Mary hear. 
 " Father, they come," the maiden cried, 
 And like a flash, flew from his side — 
 Sped from the porch into a room 
 That all was filled with growing gloom. 
 There, swift a lamp she lit, whose light, 
 Through casements burst upon the night. 
 And down the movmtain's rugged side 
 Poured forth its lustre far and wide ; 
 Placed it just where its welcome raj^, 
 Would guide her guests upon their way-^ 
 Just where it showed the rocky road. 
 Which up the slope reached her abode. 
 From the porch also, Logan sped. 
 Upon the path his daughter led ; 
 And as he left, from out a nook, 
 O'er which dense leaves of ivy shook 
 Unto the passing winds of night. 
 But kept all in concealed from sight, 
 A man of tall and stately frame, 
 All noiseless as a spectre came. 
 There for long hours he had been. 
 By neither child nor parent seen, 
 Although so close he was his hand 
 And arm all space had 'tween them spann'd. 
 And every breathed and whispered woird 
 That they had uttered, he'd o'erheard. 
 From out the spot he'd lain concealed, 
 He moved, and night his shape revealed. 
 Tall was his form, but spare and lean. 
 Though it had toil and fasting seen, 
 'Twas all so bon}^, tall and gaunt. 
 It seemed a wreck of care and want. 
 Yet, yet as there he moved along. 
 His motions showed that he was strong ; 
 
BETRAYED. 2T 
 
 His form erect from heel to head, 
 And firm and rapid was his tread. 
 Forth from the mansion swift he strode, 
 And gained an unfrequented road ; 
 There paused and on the casement gazed, 
 From where the light so sheenly blazed. 
 That light upon his features glowed, 
 And all his visage plainly showed, 
 As from his head his hat he drew. 
 And on the casement fixed his view ; 
 His clean-shaved cheeks were thin and pale , 
 White as the snows of winter's gale. 
 And wore a fixed and rigid air 
 Of wretchedness or grim despair ; 
 Yet comeliness his features bore, 
 In spite of all the gloom they wore ; 
 His upper lip was robed with hair, 
 Black as the cloud of midnight air ; 
 But when he smiled it plainly showed, 
 The pearly teeth that neath it glowed. 
 And o er his haughty, comel}^ head, 
 His wavy locks were thickly spread. 
 And sable as the darkest shade 
 E 'er nature from her colors made. 
 And back from his high forehead tossed. 
 That looked as cold and white as frost 
 Cast near sable rocks along the hill. 
 Which makes it seem far paler still. 
 Dark were his brows, and underneath, 
 Like sabres flashing from their sheath, 
 His sable eyes shot forth their light 
 As flaming meteors of night, 
 That send afar their piercing ray, 
 Filling beholders with dismay. 
 
BETRAYED. 
 
 Long stood he gazing on the light, 
 
 That through the window streamed on 
 
 night, 
 And saw that gay and merry crowd 
 Of neighbors with their laughter loud, 
 Come up the road, a goodly train. 
 And in the mansion pour amain ; 
 Heard plain the sounds of merriment, 
 That joyous in that mansion blent ; 
 Heard Mary's voice, so sweet and soft, 
 Midst tones of pleasure mingling oft. 
 And listening there he stood the while — 
 Showed neither sign of frown nor smile, 
 Until he did Earl Ragan view, 
 Who last within that mansion drew ; 
 Then beamed his eyes with fiendish light, 
 And turned his face a paler wliite. 
 His features donned a horrid leer. 
 As might some cruel spirit wear. 
 A tremor pass'd through all his form, 
 And shook it like a reed in storm ; 
 A muttered curse on air he threw. 
 And from the scene in haste withdrew ; 
 Burning with env}^, hate and wrath. 
 Swift down an unfrequented path. 
 Which lead unto a clump of wood 
 That far below that mansion stood, 
 Where he that eve his steed had tied, 
 He did through gloom securely stride ; 
 But ere he half-way trod the course, 
 Which lead to where he'd tied his horse, 
 Upon the air such thoughts he cast. 
 As foremost through his spirit pass'd. 
 
BETRAYED. 
 
 XV. 
 
 29 
 
 » Yes yes," he muttered, wild and hoarse, 
 " My craft and wile shall yet find force 
 To quench that pure and spotless flame, 
 She did this eve for Raganname ; 
 Yea, she shall loathe and hate him more, 
 Than such for me she ever bore ; 
 And she shall from his presence tread 
 As from some hissing adder dread ; 
 She shall despise him, soul and form, 
 Or my name is not Crawford Storm 1 
 And I will make her love me more 
 Than yet for Ragan e'er she bore. 
 And her old sire yet shall know, 
 On me he dare not insult throw ; 
 Nor me from out his mansion spurn, 
 Howe'er may Fortune with me turn ; 
 And ere a day goes by, I trow, 
 He will respect me more than now ; 
 And ere one fleeting month shall go, 
 No slur on me he'll dare to throw. 
 Yes, yes, my schemes and plans are laid. 
 Against Earl Ragan all arrayed •, 
 I'll bring on him a storm of shame, 
 And Mary yet shall loathe his name ; 
 I'll bring him to the gallows grim. 
 Or. prison cell shall welcome him ; 
 And there for his whole life shall stay, 
 Nor ever more shall cross my way. 
 Since Mary's love for him I see, 
 And not a thought she'll give to me. 
 Now, all too little is this sphere. 
 For him and I to dwell in here. 
 
30 BETRAYED. 
 
 Since by open means I cannot thrall 
 With love the one I love o'er all, 
 By wile and craft and fraud, I will, 
 Though basel^^ I a man ma^' kill ; 
 And ere to-morrow's sun shall glow, 
 A dungeon grim shall Ragan know. 
 I thought him captured long ere this, 
 And something must have gone amiss. ■ 
 But I anust speed me forth and see 
 Why he this night from cell is free." 
 While thus he speaks, his steed he gained, 
 The strap untied, his courser reined. 
 Then on him swift his form he cast, 
 Unto his flanks the rowels pass'd, 
 And through the gloom he galloped fast, 
 As cloud that flies upon the blast. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Two miles and more had Crawford rode, 
 From where the lights at Logan's glowed. 
 And there beside a swamp he drew, 
 O'er which dense mass of cedars grew. 
 Which cast around as drear a shade 
 As e'er at night a forest made ; 
 Where hooting owls at times were heard, 
 And reptiles that amidst it stirred ; 
 From whence black bats by thousands flew. 
 Mosquitos huge as ever grew. 
 And hawks revealed themselves to view. 
 As dismal shrieks on air they threw ; 
 That swamp a gloomy look displayed 
 As ever man at night surveyed ; 
 At night or day but few were known 
 Who by it cared to go alone ; 
 
BETRAYED. ' 31 
 
 The peasants all that country round, ' 
 
 Declared that it was haunted ground ; 
 
 All who at night had by it been 
 
 Had strange, unearthly marvels seen ; 
 
 Shapes that had filled their souls with awe, 
 
 Scenes far surpassing natui'e's law ; 
 
 Heard nij'sterious noises there 
 
 Which made the braA'est quake with fear ; 
 
 Many declared strange lights they'd seen 
 
 At night, glow in that forest green, 
 
 And seen unearthly figures glide 
 
 Around, and strive those lights to hide. 
 
 Many at midnight had espied 
 
 Fierce shapes on snorting horses ride 
 
 O'er heads of trees that forest round, 
 
 Whose hoof-falls gave a noisy sound, 
 
 As if thej^ trod on frozen ground ; 
 
 Some seen enormous ser])ents rise 
 
 With flaming tongue and flashing eyes, 
 
 HigTi o'er the heads of tallest trees, 
 
 And hiss unto the midnight breeze ; 
 
 Some seen terrific spectres stride 
 
 From bough to bough, that forest wide. 
 
 While streamed from fleshless limbs the 
 
 blood. 
 That d^'ed the forest with its flood ; 
 Some, murdered babes and mothers seen, 
 In air rise from that forest green ; 
 Had seen their gore terrific stream. 
 And heard both babes' and mothers" 
 
 scream. 
 And countless tales like those were told 
 About this place by 3'oung and old ; 
 All said they felt a sense of awe 
 Whenever near the place they'd draw. 
 And often had the peasants round 
 
32 BETRAYED. , 
 
 Set fire to tliis haunted ground, 
 
 But each declared it would not burn, 
 
 That something back the flames would turn, 
 
 That they would only flicker there 
 
 A moment's space, then disappear, 
 
 Though in dry weather there they past, 
 
 And midst foliage dense and vast 
 
 The flaming brands with care the}' cast 
 
 While on them blew the sultry blast ; 
 
 Yet by fire it was not liarmed. 
 
 Against the force of flame 'twas charmed. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 If Crawford Storm had e'er believed 
 
 The tales men of this place conceived. 
 
 His mind with hate was too much fraught 
 
 To give them then one passing thought, 
 
 For deadly vengeance filled his soul 
 
 And swayed it with its fierce control. 
 
 Had horrid shape, or spectre dread 
 
 Before him from that thicket sped, 
 
 Instead of filling him with fear, 
 
 He would have gladly halted there — 
 
 Hhailed it as a glorious sight. 
 
 And welcomed it with fell delight — 
 
 Had strove to learn the surest way 
 
 To give his deadly vengeance sway ; 
 
 But neither ghoul nor goblin grim 
 
 Of giant form nor horrid limb, 
 
 If such there were, could frighten him, • 
 
 For he was cruel, bold and brave, 
 
 As ever breathed, or filled a grave. 
 
BETRAYED. 33 
 
 XIX. 
 
 On, on his snorting courser flew — 
 
 Had half-way b}^ the thicket drew, 
 
 When, sudden to his horses head, 
 
 A figure from the thicket sped. 
 
 " Halt ! Halt ! " a voice abruptly cried, 
 
 While at the reins a hand did glide, 
 
 And just as sudden flashed in air 
 
 From out the woods, a pistol's blare, 
 
 While, hissing over man and horse. 
 
 In air a bullet found its course ; 
 
 And far away that pistol's sound 
 
 Re-echoed o'er that thicket round ; 
 
 The startled steed leapt high in air, 
 
 Neighed loud as was that pistol's blare ; 
 
 But not one sign of dastard fear 
 
 Did Crawford's haughty features wear. 
 
 'Twas well for him who stopped his steed. 
 
 That Crawford was of weapons freed, 
 
 For had he such at his command 
 
 His rein had never felt that hand ; 
 
 Nor swifter shot nor surer aim, 
 
 Could an}' more than Crawford claim; 
 
 Oft had he proved that virtue well, 
 
 In man}' a duel, dread and fell, 
 
 For ne'er a foe before him came 
 
 But felt his sure and fatal aim, 
 
 XX. 
 
 '• Had I a pistol," calm he said, 
 " I long ere this had stretched you dead I 
 Of weapons I am not bereft — 
 Entirely defenseless left, 
 
34 BETRAYED. 
 
 So, ruffian, do not dare to sta}^ 
 My steed, nor bar at all my way." 
 Swift, as he speaks, a dagger sheen 
 Down flashing, in his grasp is seen, 
 And almost strikes the burly hand 
 Of hjm who by his horse doth stand ; 
 'Twas well that liand the bridle left, 
 Else Crawford's dagger it had cleft. 
 The while this passed, a ruddy glare 
 From whence had come that pistol's blare 
 Shone from a lantern dazzling bright, 
 Which far and wide cast round its light. 
 Right full on Crawford's face it glowed. 
 And all his haughty visage showed ; 
 Then straight a surly voice was heard 
 That from the dismal thicket stirred, 
 " Ryan, set that wanderer free. 
 He's not our man, I plainly see ; 
 Damn the luck, that to-night we find ! 
 Mosquitos me have bitten blind ; 
 Let's out of this infernal place, 
 For sooner hell itself, I'd face, 
 Than linger here a moment more, 
 And thus be bitten blind and sore 1 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The light that from the lantern glowed 
 
 Soon unto Crawford's vision showed 
 
 The man who'd from the thicket sped 
 
 And who had seizeed his horse's head, 
 
 Was some officer of the law. 
 
 Plain on his breast its badge he-saw. 
 
 Soon as this fact his eye espied, 
 
 " Who seek ye here ? " he hoarsely cried. 
 
BETRAYED. 35 
 
 "If not a secret, tell it me, 
 
 I may to you some service be ; 
 
 For well I know this countrj' round, 
 
 And every man that's in it found." 
 
 As thus he spake, from out the wood 
 
 Three men came forth and near him stood, 
 
 XXII. 
 
 All too wil}^, cunning, deep and sly, 
 Filled with craftiness of basest dye, 
 Are all such men, who fill the sphere 
 Of those that Crawford spake to there, 
 To ever make their secrets known 
 Save nnto spirits like their own ; 
 And this, at times they only do, 
 In hopes to gain some secret clue 
 Will help to drive their business through, 
 And aid them win the offered spoil 
 Which amply will reward their toil ; 
 And 'twei'e not for the shining hoard 
 That always doth their toil reward, 
 No fear such men would ever chase 
 An outlaw to his hiding place ; 
 And often such from them go free 
 If they can pay the largest fee ; 
 Of all such men this will be found 
 A gospel truth the world around. 
 Such are all servants of the law 
 That ever yet dame nature saw ; 
 Take on the bench the highest Judge, 
 Unto his lowest, meanest drudge. 
 Or purest of the lawyer crew 
 Who e'er breath in a forum drew, 
 None care how outlaws statutes foil, 
 
30 BETRAYED. 
 
 If the}' will with them share their si)oil ; 
 Whoever pays the largest fee 
 Will in the end the victor be ; 
 The innocent ma}^ pine and bleed, 
 They care not, so they win their meed ; 
 And this holds good unto the crew 
 That sometimes on the streets we view, 
 There loafing with a club and star, 
 Or swilling grog at tavern bar. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 But no detectives ever yet 
 
 A slyer man than Crawford, met, 
 
 For a detective, too, was he, 
 
 A lawyer, too, of high degree. 
 
 And ere they could suspect his drift 
 
 He would their secrets solve and sift ; 
 
 Yea, draw out every secret there 
 
 Ere aware of the fact they were ; 
 
 And soon he learned from them the cause 
 
 Why there they made his journey pause ; 
 
 "Now," said the foremost of those men, 
 
 " You do all our errand ken. 
 
 Say, can j^ou give us any clue 
 
 Will lead to him we now pursue ? 
 
 If so, 'twill to your good accrue." 
 
 " I cannot," Crawford swift replied ; 
 
 " 'Tis long since I have him espied ; 
 
 Perhaps three fleeting months have pass'd 
 
 Since I on Ragan looked my last ; 
 
 But, now, I would not think it strange. 
 
 If he were found at Logan's grange ; 
 
 This night it chanced I took a road 
 
 Which brought me close to that abode ; 
 
BETRAYED. oY 
 
 Bright lights in every window glowed, 
 And merr}' throngs the porches showed ; 
 To-night there's frolic, there, I trow, 
 And there 3'ou'll snrel}^ find him now. 
 No frolic 3'et that mansion knew, 
 But 'mongst its guests ^-ou'd Ragan view ; 
 For, with old Logan he's in league, 
 Knows all his cunning and intrigue. 
 And if he has this murder done. 
 As sure as there is moon and sun, 
 "We'll learn, when comes the proper time, 
 Logan was privy to the crime." 
 But sta}^ ; I will for 3-ou, turn back. 
 And you can follow on my track ; 
 Right straight to Logan's I will go. 
 And if he's there, you'll shortly know. . 
 " Be this the sign ; — If he is there, 
 I will not back to you repair. 
 But in the mansion will remain. 
 If not, we'll shortly meet again ; 
 And should we meet in Logan's hall, 
 Me do not recognize at all ; 
 For I'd not have it known 'twas me 
 Who brought you to disturb their glee." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 He turned his steed, and forth he sped, 
 Fleet as e'er cloi;d on tempest fled ; 
 The four within a clumsy wain, 
 On, on sped after him amain; 
 In vain, in vain they urge their steeds, 
 Too swift for them fierce Crawford leads ; 
 And long ere they had driven more 
 Than half their dreary journey o'er, 
 
88 BETRAYED. 
 
 The stately form of Crawford strode 
 Within old Logan's bright abode — 
 With beaming brow and smiling face, 
 Amidst the frolic took his place ; 
 Midst all that mirth and festive scene, 
 Than him none wore a gayer mien. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 O'er drearj^ roads, on, on amain, 
 With those four sped, the clumsy wain, 
 With oaths and lash they urge their steeds, 
 But soon lose sight of him who leads ; 
 So rough and long the road they found. 
 They made the air with oaths resound. 
 " Ryan," said one, " I do believe 
 That us that scoundrel doth deceive ; 
 And it has dawned upon my mind 
 That Logan's we will never find ; 
 But then, we'd better forward move. 
 And straight his truth or falsehood prove, 
 However rough the road may grow. 
 Than ever deign to backward go 
 To yonder hellish swamp below," 
 " Yes," said Ryan, " we will proceed, 
 Long as we have a living steed ; 
 Methinks that man I've seen before. 
 Some years ago — it can't be more 
 Than eight years back, or half a score ; 
 Yes, him a dozen times, I ween, 
 I've pleading in the forum seen." 
 " I think he's kin unto the Judge, 
 Upon whose warrant now we drudge, 
 And on whose warrants oft we trudge. 
 And does us ample pay begrudge." 
 
BETRAYED. o9 
 
 " Then," said the first, " if this be so 
 
 He will to Logan's mansion go ; 
 
 And then the least he'll do, I trow, 
 
 Tell Ragan we are coming now ; 
 
 And if the a- illain don't take flight 
 
 And cheat us of our prey to-night, 
 
 He will astonish me outright." 
 
 " He may have gone," another said, 
 
 " If he is poor and shrewd of head 
 
 And knows the value of a dime, 
 
 To post Earl Ragan that his crime 
 
 Has come to light, and he is sought 
 
 To answer for the deed he wrought ; 
 
 And straight forth make the fool engage 
 
 Him his defence in court to wage ; 
 
 I trust he'll win an ample fee — 
 
 But not a mite of it we'll see ; 
 
 Though through us he'll his client win 
 
 He will be just as mean as sin, 
 
 Nor share with us one single dime. 
 
 Though we posted him in time ; 
 
 And not a mite of it he'd won 
 
 Had we not told him what was done." 
 
 " And," said another, " if Judge Down 
 
 Is kin unto that slim-built clown, 
 
 You bet upon your life, your head 
 
 Earl Ragan will be richly bled — 
 
 Made to shell out an ample fee, 
 
 So he may of this crime pass free. 
 
 But those twain will keep it all, 
 
 No mite of it to us will fall ; 
 
 And when they've proved him void of guilt, 
 
 That 'twas not him this life-blood spilt, 
 
 Then we shall win no glowing spoil 
 
 To pay us for this night of toil. 
 
40 BETRAYED. 
 
 And this will be the end, I trow, 
 As sure as I am speaking now. 
 I wish, if 'twere but for one year, 
 I had the s^ray of Down's chair, 
 I, too, would win huge, glowing piles, 
 Like those on which he often smiles." 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 While thus they spoke with thoughts that 
 
 burned 
 And hearts that after treasure yearned, 
 To'rds the right the road abruptl}^ turn'd 
 Up steeper and far higher ground. 
 But as with oath and curse, around 
 This rough and narrow curve they wound, 
 Themselves at Logan's home thej^ found ; 
 Swift from their clumsj^ wain the}' drew. 
 And through the windows cast their view : 
 Loud were the sounds of joj^ within, 
 Mixed with sweet music's sprighth' din ; — 
 The dance was set, and old and 3-oung 
 Were seen those joyous sets among. 
 " It is a sin," grim Ryan said, 
 A gloom 'mongst such a throng to spread, 
 Each vision looks as happ}' there. 
 As though Sorrow never trod this sphere ; 
 And yon broad youth with sandy hair. 
 Although he wears an honest air — 
 Has frank and open face and brow, 
 Is him that we are after now. 
 I swear he does not look to me 
 One who might a murderer be ! 
 But by looks we can't always tell, 
 'Neath heaven may be hid a hell ! " 
 This said, he trod the porch's floor, 
 And roughly knocked upon the door. 
 
BETRAYED. 41 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 'Twas Logan's hand that open flung 
 
 The door on which that knock had rung, 
 
 And scarcel}^ was it open thrown 
 
 Than Ryan said, in harsh, hoarse tone, 
 
 " If Ragan's 'mongst those dancers there. 
 
 Tell him that he is wanted here." 
 
 But scarcely had been breathed his name. 
 
 Than to the door Earl Ragan came, 
 
 Then swift towards him grim Ryan made, 
 
 Ilis hand upon his shoulder laid. 
 
 And " Sir, yon are my prisoner 1 " cried 
 
 With voice that sounded far and wide. 
 
 " Prisoner ! For what crime ? " Ragan said, 
 
 " In seizing me, 3^ou are misled." 
 
 " ' Is not ' Earl Ragan ' ^-our right name ?' " 
 
 " It is." " Then 'twas for you I came. 
 
 Just please to follow me along, 
 
 Or feel the weight of fetters strong." 
 
 " Then show 3'our warrant. For what 
 
 crime 
 Am I arrested at this time ? " 
 " The warrant I can show, but trow 
 'Tis useless wasting moments now ; 
 For far, indeed, have we to wend 
 Ere we shall reach the journey's end." 
 " Then tell me for what crime I'm ta'en, 
 Xow make to me that knowledge plain, 
 I have a right the cause to know." 
 " Then I will straight the warrant show. 
 But guess 3'ou know the cause full well. 
 And to you scarcely need it tell. 
 
42 BETRAYED. 
 
 It is for murder." At the word 
 
 A heavy groan from Logan stirr'd 
 
 Which was through all his mansion heard, 
 
 And on the floor fell as the dead, 
 
 While deathly hue his vision spread. 
 
 A flaky foam his lips o'ercast, 
 
 And seemed all life had from him past. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Earl Ragan stood bewildered deep. 
 As one half roused from troubled sleep. 
 While thus he stood, bound on his hands 
 Were clanking chains with brazen bands, 
 And swift unto the far-off wain. 
 Was carried by those men amain ; 
 And soon adown the road it sped. 
 While roared the driver's curses dread ; 
 The mirth was hushed, and everj^ soul 
 Seemed everwhelmed with leaden dole. 
 Unto her sire Mary flew 
 Soon as his awful fate she knew ; 
 And round their host the guests all sped 
 With terror and with sorrow dread. 
 Deep sadness fell on every soul. 
 And all the joy thus turned to dole. 
 Another form had fled from there, 
 But when he went and unto where, 
 'No one could an^- judgment form ; 
 That other one was Crawford Storm. 
 
BETRAYED. 43 
 
 PAKT II. 
 
 Amid this world some hearts are found 
 Without one charm of pit}- crowned, 
 Yea, rutliless as the granite stone 
 That is in caves of ocean thrown ; 
 Or marble slab that lines the tomb. 
 And rests amid eternal gloom ; 
 Cold as the barren rocks that show 
 Their peaks mid everlasting snow ; 
 "Where onl}^ icy breezes blow, 
 And summer suns shall never glow ; 
 Which ne'er shall fruit nor vintage know. 
 But night its shadows o'er them throw ; 
 And thus shall dwell in gloom and rime. 
 Until shall come the end of time. 
 When God shall wreck all nature's frame 
 And wrap it in destroying flame ; 
 Those barren rocks to atoms burn, 
 Or to some other substance turn ; 
 And from the wreck of ruin warm. 
 From amidst the fier^^ storm, 
 A fairer world of earth shall form — 
 Bring her from the fier}^ roar, 
 A blooming world forevermore ; 
 Whose surface never spot shall show 
 On which fair vintage cannot grow ; 
 No barren spot again shall know. 
 But all like rose and lily blow ; 
 Yea, beauty shall caress the whole 
 And vintage bloom from pole to pole ; 
 No useless, barren spot be found. 
 However small creation round. 
 
44 BETEAYED. 
 
 So shall all souls of human kind 
 
 That ever God to flesh consigned, 
 
 Who unto others' woes are blind, 
 
 Nor e'er let pity sway their mind ; 
 
 Whose spirits never yet were fraught 
 
 With one ray of generous thought 
 
 For any form of flesh and bone, 
 
 Save for their selfish selves alone — 
 
 Fiends who rejoice o'er others' woes, 
 
 Wretches who smile at others' throes. 
 
 And as through life they take their course 
 
 They never feel the least remorse 
 
 For anj' wrong thej- caused their kind, 
 
 Though they all basel}^ it designed ; 
 
 Wrought it midst all their hopes and fears ; 
 
 Premeditated it for years ; 
 
 Cold, barren hearts that never knew 
 
 One thought to noble nature true ; 
 
 Spirits whom God has from the first. 
 
 With selfislmess and env}' curst ; 
 
 And has but placed them here on earth — ■ 
 
 Within this world let them have birth. 
 
 To show the rest of liumankind 
 
 Out of what stuff is hell designed ; 
 
 Spirits with passion ever hot, 
 
 And would foul murder do, if not 
 
 For terror of the hangman's cord. 
 
 And joyous noiee i^uch deed abroad ; 
 
 Foul wretches who would lead astray 
 
 Those innocent as buds of May, 
 
 And gloat with joy o'er all their course 
 
 Without one feeling of remoi'se. 
 
 Oh, shortl}" maj^ the time arrive. 
 
 Such souls in whelming hell shall strive ; 
 
BETRAYED. 45 
 
 And be to woe forever hurled, 
 
 Their natures crushed from off the world 1 
 
 Be driven far from nature's shore 
 
 And never blight her regions more ; 
 
 Be freed of every curse and doom 
 
 And in her pristine glory bloom ; 
 
 May peace and joy pervade her shore 
 
 From pole to pole forevermore ; 
 
 Goodwill and love 'mongst humankind 
 
 Be onl}' to her realm consigned ; 
 
 Make w^ar and woe and famine cease, 
 
 And all that tends to rupture, peace ; 
 
 And may the just and righteous Lord 
 
 Cast knowledge o'er her surface broad, 
 
 To every creed and hue and race 
 
 That breathe upon her blooming face ; 
 
 Make every earth-born spirit tend 
 
 To Him their Father, Guide and Friend — 
 
 Their sole Beginning and their End, 
 
 To Him may all their feeling wend ; 
 
 To all, of high or low degree. 
 
 Pour down His knowledge kind and free. 
 
 Till filled with it all earth shall be, 
 
 As do the waters fill the sea. 
 
 II. 
 
 And Crawford Storm was such a mind 
 As is to every virtue blind ; 
 Would deal on others lasting woe. 
 And, fiend-like, laugh at every throe ; 
 A cruel wretch with heart of stone, 
 Who lived but for himself alone. 
 Wild was the mirth his spirit knew 
 As he from Logan's mansion drew ; 
 
46 BETRAYED. 
 
 One look askance with jo}^ he cast 
 As he by senseless Logan passed, 
 And saw the dole he well could trace 
 There plainl}^ limned on Mary's face ; 
 And saw the clanking chains and bands, 
 Those ruffians placed on Ragans hands ; 
 There wild commotion reigned so high 
 None saw him as he passed them by 
 Noiseless as ever zephyr blew. 
 He swift from out that mansion drew ; 
 Far down a winding path he passed, 
 And soon himself in saddle cast ; 
 Then swift away his courser sped 
 On road that up the mountains lead 
 "With foamy bit and fljing mane 
 Darker than ever cloud became, 
 And spurs dj^ed o'er with gor}- stain 
 That steed with rider passed amain ; 
 O'er narrow roads that darkl}- wound 
 By deep defile and rock}^ ground, 
 By thickets dense and deep morass 
 Which few hy day could safelj' pass ; 
 For through those wilds no roadway drew. 
 But well that steed and rider knew ; 
 And seemed that steed as void of fear 
 As was the wretch who spurred him there ; 
 For at no object e'er he shied 
 He on the gloomy road espied. 
 Though o'er his path from thickets round 
 Some startled deer would often bound, 
 Or goats, with long and flowing beard. 
 That thickly in those wilds were reared. 
 
BETRAYED. 47 
 
 III. 
 
 As throiigli the gloom fierce Crawford went 
 
 O'er deep defile and rocky bent, 
 
 His thoughts in speech found often vent, 
 
 And words like these on air he sent : — 
 
 " Yes, yes, what I to-night have seen, 
 
 Doth all my soul from sorrow wean, 
 
 And I rejoice o'er what is done 
 
 Far more than had I treasure won ; 
 
 Yea, as huge a pile as ever glowed, 
 
 Or e'er old Croesus' coffers showed ; 
 
 Oh, it is more tlian joy supreme, 
 
 Thus sure to carry out one's scheme I 
 
 Before to-morrow's sun shall set 
 
 That fool in prison cell shall fret ; 
 
 For murder I will have him tried, 
 
 Nor shall conviction be denied ; 
 
 He from the gallows shall be swung 
 
 As sure as e'er was mortal hung. 
 
 Though scarce a living soul shall know 
 
 'Twas I who caused his overthrow ; 
 
 And I will teach that haughty maid 
 
 All homage must to me be paid ; 
 
 For when she is of Ragan free, 
 
 None other love but me she'll see ; 
 
 Than him, me she shall love far more. 
 
 Yes, yes, my very name adore ; 
 
 I know just how her soul to charm : 
 
 Distrust of me I shall disarm ; 
 
 In me she'll never dream of harm 
 
 As to my breast I draw her form 
 
 And on her plant my kisses warm ; 
 
48 BETRAYED. 
 
 She'll love me with a deathless flame, 
 Although I can't return the same ; 
 For love to me is all unknown, 
 Its germs in me were never sown ; 
 When Nature cast me in her mould 
 Perhaps she let those germs grow cold, 
 Ere them amidst the rest she thrfew, 
 And with the rest they never grew ; 
 Or else perhaps she did forgo 
 One germ amidst the mass to throw, 
 So I might proudly stand above 
 That tainted thing, called Human Love ; 
 And look down on my dupes below, 
 Who that passion did on me bestow. 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh, what a kindling joy I felt, 
 
 As o'er her father's form she knelt ! 
 
 I saw her eyelids bathed in tears. 
 
 And saw her features' ashen fears. 
 
 As propping up that father's head ; — 
 
 I only hope that he is dead. 
 
 If it be so, then none at all 
 
 Will bar me from her coming fall. 
 
 VI. 
 
 As thus he speaks, he reached a bield 
 That stood 'mongst scrub-wood well con- 
 cealed. 
 Within a deep, but narrow vale ; 
 A light, but flickering and pale. 
 Shone out through one small, narrow pane 
 Where mud and filth made ample stain, 
 
BETRAYED. 49 
 
 And "Was the only window there, 
 Round all that shanty dark and drear. 
 On earth leapt Crawford, swift and free, 
 And tied his courser to a tree, 
 And nimble as a deer he strode 
 Fnto that dismal small abode ; 
 But on that door no hand he laid, 
 Nor any knock at all he made. 
 But on the wall touched a secret spring, 
 And straight inside a bell did ring. 
 Scarce was that low, dull larum sprung. 
 Within those log and mud walls rung. 
 Than bolts inside were backward swung. 
 And straight the door was open flung : 
 " Good morning, Boss ; " a voice was 
 
 heard 
 To say, in low and whispered word, f 
 
 As Crawford crossed that threshold o'er, 
 And trod upon that shanty's floor. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Him who the door had open thrown 
 And through the gloom was dimly shown, 
 Had thus accosted Crawford Storm, 
 Was a man of short and brawny form. 
 His strong arms all plain appeared. 
 Up to his very shoulders bared. 
 For all of sleeves his shirt was shorn — 
 Showed plain from where they had been 
 
 torn ; 
 The filthy robe his shoulders drest 
 Through rents showed plain his swelling 
 
 breast ; 
 
5 BETRAYED. 
 
 And all the garments that he wore 
 Huge signs of rents and patches bore ; 
 The patched-up shoes by him were worn, 
 To wear might any beggar scorn, 
 However poor and vile he be, 
 Degraded to the last degree. 
 From his white hair and grizzly beard. 
 Advanced in years, that man appeared ; 
 His locks, pale as the purest snow, 
 Hung heavy o'er his forehead low — 
 Almost his sluggish eyes concealed. 
 Which none of sprightl}'^ ray revealed ; 
 What e'er had been their hue of old, 
 When he was young, could not be told, 
 For they had lost their primal shade, 
 Whate'er that hue had Nature made, 
 Through the foul grog he amply used, 
 With which he much his strength abused. 
 His daily drink had changed their hue — 
 Of primal shade left not a clue, 
 And made them look like balls of blood 
 That move around in milky flood ; 
 And more, their change had been provoked 
 By noxious pipe he ever smoked. 
 And well his huge, round, Roman nose 
 Did frequent use of grog disclose. 
 So dense o'er all his face appeared 
 His shaggy, matted, grizzly beard. 
 It all completely hid its lair. 
 Nor showed that visage of despair. 
 Though swiftl}^ b}' him Crawford past 
 By breath that from his mouth he cast 
 Right plain could Crawford tell, and see 
 That he had just been drinking free ; 
 
BETRAYKD. 61 
 
 Though well, the pipe his mouth revealed, 
 The reeking fumes of grog concealed. 
 But little Crawford cared for this. 
 Nor e'er his drinking deemed amiss — 
 So him he aided heart and hand 
 To carry out the schemes he planned. 
 And such old Bolton well performed 
 If well his soul with grog was warmed ; 
 From none of Crawford's tasks he swerved 
 If flaming grog his spirit nei-ved. 
 
 vnr. 
 
 " Pardon me, Bolton," Crawford spake, 
 " Maybe I did your slumbers break ; 
 But it is mainl}^ for your sake 
 That I, myself, am now awake, 
 By all the saints, in bliss, I vow ! 
 So please excuse my presence now. 
 Winter, you know, is coming fast, 
 With all its snow and icy blast. 
 And time, it is, to straight prepare 
 To gather in that season's cheer ; 
 And by this time, old friend, I trow 
 Your barrel is nigh empty now ; 
 So I propose to have it filled 
 With the best whiskey now distilled, 
 Ere goes a week I'll have it here. 
 And safely lodged beneath 3'our care ; 
 And your tobacco stock, also. 
 By this must be extremely low. 
 Your bags with it must soon be stored. 
 The best the market can afford." 
 
>52 BETRAYED. 
 
 IX. 
 
 •'• Thank you, Boss Crawford," Bolton said, 
 '• My stock of each has almost fled ; 
 Please give to me your order now, 
 And if the grace of God allow. 
 This very day I'll go to town 
 And bring my stock for winter down." 
 '•• I will to you the order give. 
 And you'll this winter jolly live 
 As any man within the land. 
 Though he have wealth at his command." 
 Thus Crawford having spoke, he took 
 From out his coat a little book, 
 Right swift he did it open throw 
 And on a page as white as snow 
 That order wrote in letters bold, 
 Tore otT the page, and did it fold. 
 Around it tied a silken band 
 And gave it unto Bolton's hand, 
 Saying, " Old friend, one cask, I trow, 
 Will scarcel}^ last from Spring till'now, 
 So I herein haA^e ordered three. 
 And quality of best degree ; 
 Also, just twenty extra pounds 
 Of tobacco, cut and dried ; " Zounds ! " 
 Old Bolton hoarsely cried in glee, 
 " I thank you for your bounty free. 
 Ma}' such generous souls as 3-ours 
 Win all bliss that Heaven procures ; 
 From this henceforth, I swear m^- hand 
 Shall do whatever 3'ou command. 
 As in the past it's always done, 
 And never souo-ht a task to shun 
 
BETRAYED. 53 
 
 However hard it seemed to be, 
 And none of mortal perils free ; 
 God bless your soul, forevermore ! " 
 Muttered old Bolton o'er and o'er. 
 
 A smile o'er Crawford's features ran, 
 Whicli did liis haughty visage span 
 As he surveyed that hoary man, 
 And thus to him his speech began : 
 '• I swear by all the saints above. 
 Who live in harmony and love, 
 That it doth make my inmost soul 
 With seething tide of rapture roll 
 To witness joy like yours, and know 
 I did the cause of joy bestow ! 
 To do a good to human kind. 
 It doth delight me, soul and mind. 
 In doing good I've spent my days 
 Since ever I controllVI my waj's, 
 But sa}' ! my dear old friend, jnst now. 
 If I did right 3"Our meaning trow. 
 You said j'ou'd gladly do for me 
 Whate'er my wishes might decree ? 
 If I haA^e guessed 3'our meaning right 
 I'll tell 3-0U of a scheme to-night 
 That I would like 3'ou do for me 
 Before a week from now shall flee, 
 Xor is it half as hard to do 
 As have right oft been done l)v 3'ou.'' 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Let's hear it," Bolton swift replied. 
 And closer drew to Crawford's side. 
 
54 BETRAYED. 
 
 " Dear Boss, 3011 know that any deed 
 
 I'd do for you, nor ask the least of meed ; 
 
 Say, did not I with my own hand, 
 
 George Musgrave slay at your command ? 
 
 The simple fool I led astray 
 
 Where often Ragan bent his wa}', 
 
 "Where seldom others chanced to pass, 
 
 And crushed him to a shapeless mass ; 
 
 His bloody clothes I off him drew. 
 
 His bod}' in a whirlpool threw, 
 
 From whence 'twill never rise to view, 
 
 Then swift to Ragan 's barn I drew 
 
 And did them there all careless hide. 
 
 Red with the gore of Musgrave dyed — : 
 
 Did all as I with you agreed 
 
 When for the task 3'^ou paid the meed. 
 
 And as j^ou wished, I took good heed — 
 
 Although I did the job with speed — 
 
 To do it so all men 'twould lead 
 
 To fanc}' Ragan did the deed : 
 
 Yea, throw on him all taint of crime. 
 
 And this 3'ou'll see, in course of time. 
 
 And now, Avhate'er 3^ou wish of me, 
 
 I care not what 3'our will decree, 
 
 I'll do it for you just as free 
 
 As comes the air to grass or tree." 
 
 XII. 
 
 " I believe you would," the other said, 
 " Think you would risk your life, your head. 
 And hail j'our death with jo}^ supreme, 
 If but to carrj^ out my scheme 
 Should be your sole reward. Far more 
 You I like, than do I Huo-h Lenore. 
 
BETRAYED. 55 
 
 '• I like not to divulge my tliought 
 
 To those weak souls who with love are 
 
 fraught, 
 Or in the snares of women caught, 
 Nor have my secret schemings wrought 
 By a man who love for woman feels, 
 And ever has one at his heels ; 
 The time will come, howe'er delayed, 
 When everything will be betrayed 
 When once a woman knows a tale; — 
 She'll noise it o'er hill and dale ; 
 And men, alas, are all too frail, 
 Too oft their thoughts to them unveil 
 For me to risk my limb or life 
 B}^ him who has what's called a wife ; 
 So as you^ do not have one here, 
 Nor deign to claim one anywhere, 
 I do not fear to trust with you 
 The greatest scheme I wish to do. 
 I know you would no secret tell 
 No matter what the scheme befell. 
 But hide it in you just as well 
 As doth your heart within j^ou dwell, 
 That drives through all your form the 
 
 blood, 
 And ever active keeps that flood. 
 No, no, it would more hidden be 
 Than is the heai't in you or me, 
 For it will flutter, thump and beat, 
 The sense of sound it cannot cheat. 
 And plainly unto it doth prove 
 That something in the breast doth move ; 
 No, far more secret must it be, 
 Like thing we cannot hear nor see, 
 As stone in ocean's deepest flow, 
 That ne'er itself to man will show. 
 
56 BETRAYED. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Yes, Boss," the other said, " you know, 
 Betide me weal, betide me woe, 
 I would not e'er your schemes reveal 
 Though sorest wound of mine 'twould heal ; 
 And though pierced through with burning 
 
 steel 
 I would your schemes from all conceal. 
 No fear of me ; go on and tell 
 Just how I can aid you now." " Well 
 You are the man, old boy, for me, 
 And what I waiit j^ou'll shortly see. 
 See, did I say, I mean your ear 
 Shall swiftly all m}^ projects hear ? 
 There is a maid I wish to snare. 
 And crave that you the deed will dare ; 
 Within a week I wish her caught. 
 And here within this shant}- brought ; 
 You find the aid to do this deed. 
 And I will pay most ample meed ; 
 I trust 'tis vain for me to lay 
 A plan to guide jon on your way ; 
 In such tasks far too well 3'ou're skill'd, 
 To e'er hy me be trained or drill 'd. 
 Now saj^, will you do this for me ? 
 I swear I'll pay most ample fee ! " 
 " Yes ; I will do it, just as sure 
 As heaven seems an azure pure. 
 Though ne'er a mite for it be paid ; 
 But say, where is, and who the maid ? " 
 " 'Tis Mary Logan." " By my soul! 
 Betide it weal, betide it dole, 
 Before a week she shall be caught. 
 And for you to this shanty brought ; 
 
BETRAYED. 57 
 
 The task I would for 3'ou perform 
 Were gratitude but half as warm, 
 But this doth all my being swarm ! " 
 
 XIV. 
 
 As Bolton spake, proud Crawford Storm, 
 With haughty features wreathed in smile, 
 Gazed in these sluggish e^^es the while, 
 There thought he saw no hidden guile, 
 Nor craftiness of any stjde ; 
 And as the old man ceased, he said, 
 " Give me your hand ; when next I tread 
 Upon this shanty's floor, old boy. 
 We'll have enough of cause for J03' ; 
 With pleasure shall all hearts be crown 'd 
 If here by me that maid be found. 
 Which none of earthly words can tell. 
 So adieu, till then." " Yes, farewell,'' 
 The old man said, and tightl}' grasped 
 The hand that round his own was clasp 'd. 
 And hoarsel}^ said " farewell again, 
 And if to captui'e her be vain, 
 Then parted may we aj'e remain, 
 Nor ever meet in joy or pain." 
 i' Yes, be it so," the other cried. 
 And swiftly left the old man's side ; 
 Then quick the door he opened wide 
 And to'rds his steed did lightl^^ glide ; 
 The reins within his hand he drew, 
 Himself within the saddle threw 
 And back upon the road again, 
 His courser went with flj'ing mane. 
 By this, o'er skies a feeble ra}' 
 From out the east began to play, 
 
58 BETRAYED. 
 
 Which sends the heralds on their way 
 To tell the earth 'tis coming day. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Scarce had the haughty Crawford rode 
 From sight of Bolton's drear abode, 
 Than into it two figures strode 
 With sacks filled with some weighty load, 
 And as they did each heav}^ sack 
 Upon that shanty's floor unpack. 
 They proved to be a mingled spoil 
 Of flour, hams and cans of oil, 
 Sugar and rice, and things I trow. 
 To tell were long and needless now, 
 SuflTice it this, all there they bore, 
 They'd stolen from a distant store, 
 Whose owner on that very night 
 Was mingling with the gay delight 
 Which all the while at Logan's past 
 Until it was with gloom o'ercast — 
 Till on it fell that sudden blast 
 Which made it cease in sorrow vast. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 . Of all unsightly, beastly men, 
 Who ever roamed o'er moor or fen, 
 On mountain, or through lonely glen. 
 Or ever pined in prison den — 
 Or ever trod on vessel's deck, 
 Or on the gallows stretched their neck — ■ 
 None more debased in soul and form 
 Have ever trod in shine or storm, 
 Than were those two unsightly men 
 Who came in Bolton's dismal den, 
 
BETRAYED. 59 
 
 Who, soon as he beheld the spoil, 
 
 With grog rewarded well their toil ; 
 
 And unto each he dealt his fill — ■ 
 
 One he styled " Joe," the other " Bill ; " 
 
 The first was tall of form, and spare, 
 
 With grizzly beard and grayish hair, 
 
 Whose face all o'er was seam'd and scarr'd, 
 
 Which much his visage damn'd and marr'd ; 
 
 One eye was gone — lost years ago 
 
 In combat with some deadly foe. 
 
 Who also in that fearful close 
 
 Had bitten off both ears and nose, 
 
 And bitten from his hair}^ lip 
 
 So ghastly and so large a strip 
 
 The grizzly hair those parts reveal'd 
 
 But scantily its loss conceal'd. 
 
 And showed all plainly there beneath, 
 
 That horrid mouth of broken teeth. 
 
 The other was a shorter man, 
 
 A model of far different plan. 
 
 And, judging by his sable hairs, 
 
 Far 3'ounger by a score of 3'ears ; 
 
 And dark his e3-es as coals that 'shine 
 
 'Neath lantern's rays in gloomy mine ; 
 
 His sable hair but ill supplied 
 
 The roughness of his skin to hide. 
 
 Where horrid small-pox years before 
 
 Had left unsightly seams he wore ; 
 
 But other scars he also bore, 
 
 Ta'en in many a fray of yore, 
 
 While his rough lips that showed no hair, 
 
 And thick as ever mortal's were. 
 
 Did all a strong resemblance bear 
 
 To looks that nutmeg graters wear ; 
 
60 BETRAYED. 
 
 Within one leg the wretch was lamed, 
 Also in other parts was maimed. 
 Perhaps if these two wretched men 
 Had not been found in Bolton's den, 
 But in a nobler sphere of life, 
 Crowned with hideousness so rife 
 They'd not seemed so to mortal eye 
 That carelessly had passed them b}' ; 
 But found in such a den of crime, 
 They seem'd the foulest fiends of time 
 That ever breathed this vital air 
 Or peopled dens of dread despair. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 This was the all inhuman aid 
 
 With whom his plans old Bolton laid. 
 
 To bring through craft, or wile or raid, 
 
 Mary, that all transcendant maid, 
 
 A captive to his dismal bield, 
 
 And her unto vile Crawford j^ield. 
 
 After his plans with them he'd laid 
 
 And fixed the day to trap the maid, 
 
 " Now bo3^s,^' said he, " To-da}^ I go 
 
 My order to the grocer show. 
 
 And ere the sunset embers burn 
 
 I will with all my grog return. 
 
 With boxes of tobacco, too. 
 
 So we'll have lots to smoke and chew ; 
 
 And grog we'll have this winter, drear. 
 
 So time away shall jolly wear ; 
 
 Yea, I'll come back with as fair a load 
 
 As ever yet mj^ wagon showed ; 
 
 Oh, jolly times are coming, boys ! 
 
 Let winter tempests make their noise, 
 
BETRAYED. 61 
 
 We shall have our share of j 03^8, 
 
 For we Avill have our cherished toys — 
 
 'Baceo and grog ! what need we more, 
 
 When nights are long and winter hoar ? 
 
 To here no man will us pursue, 
 
 No matter what we dare to do — 
 
 So 'gainst Judge Down we do no deed 
 
 No other one have we to heed, 
 
 For he owns all these mountains broad — 
 
 No doubt he won them all by fi\aud, 
 
 And if he did, I like him more 
 
 Than though he'd paid in yellow ore. 
 
 For then less likely he is to chide 
 
 M}' deeds, but help me them to hide — 
 
 Teach those by whom they are espied — 
 
 To view them on their sunny side. 
 
 Full man}' deeds I've done for him. 
 
 Which savored of the dread and grim — 
 
 Deeds for which better men than I 
 
 Have oft and oft been doomed to die, 
 
 Yes, from the horrid gibbet swung. 
 
 Or been for life in dungeon flung. 
 
 And when for any deed I wrought 
 
 Old Bolton was to trial brought, 
 
 (For I own in some I have been caught) 
 
 All, all against me came to naught, 
 
 Down freed me of each fearful charge 
 
 And straight again set me at large. 
 
 In court, to man}^ a lie I've sworn 
 
 At his command, and did not scorn 
 
 To go for him at any time 
 
 He wished me to perform some crime ; 
 
 So, to reward me for my deeds, 
 
 And provide for my daily needs, 
 
62 BETRAYED. 
 
 He placed me here within this home 
 And gave me all these hills to roam ; 
 Placed everything beneath my care — 
 Those forests with their goat and deer, 
 And all the people, far and near. 
 Are too afraid to venture here, 
 Lest unto Down I should it tell 
 They hunted o'er his hill and dell. 
 And kill'd his game — quail, goats, and deer. 
 They know if such report he'd hear 
 He would to them no mercy show, 
 But would them straight in dungeons 
 
 throw. 
 On sand and water have them fed. 
 Instead of luscious grog and bread ; 
 So, boj^s, we have no cause to fear 
 That anyone will venture near. 
 That would to iis defiance show. 
 Or on us least of insult throw ; 
 Or at our grimest deed dare frown ; 
 Crawford is nephew to Judge Down, 
 And we must help his kith and kin 
 All wishes of their souls to win, 
 Nor reck not should their tasks be grim ; 
 So we that bird must cage for him. 
 And if it can't through gentle course 
 Be done, it must be wrought through 
 
 force." 
 
 XVIII. . 
 
 As o'er their whiskey planning crime 
 These ruthless wretches pass their time. 
 With spirit with grim malice warm, 
 O'er dale and hill rode Crawford Storm ; 
 
BETRAYED. G3 
 
 Till Logan's mansion met his view, 
 Till there himself from saddle threw, 
 There once more o'er that threshold drew, 
 Which from that day no more his presence 
 
 knew. 
 With light, elastic, nimble tread. 
 He through the winding hallway sped. 
 Soon to a spacious room he wound, 
 And there the maid and father found ; 
 He greeted each with friendly air. 
 And by the old man drew his chair. 
 It seemed o'er John Logan's face 
 Despair had made its resting place, 
 So grimly grief sat on his brow. 
 E'en Crawford scarcely knew him now ; 
 One shock from palsy's ghastly blow, 
 Had made his eyes uneai'thlj^ glow ; 
 Their pure bright azure sheen had changed 
 And left it strangely disarranged ; 
 So altered was that old man's mien 
 From what till then was always seen, 
 It seemed a score of years had fled. 
 And on him all their temjDests shed 
 Of sorrows, troubles, gloom and blight, 
 Instead of one short fleeting night. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 With flaming joy did Crawford glow 
 To see the old man's look of woe. 
 But by no slightest sign he showed 
 The secret mirth that in him glowed ; 
 Sad as a priest of gravest air. 
 He by John Logan took his chair ; 
 
64 BETRAYED. 
 
 He took in his tlie old man's hand 
 And spoke in accents meek and bland ; 
 But all he said, on Mary's ear 
 Fell just as deadening and as drear 
 As do the winds of midnight gloom, 
 Sigh round the loved one's lonely tomb, 
 When o'er it bends the widowed soul, 
 Where hope no longer holds control. 
 And o'er the cold and voiceless dead 
 The last sad, burning tear is shed. 
 
 XX. 
 
 To repeat all Crawford spake, I trow, 
 
 Would be completely useless now, 
 
 Nor will the muse the time allow. 
 
 But all the while he spake, his brow. 
 
 His voice and visage, seemed the while 
 
 All free as is the air of guile. 
 
 He told John Logan o'er and o'er. 
 
 It grieved him so intensely sore 
 
 To be a witness of the plight 
 
 He'd seen him 13'ing in last night 
 
 That he could not beside him stay. 
 
 So had abruptly sped away ; 
 
 Yes, all too sensitive, he said, 
 
 Dame nature has his being bred. 
 
 To let him calml}^ stand by anyone 
 
 His love is strongly fixed upon, 
 
 And view their slightest throes of pain. 
 
 Said he, '' my blood in e,very vein 
 
 Grows thick and cold as frozen snow — 
 
 Seems 'twill not through its channels flow, 
 
 And every bone and thew and nerve 
 
 Seems from its wonted use to swerve ; 
 
BETRAYED. 65 
 
 And none of aid his hand can lend, 
 Though 'twould straight ease his dearest 
 
 friend." 
 Huge, briny tears, as this he told. 
 From his dark eyes abundant rolled, 
 Sped swiftly down his haughty face, 
 And, falling, reached the floor apace. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Mary, as Crawford spake, the while 
 
 By neither look nor frown nor smile 
 
 Did sign of her disgust betraj^. 
 
 But looked as still and dead as clay. 
 
 He rose and gently left his chair, 
 
 Did to the maiden's side repair. 
 
 And with a sad but kindly look 
 
 Her hand within his own he took ; 
 
 But it seemed soft and cold as snow 
 
 When first it falls to earth below. 
 
 And on the frozen leaf is thrown. 
 
 But pressure none save air has known ; 
 A moment's space her eyes she raised, 
 Intensely into Crawford's gazed. 
 As though she there would ferret out 
 Something her senses yet would doubt. 
 Then turned her gaze a moment's space 
 Upon her father's sad, pale face ; 
 Then swift from off her chair she flew, 
 Her form to its full height she drew. 
 Back from her brow her curls she threw. 
 On Crawford fixed her gaze anew, 
 The color from her visage fled 
 And left it paler than the dead. 
 Or than the frost on mountain's head, 
 
66 BETRAYED. 
 
 But for a moment's space it sped, 
 Swift back again the bounding blood 
 Returned to it in crimson flood, 
 Again it swiftly ebbed away. 
 Left all her face more pale than cla}', 
 "While from her e3"es shot forth a ray 
 Like glass when on it sunbeams pla}', 
 While heaved her breast like sea in storm, 
 And taller seemed to grow her form : 
 Thrice she essaj^ed to speak, but thrice 
 Her tongue refused to move, like ice 
 Congealed midst vaults of lifeless stone, 
 It seem'd it in her mouth had grown. 
 At length it from its fetters broke, 
 And all bewildered thus she spoke : 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Avauntl thou subtle, cruel fiend, 
 
 With soul of every virtue clean 'd. 
 
 If e'er one on thy spirit lean VI 
 
 It has of it been ever wean'd ! 
 
 Haste back to that infernal sphere 
 
 From whence th}- spirit wandered hero ; 
 
 Go, bear it back from earth and time 
 
 Unto grim hell, its native clime. 
 
 Or to where'er that region be 
 
 Whence issued such a fiend as thee ! 
 
 A wretch more treacherous than thou, 
 
 Has nature never seen till now. 
 
 And never while her seasons roll 
 
 Will time see more so vile a soul ! 
 
 'Tis treacherous as ice that shows 
 
 Safe path 'neath w^hich deep water flows, 
 
 That looks to hunters' eyes secure, 
 
 Whene'er they range from shore to shore. 
 
BETRAYED. 67 
 
 Ou which they trusting tread, and feel 
 When all too late, the waters steal 
 Around their forms its ic}' flow, 
 And sudden meet in death beloAv. 
 Thou couldst place poison in the cup, 
 And hold the deadly liquid up 
 For thy best friend on eartli to drain, 
 Nor feel the least remorse nor pain ! 
 Yea, think not, vile and subtle fiend, 
 I have not all j'our secrets gleaned, 
 That do j-our inmost thoughts control, 
 And pierced the chambers of thy soul ! 
 The very thoughts that fill them now 
 I see as plainlj^ as thy brow ; 
 But think'not an}^ scheme of thine 
 Shall wholy injure me or mine. 
 Visions of prophecy I see — 
 An awful end they limn of thee ; 
 After a life of darkest crime 
 As yet was ever known to time, 
 I see convulsed in form and limb, 
 Thee, dangling from the gallows grim. 
 I see th}^ schemes all come to naught. 
 And all the harm, for which thou Avrought, 
 I see thy hate and vengeance dread. 
 Fall scatheless save on thy own head ; 
 I see Earl Ragan pass unharmed. 
 As though he were by wizzard charm'd, 
 Through the hissing, fiery flame 
 Of blazing crime and burning shame, 
 All which thy cruel, evil soul 
 Wrought da}' and night on him to roll ; 
 For God brought all thy schemes to naught 
 And thy own ruin with tliem wrought. 
 
68 BETRAYED. 
 
 Repent, thou fiend, wliile 3'et it's time, 
 
 Turn from thy ways of subtle crime, 
 
 And show remorse for all thy sin ! " 
 
 Here Crawford on her speech broke in : 
 
 '' Maiden, you know not what you say, 
 
 Methinks your reason much doth stray ; 
 
 Perfciaps you are not now aware 
 
 Crime is on Ragan proven clear. 
 
 He basely shed George Musgrave's blood. 
 
 Then cast him in the whirlpool's flood ; 
 
 And there arc witnesses, a score. 
 
 Who swear they saw him spill that gore, 
 
 Whose oaths, when comes the proper time, 
 
 Will prove on him this fearful crime ; 
 
 And e'en of this should he go free. 
 
 Which I fancy 3-ou will never see, 
 
 Still other charges hang o'er him 
 
 The law holds just as foul and grim ; 
 
 For forged unnumbered times has he. 
 
 All men he knew, their names used free. 
 
 Notes and checks written in his hand. 
 
 He's scattered thicklj" o'er the land. 
 
 And signed to these the names of men 
 
 Who'll fiercely punish him, I ken ; 
 
 And if he is not for murder hung, 
 
 He will for forger}^ be swung ; 
 
 So let your temper cool, young maid, 
 
 Of it is Crawford not afraid, 
 
 'Twas pity, simply, brought me here, 
 
 And this b}^ all the saints, I swear, 
 
 I thought I might some service be 
 
 To people dearly loved by me. 
 
 For whom all that I have I'd give 
 
 If it would make them happy live, 
 
BETRAYED. C9 
 
 Nor did I ever think to meet 
 Such strange reception as I greet ; 
 But I forgive 3'ou all, 3'oung maid, 
 So fear not the}-'!! be e'er repaid ; 
 Though harshly you do me upbraid 
 For la^'ing snares that Ragan laid, 
 In which the proper victim fell, ^ 
 
 I do forgive you just as Avell." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Forgive ! " the maiden swift replied. 
 As fiercer flashed her eyes with pride ; 
 " I no forgiveness crave of 3^ou, 
 Nor would I ask it though 'twere due. 
 No, were I on the gallows grim, 
 And 3'ou could save my life or limb, 
 I'd sooner die the ghastly death — 
 Yea, gladly render up my breath — 
 Than think that I was saved the while. 
 By flend like you, so low and vile ! 
 Pardon from such a wretch as j'ou, 
 That ne'er a noble feeling knew. 
 The meanest thing that crawls on earth — 
 That e'er in nature found its birth 
 Would scorn — despise to take your boon ! 
 Your pity ! I would just as soon 
 It ask of some grim beast of prey 
 That prowls at midnight on its way 
 With hunger writhing all its form, 
 As ask such thing of Crawford Storm ! 
 Haste, haste from hei-e, you traitor vile, 
 The air we breathe no more defile I " 
 Though fiercel^^ thus she spake, he stood 
 Unruffled as a beam of wood, 
 
10 BETRAYED. 
 
 Or statue all of iron cast ; 
 No frown his haughty visage past, 
 But as she spake, o'er it the while. 
 There beamed a mild and lively smile ; 
 By neither look nor sign nor word' 
 Betrayed the rage that in him stirred ; 
 Nor his dark e3'es with anger burned ; 
 And as she ceased, he gently turned 
 His gaze upon her father's face. 
 Who, like a statue, kept his place. 
 And said to him with beaming smile, 
 " Hearest thou thy daughter me revile ? 
 And dost thou think that I should meet 
 Such warm reception as I greet ? — 
 And from the lips of one I love 
 All, far all breathing things above 
 As is the furthest star in space 
 Beyond this earth's cold, dismal face — 
 Whose love I fondl}' hoped to win ? " 
 At this the father straight broke in : 
 " You have not heard me tell my child 
 Her speech was either rough nor wild. 
 And by this fact 3'ou well must see, 
 I with her thoughts and words agree ; 
 And, Crawford, plain I tell j-ou, now, 
 I know your soul belies your brow, 
 I see 'tis fill'd with anger dii-e, 
 But here j^ou fear to show that ire. 
 Though hoar I am and fill'd with age, 
 Xo strife with me you'd dare to wage ; 
 Though God this palsy on me sent 
 For some all-wise, divine intent. 
 And me of half my vigor shent, 
 It is not wholly from me rent, 
 
BETRAYED. 71 
 
 And if you here your ire show, 
 Mark, I shall meet j'ou blow for blow ; 
 And if you rouse my anger more, 
 I swift will crush you to the floor." 
 Depart! you'll find the doorway there, 
 So do not longer tarry here." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " If 'tis the wish of my old friend 
 
 That I should from his presence wend. 
 
 Then be it so ; now I will go. 
 
 And, Logan, may all blessings flow. 
 
 Which godi5 to favored mortals show 
 
 Upon 3'ou and your lovely child. 
 
 "When next we meet, I hope more mild 
 
 Will be 3^our treatment unto me ; 
 
 But when the time comes, this we'll see ; 
 
 Give me your hand, and say adieu." 
 
 " No more I give vay hand to you ; 
 
 The adder's tongue I'd sooner feel 
 
 I criTsh to atoms 'neath m}' heel. 
 
 And one more truth, I tell j'ou now, 
 
 If God will only me allow 
 
 The strength to mount upon my horse, 
 
 To-morrow I will take my course 
 
 Unto the jail, and Ragan see, 
 
 And from that dungeon set him free ; 
 
 All lands I own shall be his bail ; 
 
 If these won't free him of the jail, 
 
 Then I will bring my fr-^uds, around. 
 
 Who own vast fields of fertile ground ; 
 
 Many, I know, who ne'er would fail 
 
 To aid me bail him out of jail. 
 
 And Crawford, mark, if 3-ou through vile 
 
 Malicious env}- , craft or wile, 
 
^2 BETRAYED. 
 
 Have on Earl Ragan cast this crime, 
 You'll shortly find your reckoning time. 
 If men don't punish you for it, 
 And you should all the laws outwit, 
 His vengeance, God shall yet fulfill ; 
 Linger, it ma}-, but come it will ; 
 Now, speed you hence upon jour way, 
 I have no other word to say." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 From Logan swiftly Crawford turned. 
 As though bj^ bolt of lightning spurned, 
 And to'rds the spacious doorway sped 
 With form erect and haught}^ tread ; 
 And saying as he crossed the floor, 
 " Farewell, dear friends, forevermore ; 
 If these are thoughts you have of me — 
 Who am of all your charges free, 
 As is the infant yet unborn ; 
 Although you do me treat with scorn. 
 To you I bear no evil thought. 
 And naught for you but kindness wrought." 
 Saying these words, he crossed the floor, 
 And swiftly gained the spacious door. 
 The threshold lightl}^ passed he o'er, 
 Nor e'er cross'd that threshold more — 
 Parted like ships on stormy main, 
 That part and never meet again. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Swift on his steed his form he threw 
 And darted out of Logan's view 
 With spirit filled with rage and hate. 
 And frowning fierce on earth and fate, 
 
BETRAYED. "JS 
 
 He rode along at rapid rate 
 Until he reached that city's gate, 
 "Wherein that dismal jail was found 
 Within whose walls was Ragan bound, 
 Fast up a broad and statel}^ street 
 Thundered his chargers flying feet, 
 Until he reached a stately door 
 "With steps of marble polished o'er, 
 The door huge plates of silver wore, 
 And these the name of owner bore ; 
 " Judge Down," on every plate was seen. 
 Graved all in grandest stj'le, I ween. 
 A man met Crawford at the door, 
 Who office of a hostler bore. 
 Soon as of him was saddle freed. 
 That man to stable led his steed. 
 Swift o'er the threshold Crawford strode. 
 And soon was hid in that abode. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Soon trod he to a spacious room 
 
 That gaudy curtains filled with gloom. 
 
 Curtains of damask, rich and rare, 
 
 Hung o'er those windows, placed with care, 
 
 Curtains of silken laces wrought, 
 
 With figures all superblj^ fraught 
 
 Shut out the light of glowing sun. 
 
 And flll'd that place with shadows dun ; 
 
 And o'er the floor were carpets seen 
 
 Of mingled shades of red and green. 
 
 Of scarlet, crimson, l)luc and gold, 
 
 And every color made or sold ; 
 
 Together these were choicely brought. 
 
 And richly were with figures wrought ; 
 
74 i5ETRATED. 
 
 Carpets as costly — well, I -ween, 
 As ever yet were trod or seen 
 In stately court of proudest queen, 
 Whose eye for such was choice and keen ; 
 Carpets as rich as ever loom 
 "Wove for a monarch's grandest room — 
 All floM^ers seemed to o'er them bloom, 
 Though dimly seen amidst the gloom ; 
 And all the furniture there seen, 
 Was of the grandest style, I ween. 
 The costliest that could be found 
 'Mongst all refindest nations rovnid ; 
 Every sofa, stool, lounge and chair 
 Was cushion 'd o'er with velvet rare, 
 Wrought with flowers of every shade 
 And form. Dame Nature ever made, 
 As ever in her gardens bloom'd. 
 And grandest shapes and hues assumed. 
 With paintings all the walls v,^ere fraught, 
 Which had the greatest limners wrought 
 'Mongst all the nations, old aud young. 
 And these from floor to ceiling hung ; 
 Paintings of battles, fierce and wild, 
 Where slaughtered men in hills were piled. 
 Revealing rally, rout and charge — 
 The falling sword on helm and targe ; 
 The broken shield, and blade and spear 
 The djdng chief, the mourner's tear, 
 The features grim with ra^e or fear, 
 The smiles that haughty victors wear — 
 All limned in colors true to life. 
 Were teeming on the canvas rife ; 
 Paintings of hurricane and storm, 
 Clouds torn with lightning red and warm, 
 
BETRAYED. 
 
 "With shapes of things the blasts deform, 
 Did o,'er the life-like painting swarm ; 
 Scenes of grim shipwrecks, and their woe, 
 Did there broad sheets of canvas show ; 
 Limning of movmtain lands sublime, 
 Of every wild, romantic clime. 
 Some robed in winter's garb of snow 
 Where roaring storms their fur}- show. 
 Where avalanches fall below 
 To vales where mighty torrents flow, 
 Where hills eternal shadows throw 
 And never signs of vintage know ; 
 But where grim beasts enormous grow, 
 With teeth that gleam and eyes that glow, 
 And roar to storms with rage or woe 
 As couched on lairs of gore and slime 
 Amidst eternal blast and rime ; 
 Some were decked in summer's prime, 
 And fair as ever known to time, 
 Yet all stupendous and sublime 
 As ever seen in nature's clime. 
 With flowers clad, and stately' trees 
 That seemed to wave midst gentle breeze. 
 And on their sides of glowing green 
 Were flocks of sheep and shepherds seen ; 
 Some landscapes gleam 'd midst sunshine 
 
 glow, 
 Some shone the moon's calm light below ; 
 Some stood 'neath midnight's sable frown, 
 Nor star nor planet beaming down. 
 Besides these paintings, rich and rare. 
 That filled the walls and ceilings, there 
 Stood round that room some statues grand 
 As e'er were wrought by sculptor's hand. 
 
*IQ BETRAYED. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Around this room liis gaze he cast, 
 But amid all its sj^lendor vast 
 No living creature met his view, 
 Swift to'rds another door he drew, 
 Across the threshold soon he past 
 And face to face met Down at last. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The Judge sat at a spacious board 
 That with choice fare was amply stored. 
 With meat and fowl, and best of food. 
 The Judge supplied his hungry mood ; 
 There sat the dishes, choice and rare 
 As ever made a monarch's fare ; 
 The best of earth, or flood or air. 
 All nicely cooked was steaming there 
 On plates of solid silver bright, 
 Tliat cast around their polished light ; 
 And as he ate his throat he laved 
 With ruddy wine from cups engraved 
 With rare designs, devices strange 
 As ever 3'et did vision range ; 
 Cups out of purest silver made. 
 And all with ruddy gold inlaid. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The Judge was short and thin of form. 
 Scarce half the height of Crawford Storm, 
 Shallow and narrow was his chest, 
 O'er which he wore a gaud}' A^est, 
 And there a golden jDin he showed 
 That all with sparkling diamonds giovfed, 
 
BETRAYEr. *f7 
 
 And from his vest liung, plain to see, 
 
 Huge rows of seals that dangled free ; 
 
 And all his garb from head to heel 
 
 Did perfect gaudiness reveal 
 
 His bony fingers also showed 
 
 Huge, weighty rings that flashed and 
 
 glowed 
 With stones and gems of every shade 
 And hue that art or nature made. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Small was his form, and spare, I said — ■ 
 
 Had o'er his length a rule been spread 
 
 And measured him from crown to floor. 
 
 Than four-feet-three, he'd proved no more ; 
 
 And too enormous was his head, 
 
 Compared to what was 'neath it spread, 
 
 Broad and stupendous was its crown, 
 
 And towards its chin it tapered down ; , 
 
 It seem'd like some enormous pear — 
 
 Small to'rds the stem, but huge elsewhere. • 
 
 Sure, at the time that head was wrought, 
 Dame Nature's mind must have been 
 
 fraught 
 With model strange, and have caught 
 That of swift tapering retort ; 
 For seldom e'er 'mongst men, I ween ; 
 A head so queerly shaped was seen ; 
 Modeled was it from chin to crown. 
 Like slanting hill turned upside doAvn, 
 Forming a broad and heavy top. 
 With at its base too small a prop ; 
 His wrinkled cheeks no whiskers wore, 
 Nor of these his chin an atom bore, 
 
78 BETRAYED. 
 
 These parts were shaven smooth and clean, 
 But a heavy, gray mustache was seen, 
 Which, when moved his lips showed be- 
 neath 
 White rows of artificial teeth ; 
 Down almost o'er his mouth there came 
 A warty nose of bulky frame, 
 Broad at its base, but at its end 
 'Twas sharp, and this did upward tend ; 
 His crown was bald as is the stone 
 On which ne'er moss nor grass was grown, 
 That is in bed of torrent seen, 
 And ne'er will grasses grow, I ween. 
 But halfway o'er that head, all round 
 Between the crown and ears, was found 
 A bushy growth of heavy hair, 
 Which gave to him an aged air ; 
 And 'neath his hoary eyebrows showed 
 His sable orbs that keenly glowed, 
 But plainly midst their flashing sheen 
 Deep, subtle craft and guile was seen. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " God bless your soul, my darling boj- ! '' 
 Swift said Judge Down with seeming joy, 
 As o'er that threshold Crawford drew, 
 And came within his uncle's view. 
 " Now you have just arrived in time 
 To see Earl Ragan tried for crime — 
 Both forgery and murder grim ; 
 True bills have just been found 'gainst him ; 
 I hurried through all things to-day, 
 And from him kept his friends awa}' ; 
 To-morrow I shall have him tried — 
 More time to him shall be denied, 
 
BETRAYED, 
 
 E'en should that boon be asked of me 
 By all his friends, who'er they be, 
 Although with broad dominions backed 
 I have the jury picked and packed, 
 And it will him convict just sure 
 As ever wine was re*d and pure, 
 And ever meant to moisten food 
 I swallowed in my hungry mood. 
 And when on him they fix the crime. 
 Then after that will come the time ; 
 It will be vain to offer bail. 
 Or hope to pledge him out of jail ; 
 When this is done, then you can woo 
 And marry Mary Logan too ; 
 Soon as that maiden is your wife. 
 Then try your hand at Logan's life — 
 Old men die easy ; then you reign 
 As master o'er his wide domain. 
 But then, remember one thing, boy, 
 If 3'ou would well your gain enjoy. 
 One-half the lands, you give to me ; 
 I claim them as my lawful fee. 
 Now, swear to me, when this is done — 
 When mastership o'er all you've won, 
 You, Crawford Storm, will not forget 
 To pay your uncle all this debt." 
 " Give me your hand, my uncle dear, 
 By all heaven and earth, I swear. 
 To you I'll leave no debt impaid. 
 When once as wife I win that maid." 
 
 79 
 
80 BETRAYED. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 A long and dreary week had past, 
 Thick, murky clouds had skies o'ercast, 
 Cold rains to earth had fallen vast, 
 And ceaseless roared an autumn blast. 
 To trial had been Ragan brought. 
 And Down had his conviction wrought ; 
 For men and women, full a score, 
 Whom Ragan ne'er had seen before — 
 Save two, of all that motle}^ crew, 
 On him the crime of murder threw. 
 These two were Bolton and Lenore ; 
 Each firmly and directly swore 
 That he had heard Earl Ragan swear 
 Three times, or more, within the year. 
 That he would take George Musgrave's life 
 With either rifle, club or knife ; 
 But only one amongst them swore 
 That he had seen him shed that gore. 
 And that was him called Hugh Lenore, 
 He swore by church and holy rood, 
 That he had close beside him stood. 
 Had seen him deal on Musgrave's head 
 The fatal blow that stretched him dead ; 
 Seen him disrobe the lifeless form 
 While yet the blood was streaming warm, 
 Saw him the naked body cast 
 Within a whirlpool fierce and vast. 
 From whence it never more shall rise 
 To "Show itself to human eyes. 
 
BETRAYED. 81 
 
 " Yes," said he, true as I10I3' writ, 
 
 Or, sure as here in court I sit, 
 
 I saw Earl Ragan, plain as now. 
 
 Take Musgrave's clothes unto his mow, 
 
 And there secrete them 'mongst the hay, 
 
 Just where we found them yesterday." 
 
 II. 
 
 When thus he swore, out spoke the Judge, 
 
 " Now, life, I do to no man grudge. 
 
 However low and vile he be, 
 
 xVnd fallen, to the last degree ; 
 
 I strive to let all ruffians live, 
 
 Nor take the boon I cannot give. 
 
 I often let them pass from here 
 
 With but a reprimand severe ; 
 
 Many, perhaps, should have been hung. 
 
 Or for their lives in dungeon flung. 
 
 But through good heart, I let them go. 
 
 When their friends for them pleaded so. 
 
 But this I can no longer do. 
 
 Henceforth another course pursue ; 
 
 Whoever now doth break the law. 
 
 And on himself its vengeance draw, 
 
 Must pay the cost for what he's done, 
 
 Although it be my only son ; 
 
 I must in those who break the law. 
 
 Strike deep its terroi' and its awe. 
 
 Now, in this case I hope to see 
 
 The jury with their Judge agree. 
 
 And by their wise, august decree. 
 
 Not set this man of murder free. 
 
 Since I as Jadge have ruled this place, 
 
 I never saw a plainer case 
 
83 . BETRAYED. 
 
 Of murder proven until now, 
 
 And hope the jury will allow — 
 
 Yea, give their verdict, swift and free, 
 
 Of murder in the first degree. 
 
 So go, my friends, and meditate, 
 
 On what shall be this ruffian's fate ; 
 
 You see the crime on him is proved. 
 
 ni. 
 
 As from their seats the jury moved 
 
 And pass'd unto a little room 
 
 To ponder over Ragan's doom. 
 
 Up from his seat the prisoner sprung, 
 
 And with a voice that loudly rung 
 
 Through all that spacious courtroom 
 
 round, 
 Where, save it, was silence most profound, 
 Though it was crowded full of men, 
 With women and with children then ; 
 And said to Down, " Most noblq Judge, 
 I see jon me of life begrudge ; 
 But for this I do not care at all, 
 More than a rock heeds passing squall, 
 Which on its side can only bray. 
 Nor brings to it the least disma}^ ; 
 A serpent's sting may strike a rock, 
 But it don't heed nor feel the shock ; 
 The serpents jaws ar* only bruised, 
 Itself is all that is misused ; 
 And you, too, j'et will plainly see 
 Your venom all is lost on me ; 
 The spleen you have on me diffused 
 This day, has only me amused ; 
 I care not for it any more 
 Than gra'nite does for storms that roar ; 
 
BETRAYED. 83 
 
 They only sweep the dust away 
 
 Cast there by time and grim decay, 
 
 Make them far brighter bodies show, 
 
 More in their pristine glory glow ; 
 
 What I have seen and heard to-day 
 
 Smites me not with the least dismaj'- ; 
 
 It only serves to brush away 
 
 Dark ignorance that round me lay, 
 
 And kept my spirit grossly blind 
 
 Of characters in human kind, 
 
 But until now I never knew 
 
 There breathed on earth a fiend like you I 
 
 And had I heard this day's work told. 
 
 In any story, new or old, 
 
 I would have laid the book aside 
 
 And firmly thought the author lied. 
 
 Now, truth, I see, is far more strange — 
 
 More full of subtleness and change. 
 
 Than what is found in fiction's range, 
 
 However wild her flights she wield. 
 
 And shows her heart to pity steel'd ; 
 
 Only one thing I cannot see. 
 
 But this may yet be shown to me 
 
 Ere ceases here on earth my time : 
 
 It is, why you this hellish crime 
 
 Have strove so hard to fix on me, 
 
 Who, well you know of it am free. 
 
 Yes, no more did the fearful crime 
 
 Than did yon clock, whose tick and chime 
 
 Knells on 3'our ears the passing time ; 
 
 Yes, of that dark and cruel deed, 
 
 You know full well that I am freed ; 
 
 And there is not the slightest need 
 
 For me to sa}^ that I am free 
 
 Of charges you have brought 'gainst me." 
 
84 BETRAYED. 
 
 As this he saicl, from out the room 
 Those twelve came forth to speak his doom ; 
 And grave as priests when mass they saj-, 
 Or round some lifeless sinners pray, 
 They formed a ring the prisoner round 
 Midst silence awful and profound, 
 Broke only by their footstep's tread, 
 And as they stood in silence dread, 
 A voice cried out in solemn tone, 
 " Now let it to the Court be known, 
 If you guilty or not guilty, find 
 The prisoner at the bar ? " " One mind 
 Have we, the foreman swift replied, 
 About the guilt of him we've tried ; 
 And we pronounce he is not free 
 Of murder in the first degree ! 
 No stronger proof we ever saw, , 
 So now we give him to the law I " 
 
 IV. 
 
 The while these words the foreman said, 
 Reigned in that courtroom silence dread. 
 And as he ceased, a solemn gloom 
 Seemed to pervade that crowded room, 
 And a low, dread muttering ran 
 xVround, from woman, child and man ; 
 But swifter than a flash of thought, 
 Down on his desk his hammer brought, 
 And straight again was silence dread, 
 O'er all within that courtroom spread ; 
 Save clocks that ticked upon the wall, 
 There was no other sound at all ; 
 You might have heard a feather fall, 
 So dread did silence all men thrall ; 
 
BETUAYED. 35 
 
 If there no clocks had ticked, the tomb 
 
 Shows no more silence than that room. 
 
 And silence kept its dread repose 
 
 Till Down from off his seat arose, 
 
 And said in low and solemn tone 
 
 That thrill 'd through marrow, nerve and 
 
 bone, 
 Stand up, thou prisoner at the bar. 
 And tell me what th}^ reasons are, 
 Why now sentence of death by me 
 Should not be straight pronounced on 
 
 thee ? " 
 '^ I am standing," Ilagan replied, 
 " Is sight unto your eyes denied ? 
 Your time you need no longer lose, 
 So just pronounce whate'er j^ou choose ; 
 Further than these no Avords I'll say 
 Ere from your sight I pass away, 
 And what I speak all men shall see 
 Is truth, ere yet a month shall flee ; 
 They'll see as plain as noonda}^ sun, 
 This crime by me was never done ; 
 That I am guiltless of the deed 
 As is the vestal's cross and bead, 
 O'er which she cons her midnight prayer, 
 With guarding seraphs watching near. 
 Suppose I had this murder done, 
 I would have strove the law to shun ; 
 And wheresoe'er I cast the dead, 
 His clothes had also wiLh him sped ; 
 I ne'er had paused to take away 
 The robes that did the dead array ; 
 Down in the pool where he I cast, 
 His clothes had also with him past ; 
 
86 BETRAYED. 
 
 And lost within that sable tarn, 
 
 I ne'er had ta'en them to my barn, 
 
 And hid them there in loft or mow, 
 
 As 3-0U so warmly told just now ; 
 
 Wh}', this to all must plainlj^ show, 
 
 I nothing of this murder know. 
 
 No, if indeed, this boy be dead, 
 
 If b}' murderer's hands he bled. 
 
 Then you, Judge Down, or Hugh Lcnore, 
 
 Or one that 'gainst me witness bore, 
 
 Have done this dread and cruel sin I " 
 
 At this Judge Down broke fiercely in : 
 
 •' It grieves me much to see a wretch 
 
 Whose neck the gallows soon shall stretch 
 
 For evil deeds that he has done. 
 
 And ne'er his fate may hope to shim. 
 
 Whom not a law on earth can save. 
 
 Nor rescue from a felon's grave. 
 
 So grossly lost to every thought 
 
 Of remorse for murder he has wrought ! 
 
 You look as all defiant now, 
 
 And gather smiles upon your brow 
 
 As though as grand a deed you'd done. 
 
 As ever fame for hero won I 
 
 So it shall be my duty now. 
 
 To show what mercy laws allow 
 
 To hinds like you, so fierce and grim, 
 
 Who show not, saA^e in form and limb. 
 
 That the}'' belong to human kind, 
 
 Or Grod to them a soul consigned. 
 
 Now, 3'ou, Earl Ragan, hence shall go. 
 
 Unto 3'our cell, this court below. 
 
 And there in solitude remain 
 
 Till this day week shall come again, 
 
BETRAYED. 87 
 
 And when the week has past iiwa}', 
 For time will swiftly bring the da}', 
 Far quicker than you wish to see, 
 'Tween the hours of one and three. 
 You shall be taken from your cell 
 By the Sheriff", or whom he tell 
 So to do, and you shall be brought 
 Upon the gallows, a rope be caught 
 Around j-our neck, and you shall hang 
 Till you are dead ! till every pang 
 And moan, and sign of vital breath 
 Departs and leaves 3'ou grim with death I 
 May God Ilis wrath on you control. 
 And have mild mercy on 3-our soul. 
 
 V. 
 
 This said the Judge with solemn air, 
 And straight again resumed his chair, 
 His elbows on his desk he leant, 
 And o'er his hands his face he bent ; 
 And for a long and dreary space 
 Thus from the throng he hid his face. 
 While thus his bulky head he bowed, 
 There was dead silence 'mongst the crowd. 
 Save tick of clock, no other sound 
 Was heard that crowded courtroom round. 
 With parted lips and staring eyes, 
 They gazed at him in dumb surprise ; 
 Whether he smiled, or prayed or wept. 
 While thus concealed his face he kept, 
 None there could guess who looked on him, 
 For stirred he neither form nor limb'. 
 Thus his bald crown b}^ them was seen 
 For twenty minutes, full, I ween. 
 
88 BJITRAYED. 
 
 VI. 
 
 From off his hands his face he drew, 
 And round the courtroom cast his view, 
 And said, with voice made hoarse with dole, 
 " Now, I have prayed for this man's soul 1 
 Prayed God would wash away its stain, 
 And hope I have not asked in vain. 
 But he's so hardened in his crime, 
 I fear it is but wasted time 
 To pray for ruffians such as him. 
 Whose souls are as a dragon grim. 
 Repent ! rei:)ent ! j'oung man, I say ! 
 Oh, to 3'our God forever pra}^. 
 That He may wash your sin away. 
 And make your spirit bright as day 1 
 For crime let it but feel remorse 
 Before it treads that unknown course I 
 Now, Sheriff, take your man away, 
 I have no other word to saj'. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Soon to Lis gloomy ceu below 
 Did Ragan with the Sheriff go. 
 And gay he from the courtroom trod, 
 As though he strolled o'er his OAvn sod — 
 Amongst his pastures rich and green. 
 And had his herds around him seen ; 
 Nor did his stalwart footsteps lag 
 E'en when he trod the dungeon flag ; 
 When closed on him the iron door, 
 And locked was every bolt it bore, 
 Yea, just as dauntless air he wore, 
 As he had ever worn before. 
 
BETRAYED. 89 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Soon as the prisoner left their view, 
 The crowd from out the courtroom drew ; 
 Some left with joy o'er Ragan's doom, 
 And wished he only filled his tomb — 
 Fancied him a murderer grim. 
 As e'er showed human form or limb , 
 But those who felt this way were few 
 Compared to all who from there drew — 
 Some left with heavy grief and dole, 
 With leaden sorrow in each soul, 
 For the fate of him they well believed 
 Ne'er wrought, nor 3xt the crime con- 
 ceived. 
 Many were there who thought this way. 
 And such some men were heard to sa}- ; 
 Yet all save two past from that room 
 Either glad or sad o'er Ragan's doom. 
 Yes, only two men lingered there 
 Amidst that courtroom's dusky air. 
 One was Judge Down, the other man 
 Was of a build of different plan ; 
 Tall was his form, and broad his breast, 
 His shoulders might}^ strength confess'd, 
 His thew}' limbs were thick and long, 
 And as the hickor}- tough and strong ; 
 The fingers of his stalwart hands 
 Felt less like flesh than iron bands ; 
 His heavy locks of sable hue 
 Concealed his forehead all from view, 
 Though it was massive, broad and high, 
 They hid it from the gazer's eye ; 
 His shaggy eyebrows half concealed 
 The light his sable orbs revealed ; 
 
90 BETRAYED. 
 
 Enough of them "^'as seen to show 
 They did intensely flash and glow 
 With craftiness and subtle wile 
 As e'er displayed a soul of guile ; 
 His heavy beard revealed no trace 
 Of any feature in his face, 
 Nor could 3'ou tell if grief or care, 
 Despair or joy was furrowed there ; 
 His parrot nose of massive frame 
 Far out from his hair}^ visage came, ' 
 And like an eagit's bill, the end 
 Did to'rds his hairy mouth descend. 
 This was the man they called Lenore, 
 As fierce a fiend as ever wore 
 The outward form of mortal man, 
 Since first on earth the race began ; 
 The slyest thief that night or day 
 To crib or fowlroost bent his way ; 
 False witness 'twas his trade to bear. 
 And 'gainst the innocent to swear ; 
 "Would murder giadl}' do for meed, 
 Feel no remorse for foulest deed — 
 A -sillain grim from crust to core 
 As ever trod on dale or moor, 
 Or ever strode on dungeon floor, 
 Was this man they called Hugh Lenore. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Soon as the crowd had past away 
 
 And in that room alone were they. 
 
 Close to Judge Down strode Hugh Lenore, 
 
 And hoarsely said, " Now Judge, the score 
 
 Of witnesses that here I brought. 
 
 Who how to swear by you were taught, 
 
BETRAYED. g]^ 
 
 This evening homeward wend their waj^, 
 And ere they leave they wish their pay ; 
 Their orders all have given me 
 To draw from you their witness fee ; 
 Let's have it straight, my noble Judge, 
 For all, before they homeward trudge, 
 Would like their share of ale and grog, 
 Likewise their fdl of Avholesome prog. 
 And buy their winter's stock of food." 
 
 Replied the Judge in haughty mood, 
 As with his small, white, jeweled hond 
 His golden spectacles he donn'd, 
 Where eyes beneath intensel^^ blazed, 
 And on Lenore their gaze he raised. 
 " Why, you astonish me complete, 
 Surprise me o'er from head to feet, 
 In asking such a thing from me. 
 And now let it the last time be 
 That I am asked for witness fee, 
 To pay it I did ne'er agree ; 
 If from me you expected tliis, 
 I swear you've reckoned all amiss. 
 The witnesses you brought to me 
 I never promised an}- fee, 
 Xor gave them hopes of an^' gear 
 Although I told them how to swear, 
 Just what to say in Pv.agan's case, 
 So we might murder to him trace, 
 And him in all this crime detect ; 
 And if they pa^^ for this expect, 
 Then they will be deceived indeed. 
 For I've no cash to pay their meed. 
 
92 BETRAYED, 
 
 « Xor do I care one single dime 
 
 If here they stay a month of time ; 
 Or if to'rds home tliey wander hence, 
 They'll not get drunk at m}' expense ; 
 And if around this town for spoil 
 From me, they make the least turmoil, 
 I'll have them placed in p;loomy cell, 
 And there a month or more the}- '11 dwell, 
 Where granite flags shall be their bed 
 Without a straw or rag for spread. 
 However wild the wintery blast 
 . Its icy breath around them cast, 
 Water and meal their drink and bread, 
 And sometimes be on onions fed." 
 
 XI 
 
 Thus said the Judge with haughty air, 
 And backward in his cushioned chair 
 His bulky head he placed at rest, 
 Folded his arms across his breast, 
 One leg athwart the other drew, 
 A moment down his gaze he threw 
 Upon his seals of varied hue, 
 And smiled as if pleased with their view. 
 While thus he gazed he did not see 
 The flash of fiendish craft and glee 
 That in his listener's dark eyes glowed, 
 Round which black hair abundant flowed, 
 And made them look like flames that shine 
 Deep bedded in a sable mine, 
 Nor saw the visage fierce and grim. 
 With stalwart form and giant limb. 
 Which like cloud fi'om volcanoe^s brim. 
 Was fiercely frowning down on him. 
 
BETRAYED. 93 
 
 And neither spake an ample space. 
 Though shades of night in rapid race 
 Were falling in that gloom}^ place, 
 And darkening over each man's face. 
 At length with hoarse and savage tone, 
 Lenore thus made his feelings known : 
 
 XII. 
 
 "If what 3'ou've said 3'ou really mean, 
 It will be sore for you, I ween ; 
 Judge as 3'ou are, o'er all this land, 
 I dare to 'gainst you lift my hand ! 
 xind if from out 3'on seat you move. 
 What now I've said I'll swiftly prove 
 With pistol, or with gleaming knife. 
 So stir not, if you prize j^our life I 
 You shall call in no succor here. 
 And none shall 'tween us interfere. 
 Till I have spoken every word 
 I have to say, and you have heard 
 The thovights that labor in my breast. 
 Which you have thrown in wild unrest. 
 Though o'er this town 3'ou reign and rule 
 Like tyrant in a village school, 
 Who plies on all his scourging rod. 
 Whose pupils tremble at his nod. 
 Yet me you cannot frighten more 
 Than rock is scared by waves that roar ; 
 So stir not till 3^ou hear me through, 
 Or I will drive this ki:iife in you ! 
 To say j'ou never promised meed 
 If we for you would do this deed. 
 Is firmly now hy me denied, 
 And Judge, I tell you, you have lied 1 
 
g4 BETRAYED. 
 
 What call had we to do the deed, 
 Unless to us you promised meed ? 
 Earl Ragan uever injured me, 
 l^or harmed us in the least degree ; 
 In fact, a kindlj^ heart he bore 
 To all the wretched, abject poor, 
 And oft he's eased my hungry mood, 
 When at his door I've craved for food ; 
 The voice of want he'd ever heed, 
 And had I not been sore in need, 
 I ne'er on him had sworn this deed. 
 For less than thrice your promised meed. 
 And there is Musgrave ! that poor boy, 
 His father's only heir and joy I 
 Think j^ou his life had been destroj-ed 
 If you for meed had not emplo3^ed 
 The hand that basely shed his blood, 
 And cast him in the whirlpool's flood ? 
 Now, by his death, you will fall heir 
 To all he owned the largest share ; 
 And by Earl Ragan's fall, 3'our kin 
 A fair and wealthy bride will win ; 
 And this had never chanced, if we 
 By ci'imes all of the first degree, 
 Had not set both 3'our pathway's free ; 
 So pay the promised meed to me. 
 If this to us you don't bestow, 
 • The truth to all the land I'll show." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 As thus he spake, the night apace, 
 Had so filled all that courtroom's space, 
 The speaker scarcely there could trace 
 The features of his listener's face : 
 
rRAYED. 95 
 
 And saw not either frown or smile, 
 If any gathered there the while ; 
 But plain his eyes, Lenore could see, 
 From these mute rage was flashing free ; 
 And as on him they often turned, 
 Sheen through the gloom their fire burn'c 
 Like flashing sparks at night we greet, 
 When steel and flint abruptly meet ; 
 So in his eyes the mingled tide 
 Of chasing rage and hate was spied ; 
 And brightly did they flash through gloom 
 That gathered in that dreary room. 
 Scarce on his lips Hugh's voice had died. 
 Than thus to him the Judge replied : 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Think not, vain fool, by any threat, 
 That j'ou can force from me a debt, 
 Even if such I owed to 3'ou, 
 And it had long been overdue ; 
 I tell 3'ou I've no cash at all. 
 To give at an}^ rutlian's call ! 
 You talk of things j^ou've done for me, 
 Now, what are the}^ all ? come let's see 
 The mighty wonders 3^ou have done : 
 You've slain for me my sister's son, 
 George Musgrave, a frail, worthless boy, 
 Whose living did ray peace annoy ; 
 And by his death, 'tis true, I heir 
 A broad estate of pastures rare ; 
 I wrote the will she left behind. 
 And framed it just to suit my mind ; 
 At her child's death, I made it so 
 Most all her wealth to me would go ; 
 
96 BETRAYED. 
 
 And to her husband, Richard, gave 
 
 Just what of hers I did not crave, 
 
 A little house upon the hill. 
 
 With grounds enough for him to till. 
 
 Where he might earn his daily bread, 
 
 If not too laz}^ life he led. 
 
 But not one foot of all her land, 
 
 You see, is yet at my command ; 
 
 The will distinctly says, a 3'ear 
 
 Must pass from the death of this heir 
 
 Before I shall lay any claim 
 
 To lands she left in my own name ; 
 
 Through this time Richard is the lord 
 
 Of her dominions fair and broad. 
 
 So since a year must pass away 
 
 Before they come beneath my sway, 
 
 I'll have to wait through all this time 
 
 Ei'e I from them shall win a dime. 
 
 I cannot pay you for your deed. 
 
 But when I can, will give the meed ; 
 
 So take not mj^ delay so ill. 
 
 You were a witness to her will ; 
 
 Yes, you were present when 'twas made. 
 
 And was for all your trouble paid ; 
 
 You know just how that will doth read, 
 
 So do not ask me now for meed. 
 
 And as concerns my other kin, 
 
 Why, he has 3^et his bride to win. 
 
 But when in this he doth succeed, 
 
 I'll pay you nobly for your deed ; 
 
 But you a little while must wait, 
 
 Till he gets hold of her estate ; 
 
 Then joll}^ times he'll give the boys, 
 
 Who helped him to obtain his toys. 
 
BETRAYED. 9t 
 
 You boast that you the truth ^villshow, 
 
 On me the stain of murder throw, 
 
 Why people round would only think 
 
 That you were overfraught with drink ; 
 
 And all that heard you, far and wide, 
 
 AVould firmly think j'ou only lied ; 
 
 I stand too high for such as 3'ou 
 
 To soil me, though j^our tales were true ; 
 
 The less 3'ou talk about your crime, 
 
 Xow, or at an}' other time. 
 
 You'll find i.'j better for 3^our weal. 
 
 Or you the hangman's rope may feel ; 
 
 M}^ bank account is very low, 
 
 Far smaller than I like to show. 
 
 And not a dime to-night I spare 
 
 To you or any with you here ; 
 
 If you and them are sore in need, 
 
 Wh}', you and them this night can speed 
 
 rTnto some rich man's mansion here 
 
 And rob him of his shining gear ; 
 
 Many a house this town can show 
 
 Round us within a pebble's throw. 
 
 Where bureau drawers and chests do hold 
 
 Pluge piles of silver and of gold ; 
 
 Go, all of 3'ou, and take your share, 
 
 If not afraid the task to dare. 
 
 Should any of your men be caught, 
 
 And to this court for trial brought, 
 
 Tliough it be proven clear as light 
 
 That if was them wlio robbed that night, 
 
 Trust me to fix the jury so 
 
 The3''ll let the guilty guiltless go. 
 
 There, now, I have no more to say, 
 
 So please to go from me away." 
 
98 BETRAYED. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " I'll go from you," the other said, 
 
 " But ere from j'ou my footsteps tread, 
 
 Say, give to me some little gold, 
 
 For all of us are dr}^ and cold ; 
 
 They also need a little food, 
 
 'Twill make them all of better mood ; 
 
 I'll take whatever you'll allow, 
 
 And straight divide it 'mongst them now.'' 
 
 " I told you thrice distinct and clear, 
 
 To-night I can you nothing spare." 
 
 " You mean to say j'our bureaus hold 
 
 Ko coin of silver nor of gold ? " 
 
 " I do." " Then we must find a way 
 
 Wherein to earn more ready pay." 
 
 " I hope you will ; I cannot give 
 
 A dime to-night, true as you live." 
 
 " Perhaps to-morrow ? " " No, not then, 
 
 At all." Well, Judge, just tell me when ? " 
 
 " Let's see. 'Twill be one full half j'car, 
 
 Ere I have any cash to spare." 
 
 " All right, Judge ; but I trust my men 
 
 For pay will scarcely ask 3-ou then ; 
 
 Perhaps you'll never pay the meed 
 
 For which they stand so sore in need. 
 
 Now farewell. Judge, but ere I go, 
 
 One little thing I'd have you know ; 
 
 Perhaps George Musgrave is not dead, 
 
 But yet is living ! " 
 
 XVI. 
 
 With heavy tread 
 Lenore from out that courtroom strode, 
 And past along a narrow road. 
 
BETRAYED. 99 
 
 The rain was pouring hard and fast, 
 
 And in diense gloom were all things cast, 
 
 Yet swift through mud and rain he strode, 
 
 Until he reached a lone abode ; 
 
 Right soon the door he open threw, 
 
 And in the lofty dwelling drew. 
 
 There seated round, a motley ci'ew, 
 
 All waiting him, there met his yiew. 
 
 There were gathered men from everj^ clime 
 
 Known to summer's smile or winter's rime, 
 
 From every nation 'neath tlie sun. 
 
 Where breezes blow or waters run. 
 And these were those Lenore had brought, 
 And what to say the Judge had taught, 
 So they would know just how to swear, 
 And witness 'gainst Earl Ragan bear. 
 Many a tall and brawny form. 
 As ever moved in shine or storm. 
 As ever trod through valleys green. 
 Among that motley crew were seen : 
 There some with forms and features plann'd 
 In comely mould, were 'mongst them 
 
 scann'd. 
 Mortals, whom, to behold their mien, 
 If in some other sphere 'twere seen, 
 Save in a den of loathsome crime, 
 Where only outlaws pass'd their tinle. 
 No one had thought who had them seen, 
 They trod a path of life so mean ; 
 That they were villains low and vile. 
 With spirits steeped in fraud and wile ; 
 Yet some of these were full of wit. 
 And knew just how to handle it, 
 Had langiiage of a fluent flow. 
 Could much of solid learning show ; 
 
 LofC. 
 
100 BETRAYED. 
 
 Could sentences together fit, 
 As Avell as ever scholar writ ; 
 Some well were versed in every art, 
 And all the poets knew by heart ; 
 Could sing a song or tell a tale, 
 As well as quaff their grog and ale. 
 Histories of all lands they knew. 
 The ancient and the modern too, 
 And oft some points from these they drew, 
 When on such things their fancies flew ; 
 They gave the dates of battles fought. 
 As true as ever teacher taught. 
 * Knew all the heroes names that led. 
 
 Also which triumphed and which fled. 
 Or which in battle harness bled ; 
 Knew all the numbers of the dead ; 
 Knew all the stjdes of arms displayed, 
 And numbers on each side arrayed ; 
 Right well all hymns and psalms they 
 
 knew. 
 And sung them to their music, too ; 
 Knew holy writ from end to end, 
 Had all by rote the prophets penn'd. 
 Knew everj'thing these prophets wrought, 
 Knew every sacred truth they taught, 
 With which their hoi}' souls were fraught. 
 Such were these men who here were 
 
 brought 
 Together on grim Ruin's brink, 
 Through love of alcoholic drink ; 
 Through laziness, through love of slotn, 
 To the embraces nothing loth, 
 Of passions vilest and most low. 
 Which cause mind and bodj'-'s overthrow ; 
 
BETRAYEP. 101 
 
 Which twine around the ^-ielding soul 
 And hind it fast in their control, 
 Around it build their iron wall, 
 Hard, massive, solid, thick and tall, 
 With iron floor and roof it all. 
 Until they cannot burst their thrall, 
 Nor from their cursed fetters crawl 
 Although a universe should fall ! 
 Lost wretches, who, in forms of men, 
 Together herd in loatlisome den, 
 To plot out crimes the most obscene, 
 And of the most ferocious mien 
 That mournful natare yet could show 
 Midst all her misery and woe. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 A spacious stove they sat around, 
 The kind which are in taverns found. 
 Which well the room with comfort 
 
 crown'd ; 
 And in one corner stood the bar. 
 Arrayed with bottle, jug and jar, 
 With pitcher, glasses, and canteen, 
 As always are in barrooms seen 
 When they are kept in order good. 
 Behind this bar the landlord stood, 
 A man of short but portl}^ frame, 
 And Blockly Wallace, styled b}^ name. 
 A happ}', jolly soul was he, 
 Forever full of jest and glee. 
 Who took his treats ]'ight often free. 
 Whene'er the cash for them he'd see ; 
 And ne'er his features wore a frown. 
 Save when some thirsty, burly clown, 
 
102 BETRAYED. 
 
 Such as are found in every town, 
 
 Would call for drinks and drain them down, 
 
 Then Wipe his lips and pass away, 
 
 Saying he would pay some other day ! 
 
 Tlien angry frowns his brow o'ercast, 
 
 While from his lips grim curses past. 
 
 But long as he could sell his trash 
 
 And for it get the ready cash, 
 
 A jolly, happy soul was he, 
 
 As traveler in the land might see. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A brute in form, a brute in mind, 
 
 To every sense of virtue blind, 
 
 A wily and a tricky knave. 
 
 To all the lowest lusts a slaA'c ; 
 
 Depraved of heart, and base of soul, 
 
 Where vilest passions hold control, 
 
 That all the realm of nature knows. 
 
 Just such as mostl}' are all those 
 
 Wlio make their living in this wa}', 
 
 No matter where we tliem survey. 
 
 Go search the nations wide and far. 
 
 The landlord of a whiskey bar 
 
 Is one of those most vile and low 
 
 The famil}' of man can show. 
 
 If this is not true of all those men, 
 
 'Tis of the landlord of this den ; 
 
 The vilest drink the world could show 
 
 'Mongst grog holes most obscure and low, 
 
 With smiling face he freely sold. 
 
 To men or women, 3'oung or old ; 
 
 Without it they ne'er went awa}', 
 
 If they but had the cash to pay ; 
 
BETRAYED. 1 03 
 
 And when o''ercome with flaming drink, 
 They drunk upon the floor would sink, 
 And lie as senseless as the dead, 
 If all their cash was spent and fled 
 He'd drag them o'er his beastl3' floor, 
 And roughly spurn them from his door, 
 Leave the all "helpless, senseless form, 
 Unsheltered midst the fiercest storm. 
 And often on a winter's morn 
 Has some poor abject wretch forloi'n. 
 Half hid amongst the snow been found, 
 Stark dead and frozen to the ground. 
 And Ij'ing right beside the door. 
 Whose threshold he had spurn 'd them o'er. 
 And when the frozen corpse was found, 
 Its weeping orphans flocked around, 
 And widow with her sad pale face, 
 Where woe had left its lasting trace, 
 The fountains of whose e^-es had dried. 
 No more there balm to grief supplied ; 
 Poor wretch, whose unutterable dole, 
 Had settled tearless on her soul ; 
 Whose midnight watchings and whose 
 
 tears, 
 Had lasted and had flowed for years ; 
 But now they both had ceased for one 
 That she had loved and doted on. 
 Whom she in early youth had wed, 
 With whom a happj^ life had led. 
 In home devoid of every strife, 
 With pleasures scattered round her rife ; 
 Happier pair earth could not show, 
 Than were those twain long j^ears ago, 
 Ere he began to pass his time 
 Within that loathsome den of crime. 
 
104 BETRAYED. 
 
 And there "b}' drink made wild of mood, 
 
 His -wealth spent for that landlord's good, 
 
 What should have only gone for food 
 
 For his sad wife and starving brood. 
 
 Yes, ere the landlord of that inn 
 
 Won all his heart through grog and gin, 
 
 From his fond wife and children all 
 
 And lured him to untimel}^ fall, 
 
 Solely to win the cash he brought. 
 
 For this, naught else that landlord sought ; 
 
 He knew his nature weak and frail, 
 
 As chaff that scatters on the gale, 
 
 Was easy led by such as he. 
 
 And made to spend his earnings free, 
 
 Till he was but a beggar poor, 
 
 Fit subject for an almshouse floor; 
 
 Then kindlj^ welcomed him no more, 
 
 To joys within that landlord's door. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 What would that heartless landlord say, 
 When midst the snow the dead man lay ? 
 When in the earl}^ morn was found, 
 The stiffened corpse fi'oze to the ground ? 
 While o'er it orphans shed the tear, 
 And all the widows sighs could hear ? 
 Did he pour comfort in their ear, 
 Or soothe their sorrow, wild and drear ? 
 " Come, take that man from hence, I say, 
 I will not have him in my way ; 
 Nor will I haA^e one moment more 
 This weeping howl about mj' door ; 
 You make 3'our noise too cursed loud. 
 You'll be gathering here a crowd, 
 
BETRAYED 105 
 
 Xor do I wisli the town to see 
 
 A loafer of so low degree 
 
 Lying thus early at my door. 
 
 He's not dead, he's drunk ; nothing more ! 
 
 I wish such good-for-nothing trash 
 
 Would stay just where they spend their 
 
 cash ! 
 He's long been getting drunk elswhere, 
 Then coming to annoy me here ; 
 A full round month has passed, I trow, 
 Since last I saw him until now ; 
 And then I told him plain as day, 
 To from my tavern keep away ; 
 That he must give his drinking o'er. 
 Not keep his home so wretched poor. 
 To get as drunk as he is now, 
 Last night he must have been, 1 trow. 
 Where grog was freel}' given him. 
 To buy, his cash was all too slim." 
 Thus, oft has he been heard to say. 
 When such a scene before him lay. 
 
 XX. 
 
 A happy smile his features wore, 
 
 When in his place came Hugh Lenore, 
 
 For scores of drinks he knew he'd sell, 
 
 And get the ready cash as well ; 
 
 It made his heart with rapture leap, 
 
 To think what shining spoil he'd reap 
 
 Soon as Lenore paid all his men • 
 
 Their fees, for which they waited then ; 
 
 Right well he knew that every mite 
 
 Would come to him for drink that night. 
 
 It made his soul with rapture boil 
 
 To think upon his coming spoil ; 
 
lOG BETRAYED. 
 
 So heartily he hailed Lenore 
 
 Soon as he trod his bar before. 
 
 " Welcome," he said, " my dear old boy ! " 
 
 And grasped his hand with seeming joy, 
 
 " Come take a right good drink with me, 
 
 For 3^ou I am real glad to see I 
 
 And for yonr sake, 3'our men I'll call 
 
 Unto the bar and treat them all. 
 
 So come vip, all 3'ou bo^-s 1 " At the word 
 
 From ont his seat each ruffian stirr'd, 
 
 Past swift across the sanded floor 
 
 And stood the spacious bar before ; 
 
 Where shone beneath a glowing light 
 
 Long lines of tumblers shining l)right ; 
 
 Where huge decanters also glowed. 
 
 And ruddy grog within them showed. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Each filled his glass unto the brim — 
 Some till the juice o'erflowed the rim, 
 And glad their e3'es were seen to blink, 
 As they raised up the ruddy drink. 
 To lips and mouth that craved it sore 
 As ever such have craved before. 
 Down ^vent the juice of ruddy glow 
 Into each maw with rapid flow, 
 Like streams the mountains sometimes 
 
 show, 
 That sudden foil in gurge below. 
 That pass awa}'' with gurgling roar 
 And never meet the eyesight more. 
 Scarce was the treat of Wallace o'er 
 Than drinks were called by Hugh Lenore ; 
 Again each glass was fllled, again 
 Did each his glass of liquor drain ; 
 
BETRAYED. 107 
 
 But ere htid past one minute o'er, 
 " Fill up again I " cried Hugh Lenore, 
 " For better juice was ne'er distill'd ! " 
 Kiglit soon again were glasses filled 
 With juice that 'neath the lamplight 
 
 glow'd, 
 And swift to craving maws it flow'd. 
 Soon as 'twas drank, cried Hugh Lenore, 
 •' Now, Wallace, when my men want more, 
 As water, let them have it free, 
 And you can charge it all to me ; 
 Trust them, you need not be afraid ; 
 At morning I will see you paid." 
 "All right ! " the other answer made, 
 As he with smiles Lenore surveyed. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Scarcely these words had breathed Le- 
 nore, 
 Than o'er the threshold of the door 
 Came old Judge Down with hasty stride. 
 And with the Sheriff at his side : 
 " Drinks for the house I " the Sheriff said, 
 As to the bar the Judge he led. 
 " Come Wallace, let us have the best 
 Your house can show to cherished guest 1 
 For Down and I with you will sta}'. 
 Till morning drives the night away, 
 And 'tween to-mori'ow's dawn and now. 
 High mirth we'll have if you'll allow; 
 The Judge's wife has gone from town. 
 And save but one old toothless clown, 
 No other living soul, I ween, 
 Is in his stately mansion seen ; 
 
108 BETRAYED. 
 
 Nor do I think it wise nor right 
 
 For the Judge to be alone at night, 
 
 So I have brought him here with me 
 
 To drink and have a little glee. 
 
 So deal us out your choicest wine, 
 
 And let us feel its glow divine ; 
 
 This night is dark o'er moor and hill, 
 
 We'll drive away its damp and chill ; 
 
 Let tempests howl just as they will, 
 
 With joy our hearts to-night shall thrill. 
 
 Earth drinks the rain, the stream and rill, 
 
 Yet she is ever thirsty still ; 
 
 So why should Nature take it ill 
 
 If mortal also drinks his fill ? 
 
 Bless him who fashioned first the mill, 
 
 And taught how whiskey to distill ! 
 
 Or rum or gin or au}^ drink 
 
 Which makes us joj^ous feel and think. 
 
 Come, Wallace, deal 3'our grog around. 
 
 To all within this barroom found ; 
 
 For no one in this place to-night 
 
 Shall sigh for drink till morning's light ! 
 
 And no man amongst us all. 
 
 Though he should stagger to the wall. 
 
 And prone upon the floor should fall. 
 
 Too dead to either move or crawl, 
 
 Shall be considered downright drnnk, 
 
 TJnles his drinks hy him be slunk, 
 
 No matter if he cannot tell 
 
 The diflTerence 'tween a harp and bell, 
 
 Or east from west or north from south, 
 
 So he lifts drinks up to his mouth. 
 
 And pours them down his gullet right. 
 
 He shan't be deem'd real drunk to-night I 
 
BETRAYED. 109 
 
 So let the tempest rage without, 
 
 We within will sing and shout ! 
 
 Let whirlwinds make their wailing noise, 
 
 As if they moaned o'er buried joys, 
 
 But we shall laugh and shout sing, 
 
 And make with mirth this barroom ring ; 
 
 We far away all care shall fling, 
 
 For joy shall o'er us flap her wing ! 
 
 Fill up, again, my jolly boys, 
 
 'Twill make 3'our spirits thrill with joys ; 
 
 There's untold bliss within the cup 
 
 When with good drink we've filled it up. 
 
 It, need no mortal fear to sup, 
 
 Nor lips right widely for it dup. 
 
 Whoever does is a worthless nup. 
 
 Or is Dame Nature's common pup ! 
 
 And void of brains as iron tup. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 O'er moor and hill the tempests bray 
 And tear the limbs of trees away, 
 Dark, ink}^ clouds the skies o'ercast. 
 And rain and sleet is falling fast ; 
 The shutters slam, the windows jar. 
 And doors screak loud 'gainst bolt and 
 
 bar, 
 The watchdog in his kennel sleeps, 
 Not any watch to-night he keeps, 
 If any sound to-night he hears 
 He scarce to it will prick his ears. 
 For he will deem it is the sound 
 Of tempests rending trees around. 
 Or falling sheds to atoms hurl'd 
 By storms that keep awake the world ; 
 
liO I5ETRAYED. 
 
 Just liark, now, how they moan and roar, 
 
 And rain hard 'gainst yon window [)ourl 
 
 A better night I never saw 
 
 For men who do not care for law, 
 
 To search a rich man's bureau draw 
 
 Or make in locks and bolts a flaw, 
 
 So they can open wide the chest 
 
 Where hidden diamonds snugly rest 
 
 And for its gold and silver quest 
 
 In just the way it suits them best. 
 
 Were I a thief, I would not miss 
 
 A night for reaping spoil like this, 
 
 I would be working, hand and brain. 
 
 To see what rich men's homes contain ; 
 
 And I should take an ample share 
 
 Of all I found of shining gear, 
 
 I'd not be poor another day 
 
 If I found gold to take away I 
 
 Come, fdl up, boys, another dram. 
 
 Nor care how storms the shutters slam, 
 
 Nor how the doors on hinges jar 
 
 And thump against both bolt and bar, 
 
 Nor how the raindrops pelt and dash 
 
 On an}^ rich man's window sash ; 
 
 Nor will we care for hoards that rest 
 
 In au}'' secret dr;iwer or chest. 
 
 For them to-night we shall not quest. 
 
 We love this barroom's comforts best. 
 
 So drain your cups my jolly boys. 
 
 For grog contains earth's chiefest joys ! " 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 While thus his mirth the Sheriff showed. 
 From jugs to cups the liquor flowed. 
 
BETRAYED. ] [ [ 
 
 From these to jearnuij^ mouths it past, 
 
 And into craving maws was cast, 
 
 Till all who stood that bar before 
 
 Had taken twelve huge drinks, and morc^, ; 
 
 Then straiglit to a huge arm-chair 
 
 That stood beside a table there. 
 
 The Judge with reeling body drew. 
 
 His arms ui)on the table threw. 
 
 On these his head he swiftly bowed, 
 
 And was the first of nil the; crowd 
 
 Who from his share of drinking slirunk, 
 
 Or seem'd the least way sleepy dnnik. 
 
 Thus, while was heard his heavy snore, 
 
 The Sheriff whispered to Lcnore, 
 
 " Say, is your brain as lump of Hint, 
 
 Tliat even steel on it can print 
 
 Not e'en the slightest mark nor dint ? 
 
 That you to-night can take no hint ? 
 
 Have I not told you, plain as day, 
 
 Down's wife and servants are away, 
 
 And not a soul to-niglit doth sleep 
 
 Or w^atch within his mansion keep? 
 
 E'en his old hostler is not there, 
 
 For just before we started here 
 
 I saw that he was sent elsewhere ; 
 
 II(! can't return ere break of d:iy, 
 
 Though he should gallop all his way. 
 
 I know some of his closets hold 
 
 Huge bags of silver and of gold, 
 
 So why not send some of your men 
 
 To overhawl at once his den. 
 
 And bring out everything they can ? 
 
 No harm to steal from such a man ! 
 
 So send them now." 
 
112 • BETRAYED 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Did 3'oii not see, 
 Ere we of drinks had taken three, 
 Five men from out this tavern go ? 
 Why, it's been two hours or so. 
 Perhaps your mind was too intent 
 On drinks, to notice when they went. 
 They've gone to do this very thing, 
 And shortly here his gold they'll bring ; 
 His silver ware, or an^^ kind 
 Of spoil the}^ in his house can find ; 
 And well I know if such the}^ see, 
 Thej^'ll help themselves most amply free ! " 
 
 XXVI 
 
 " Well done ! I hope they will it find, 
 And leave not there a mite behind ; 
 For slyer, meaner thief than him 
 Was never jailed in dugeon grim! 
 When you and him this eve, Lenore, 
 In the court talked jonr secrets o'er, 
 I and my daughter plainly heard 
 The speech of both, yes, ever}^ word . 
 What pass'd at first we did not hear, 
 For then we were not quite so near ; 
 But when the place grew dark with gloom 
 We crept within a little room. 
 Where all destinctly we could hear 
 Each syllable you uttered there, 
 That he refused to pay your meed. 
 That 3^ou declared 3^ou did the deed 
 For which Earl Ragan just was tried, 
 I guess by you is not denied ? 
 
BETRAYED. ] I'J 
 
 For we heard it all, and at last, 
 
 Just ere from out the room 3'ou past, 
 
 We heard you sa}^, you can't forget, 
 
 George Avas not dead, but living yet 1 
 
 Now, say, Lenore, be frank and free. 
 
 Nor hide a secret now from me ; 
 
 You know long years I've been your friend. 
 
 And one will prove whate'er your end, 
 
 And scarcely- need I tell you such, 
 
 8ince 1 have done for you so much ; 
 
 That Down will pay no slightest meed 
 
 To you nor yours for any deed, 
 
 You know is true as here we stand, 
 
 So don't with murder stain your hand, 
 
 Nor damn your soul through endless time 
 
 By helping him in any crime ! 
 
 If you can prove that Ragan's free 
 
 Of murder, though he guilty be. 
 
 Far larger meed for it you'll see 
 
 Than Down to you will ever give. 
 
 Although a thousand years you live ! 
 
 Now, tell me truth, saj' is it so 
 
 That some one murdered Musgrave ? " 
 
 But ask me now not any more. 
 Just give this cursed subject o'er 
 For all the balance of to-night, 
 To-morrow I will set you right. 
 But cannot, and I will not now. 
 Till fitter time and place allow. 
 Come, call up drinks again ! " "I will, 
 For I, myself, feel dry and chill : 
 Come, Wallace, deal the liquor round, 
 To all within this barroom found, 
 
] 1 4 BfrmAYED. 
 
 Although thf; Jiid,:^(!, I rcully think, 
 Is all too drunk las share to drink. 
 Give me his share of liquor now, 
 And I will pour it o'er his hrow! 
 lie can't now drink its ruddy wave, 
 Willi it his classic head I'll lave! 
 I can; not though it roil him sore, 
 It o'er his crown I now will pour I " 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 As lliis lie said lo'rds Down he dn-w, 
 
 And o'er his head the litpior threw ! 
 
 l)ut so dead drunk was the old knave, 
 
 lie did not feel the chilly wave. 
 
 Aii'l llioii'^li it f!ow(;(l c/er hrow !uid f.cc, 
 
 lie stirr'd not from his resting phice ; 
 
 One heavy snore was all he gave, 
 
 As o'er him flowed the icy wave. 
 
 Dill IVoin the trti.'it noiu; other shrank, 
 
 Each gladly there his whiskey drank. 
 
 And scarcely was the drinking o'er, 
 
 Than open flew the harrom door ; 
 
 Scarce was it ope'd th:in thi'oiigh it came, 
 
 Five men oflnll and Untjy frame, 
 
 Though one with age was gray and bent ; 
 
 They were the men Tjcnore had sent 
 
 Away more than three hours before, 
 
 'I'o Ihoi'onghly Down's house explore; 
 
 'I'o se.'irch from cellar unto roof. 
 
 And from no closet keep aloof; 
 
 I'o open eveiy door and chest, 
 
 To all around for treasure quest ; 
 
 And not to leave a thing behind 
 
 For which they any use might find ; 
 
BETRAYED. 115 
 
 Wlu'U they possessed of all became, 
 
 To then straight set the house in Manic; 
 
 To kindle flames within it so 
 
 It uuto ruin sure would go, 
 
 And on the earth he swiftly spread, 
 
 In one huge pile of embers red, 
 
 Before the eye of any man 
 
 The fast destroying blaze should scan. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Soon to the eyes of Hugh Ijcnore 
 Those men displayed the spoil they bore ; 
 Huge sacks of coin they with them l)rought. 
 And silver-ware most costly wrouglit ; 
 Jewels set thick with starry gems. 
 Which clusterd dense as grapes on stems ; 
 And many things of price untold, 
 Like mugs, wrouglit out of solid gold, 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Three sacks of coin they gave Lenore, 
 He one of these to Wallace bore, 
 Saying, as to tliat man he drew. 
 While to his liand the sack he threw, 
 " Take out of this all tliat we owe, 
 And in your till the balance tlirow. 
 For in my mind there is no doubt, 
 We long ere morn shall drink it out." 
 Wlien this he said, to'rds Down he sj)cd, 
 And right above his classic head. 
 The other bags he fiercely shook, 
 And sad, " You sly old rascal, look I 
 This eve he falsely swore to me 
 That not a mite of casli had he 
 
116 BETRAYED. 
 
 To pay us the promised meed, 
 Though we for it were sore in need ; 
 But little dreams he, now, I ween, 
 That we have swept his coffers clean ! 
 It serves him right, for thief more mean, 
 Dame Nature's eyes have never seen. 
 Come, Wallace, round the liquor hand, 
 My throat is dry as desert sand, 
 That is by burning tempests fann'd, 
 Like that found in Sahara's land I " 
 " Yea, pass it round ! " the Sheriff cried, 
 M3^ throat and lips are also dried, 
 As is the leaf in autumn's bower. 
 Where falls no dew, no frost, nor shower; 
 Yes, dry as is the fleshless bone. 
 That in the scorching flame is thrown I 
 Come let's drain our glasses now, 
 To yon old Judge with classic brow, 
 The slyest knave in form of man 
 That ever lived since earth began- 
 Amongst us all he's lost his swa}', 
 And waxes weaker day by da}^, 
 But may his shadow ne'er grow less, 
 Till him in prison garb we dress I 
 When that time comes, I will not fail, 
 If still I'm keeper of the jail. 
 To give him jvist such wholesome fare 
 As I to any friend can spare ; 
 Just such pure food to him I'll give, 
 He will, indeed, most jolly live. 
 Right oft he did of me request. 
 That I would feed some prison guest 
 For whom he had conceived foul hate, 
 On hashes mix'd with powder'd slate, 
 
BETRAYED. lit 
 
 Or mush stirred up with dust and sand, 
 Or any gritt^'^ filth at liand. 
 But him I'll fodder all the while 
 In a most luxuriant style ; 
 ril give him turnips boiled with chives, 
 And best of honey from my hives ; 
 No grog nor ale shall wet his food, 
 Xor satisfy his thirst}^ mood, 
 Though he may beg me o'er and o'er ! 
 
 XXX. 
 
 As thus he spake, a mighty roar, 
 Like billows toss'd on hollow shore 
 When tempests ocean's depths explore, 
 Distinct within their ears was cast 
 Above the roar of midnight blast ; 
 And from the bar in haste the^^ sped, 
 To see whence came that tumult dread. 
 All, all the cloudy skies o'erhead 
 Were crimsoned to a ruddy red ; 
 For some huge building far away. 
 Did one vast blaze of flame displa^^ ! 
 Its roof and walls were falling down 
 And sending sparks all o'er the town. 
 More broad and higher shot the flame. 
 And redder still the skies became. 
 Swift to the Judge sped Hugh Lenore, 
 And from the room his form he bore : 
 " See yonder, Judge ! " he hoarsely cried, 
 " Was ever grander scene espied ? 
 Your house is all ablaze ! " But he 
 No answer made, and seemed to be 
 All too dead drunk to hear or see. 
 
118 BETRAYED. 
 
 PAKT lY. 
 
 All things within -wide Nature's round 
 
 Are wrapped in m^^stery profound 
 
 To him who has no utter clue 
 
 To pierce the subtle secrets through ; 
 
 Amidst a lab^-rinth strange he moves, 
 
 Which more and more intricate proves 
 
 As he its mazes strives to thread 
 
 With wearjr feet and aching head, 
 
 Till suddenly a stream of light 
 
 Dispels his being's sable night. 
 
 And straight he gains the m3^stic clue, 
 
 And threads those mazes through and 
 
 through. 
 Till there's no fear he'll lose his way 
 Where'er he shall that labyrinth stray ; 
 For not a spot within its range 
 To him is either new or strange. 
 All mysteries in natiire wrought 
 Are with hope and fear alternate fraught, 
 And every one is overspread 
 With strange, bewitching awe and dread ; 
 For when we all its mazes thread. 
 Ah ! whither will we then be led ? 
 When we it to an issue bring. 
 Will we find joy or sorrowing ? 
 Where will it end ? Ah, answer where ! 
 And is it woe or pleasure there ? 
 
BETRAYED. ] ] 9 
 
 II. 
 
 God made all mysteries there be, 
 
 And greatest one of all is He ; 
 
 We grapple with this m3"ster3^ 
 
 As though we strove to stop the sea 
 
 From its eternal rise and fall, 
 
 And fetter it in human thrall ; 
 
 Or strove our puny arms to cast 
 
 Around the Andes structure vast ! 
 
 Or, just as fruitless, strove to place 
 
 Their shadows in a babe's embrace ! 
 
 As eas}^ for the human hand 
 
 To count one by one the grains of sand 
 
 Found all throughout vast Nature's clime 
 
 Within a moment's space of time. 
 
 As thread His mysteries sublime ! 
 
 Yet, what a pleasing sense of awe 
 
 And dread they round the spirit draw, 
 
 When mongst his mysteries so strange, 
 
 In contemplative mood we range. 
 
 Why are the mountains made so high. 
 
 With summits frowning at the sky, 
 
 As if they were to all estranged ? 
 
 Why so stupendously arranged ? 
 
 Wh}^ have small grains together grown 
 
 To such enormous heights of stone ? 
 
 And though but barrenness they show, 
 
 With peak cloud-capped and robed in 
 
 snow, 
 Yet, mysteries around them roll 
 That please the eye and charm the soul ! 
 
120 , BETRAYED. 
 
 How fascinating to behold 
 Their lofty crags so hoar and old ! 
 How grand to A'iew their giant forms, 
 Though showing wreck of time and storms. 
 As peak on peak they proudly rise, 
 As if to prop the azure skies ! 
 How long has stood this mountain land ? 
 And how much longer will it stand ? 
 Are thoughts which make the mind re- 
 volve, 
 But which poor man will never solve ; 
 And for this trxTth the heights control 
 Mysteries pleasing to his soul. 
 Turning from what the mountains show 
 To contemplate the plains below, 
 Why are they lasting as the hills. 
 Whose adamantine summit fills 
 The Avhole wide tract of plains below. 
 With shadows from its head of snow, 
 As if on them it proudl}' frown 'd ? 
 Why are plains such level ground ? 
 Why there no rocky mountains seen ? 
 And then, why is their grass so green? 
 Is it because it is a hue 
 That's pleasing for the eye to view ? 
 Then why does greenness charm the eye ? 
 Azure charms it when it looks on high ! 
 And wherefore does the damp, cold earth 
 To such lovely flowers give birth ? 
 Wherefore so fragrant is the rose ? 
 Why do such charms in it repose ? 
 Why is the violet so sweet. 
 With span of life so brief and fleet ? 
 And why the lily of the vale 
 Formed all so delicate and frail ? 
 
BETRAYED. 121 
 
 Why daisies form'd in such a plan ? 
 These all are mysteries to man ! 
 As are all things in nature broad, 
 Which only He shall solve, whose sword 
 Shall cut the Gordian knot in twain, 
 Which binds too;ether Nature's reio-n. 
 
 III. 
 
 Why are the oceans made so vast, 
 Such depths of waters in them cast ? 
 The mind will question of the soul. 
 When the eye sees the billows roll ; 
 And tossing high their awful forms, 
 Roused by chariots of the storms ; 
 Or sees them resting calm and mild, 
 Like some slumbering new-born child 
 Sleeping beneath the noonda^^'s shine, 
 With features wrapped in smiles divine, 
 Are secrets He alone can solve, 
 Who them with rage and storms involve ! 
 And why do on their cycles march 
 Such myriad stars through heaven's arch ? 
 Why do they shine so glowing bright ? 
 Is it to gladden this world's night ? 
 Are they, too, peopled, like this place, 
 With some frail, shortlived, mortal race, 
 Whose grandest pleasures end in woe. 
 And scarcely e'er is free from throe ? 
 Or is their race of different plan. 
 And more supremely blest than man ? 
 Without a thought of care or woe, 
 And all unknown to ever^^ throe ? 
 Unknown to stoi'm, or time or change, 
 But midst eternal pleasures range ? 
 
122 BETRAYED. 
 
 Or can the sun midst all his glow 
 
 Too any race of beings show ? 
 
 If so, then is their nature, plan, 
 
 Like those on earth His glories scan ? 
 
 Or are they forms of grander mould 
 
 Than earthly things shall e'er behold ? 
 
 Beings with natures all sublime, , 
 
 As is his own effulgent clime ? 
 
 Or dwelleth on the moon's sad face, 
 
 A mortal or immortal race ? 
 
 And are they, like her mournful glow, 
 
 A mixture all of fear and woe ? 
 
 When did those myriad worlds in space 
 
 First take amidst the void their place, 
 
 'Neath order, harmony's control, 
 
 First on their destined cycles roll ? 
 
 And how much longer will they move ; 
 
 To those laws obedient prove ? 
 
 Will they forever live and shine. 
 
 And shed on earth their light divine ? 
 
 Will all their fabric and their plan 
 
 Dissolve in death like mortal man, 
 
 And never more be seen ? These ! these ! 
 
 Are fascinating mj-steries 1 
 
 Filling the soul with awe and fear. 
 
 As though it felt its Maker near I 
 
 Mysteries with A^onder rife, 
 
 Profound and dread as death and life ! 
 
 Yet, no more m3'stery is death. 
 
 Than is the mA'stery of breath ! 
 
 And none these m3^steries shall solve, 
 
 Save Him who made those worlds revolve ; 
 
 Who with His hand created breath, 
 
 As well as fashioned grisly death. 
 
BETRAYED. 123 
 
 IV. 
 
 Such thoughts as these fill'd Ragan's soul, 
 Thrall'd it 'neath their sublime control ; 
 Yea, forced it all beneath their sway. 
 The evening of that gloomy day. 
 The3^'d convicted him of murder grim, 
 And had in dungeon fettered him, 
 And doomed him to a death of shame 
 Upon the gallows' ghastly frame. 
 On prison walls his gaze he tnrn'd. 
 With e3'e and brain that throbbed and 
 
 burn'd ; 
 All things aroimd were wrapp'd in night, 
 Black as e'er met the vision's sight. 
 So was one mystery his soul 
 Could not in any way unroll ; 
 'Twas tangled all too much for him 
 To pierce its fabric dark and grim 
 In any way at all ; the .more 
 He strove its mazes to explore, 
 Yet still the darker and more drear 
 Did its strange labyrinth appear. 
 Why they on him had cast the stain 
 Of murder, he could not explain ; 
 This was a mj^ster}^, to him 
 All unexplorable and grim ! 
 One all so wrapp'd in night pi'ofound, 
 He could no part of it expound ; 
 To him 'twas strange, a mystery, 
 He did in all wide nature see. 
 
 Why, why Bolton and Hugh Lenore, 
 On him the crime of murder swore, 
 
124 BETRAYED. 
 
 Tie could not tell, he could not see, 
 
 To him 'twas strangest mystery ! 
 
 For ne'er by deed nor word nor thought 
 
 To them an vmkind act he'd wrought. 
 
 In fact, whene'er they came his w^ay, 
 
 And sore in need and faint were they, 
 
 He freely gave them drink and food 
 
 And satisfied their hungry mood ; 
 
 Ne'er aloof from them he stood. 
 
 Bat wrought them kindliness and good. 
 
 Why the}?^ should strive to work his fall, 
 
 He could not tell nor see at all. 
 
 And also, why that drove of men, 
 
 Whom he had never seen till then. 
 
 Should have so falsel}^ sworn 'gainst him, 
 
 And charged him with a crime so grim. 
 
 He could not see, he could not-tell. 
 
 All in dark m^^ster^^ did dwell 1 
 
 And while amidst his dungeon's gloom 
 
 He pondered o'er his coming doom. 
 
 While thick and heavy came his breath, 
 
 O'er thoughts of meeting felon's death, 
 
 A light he saw, a step he heard. 
 
 Which just outside his dungeon stirr'd ; 
 
 He heard each lock and bolt and bar. 
 
 Thrown back in haste with sullen jar, 
 
 And the huge, solid iron door, 
 
 Which was with rust thick coated o'er, 
 
 And was on creaking hinges hung. 
 
 Was swift but gently open swung ; 
 
 And o'er the threshold lightly came 
 
 A maid of tall and comely frame — 
 
 A maiden glorious of mien. 
 
 As ever trod in court of queen — 
 
BETRAYED. 125 
 
 As ever trod on rock or green — 
 
 As e'er mongst womankind was seen — 
 
 As ever smiled with beaming brow, 
 
 Through all the ages until now I 
 
 Yea, she was beautiful and fair. 
 
 With rosy cheeks and wavy hair ; 
 
 With rixhy lips and pearly teeth, 
 
 And bosom fair as frost on heath ; 
 
 With eyes blue as the realm above, 
 
 Yet, full of pity, light and love ; 
 
 With swan-like neck, round, snow}^ arms. 
 
 As ever graced the queen of charms ; 
 
 With plump, soft hands as white as snow. 
 
 Where did no signs of jewels glow ; 
 
 And though no gems were on them shown, 
 
 Yet if the fairest queen could own 
 
 A hand so plump and soft and fair. 
 
 No gems nor rings were needed there. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Sheriff's daughter, was that maid, 
 And she, the only help and aid 
 He kept within that prison wall, 
 To help him in his daily call ; 
 And when her sire was awa}' 
 She o'er that prison held full swa3\ 
 With lantern in her hand she came. 
 Which round her poured a ruddy flame, 
 And swift dispell'd the sable gloom 
 Which until then had fiU'd that room. 
 •' Ragan," she said, " I'll set you free, 
 For sounds have whispered unto me 
 That you, as my own self, am clear 
 Of charges that have placed j^ou here ! 
 
120 BETRAYED. 
 
 And this is true, I know you'll prove — 
 All stain from off your name remove ; 
 So fly you hence with all your haste, 
 If you prize your life no moment waste ! 
 My father's horse is strong and swift, 
 You take him as my parting gift ; 
 He is saddled, and doth remain 
 Tied to a tree in yonder lane ; 
 Bound to the harness you will find 
 A garb all of the peasant's kind, 
 So do yourself in it array, 
 And cast this prison garb away. 
 Judge Down, Leuore, and all those men 
 Whose oathes have doom'd you to this den, 
 And to a death most grim and dread. 
 Have to the inn of Wallace sped ; 
 High mirth they hold o'er wine, I trow. 
 And they perhaps are drunk ere now ; 
 My father keeps them there to-night. 
 To more securely make your flight ; 
 And there, I ween, till morn they'll stay, 
 So, Ragan, go not by that way. 
 Lest they should chance to stop 3^our flight. 
 And bring j'ou back ere morning's light. 
 For grim, indeed, your fate would be, 
 If these fierce fiends your flight should see. 
 But inky gloom doth all o'ercast, 
 And flercely sweeps the wintry blast. 
 Hard fall the driving rain and sleet, 
 I trow no one to-night you'll meet. 
 Go, Ragan, go, no longer stay. 
 And may God guide 3'ou on your way ! 
 Oh ! may Plis kind, protecting arm 
 Shield my poor Ragan from all harm 1 
 
BETRAYED. 127 
 
 I call 3'ou mine, and Avlien awaj-, 
 O'er land or sea from me yon stray, 
 Know this, there is one soul on earth. 
 Who wishes you naught else but mirth ! 
 Yes, Ragan, one who loves you so, 
 She o'er the world with you would go ; 
 Where waters run or breezes blow. 
 And share your peril, pain or woe 1 
 Yes, when fi-om her 3'ou're far awa^', 
 Oh, sometimes think on Ellen Fay, 
 Who'll think of 3'ou both night and day 1 
 Now fl}', I have naught else to sa^^ ! " 
 
 VII. ^ 
 
 The steed he found, his garb he changed, 
 And fast he o'er the country ranged, 
 League after league he sped that night, 
 Was far away ere morning's light ; 
 On, on he sped through sleet and hail, 
 And through a cold December gale ; 
 O'er twenty miles he rode that night, 
 Nor man nor woman met his sight ; 
 Through storm and darkness still he rode 
 Until he reached a lone abode. 
 That in a swampy thicket stood. 
 Built out of mud and bark and wood ; 
 A dismal and as lone a bield 
 As e'er from storm did mortal shield. 
 Through his past life, three times ormore. 
 He'd cross'd its gloomy threshold o'er 
 And trod upon that shanty's floor, 
 Met there its inmate, Hugh Lenore. 
 He gazed upon that grim abode 
 Through seams the logs and mud wall 
 showed : 
 
128 BETRAYED. 
 
 Within he saw a taper glowed, 
 He tied his steed and to'rds it strode ; 
 He moved to wliere its strong oak door 
 Stood jarring to the tempest's roar ; 
 Long paused he ere he touclied the Latch, 
 To see what sound his ear might catch ; 
 But not a sound therein he heard. 
 Naught, naught witliin that shanty stirr'd ; 
 If any noise tliere was within, 
 'Twas smothered by the tempest's din ; 
 For hail and sleet with steady pour, 
 Down hard upon that shanty bore ; 
 And tempests howling mongst the trees, 
 Made round a noise like stormy seas, 
 When them on shores the storm-king 
 
 drives. 
 And with rock and blast each billow 
 
 strives. 
 Long stood he midst the tempest's roar, 
 Was just about to strike the door. 
 And call the wife of Hugh Lenorc, 
 As sudden noise he heard within, 
 Which rose above the tempest's din ; 
 He heard a threat, a curse and blow, 
 Something seem'd on the floor to go, 
 In lieavy, headlong overthrow ; 
 With it he heard a stifled groan. 
 As though some wretch were knocked or 
 
 thrown. 
 Then came a silence long and dread. 
 Though all within that hut were dead. 
 
 IX. 
 
 He paused awhile, then on the door 
 
 He struck, and called for Hugh Lenore ; 
 
BETRAYED. 129 
 
 Scarce had he made his presence known, 
 Than some one to the door had flown : 
 •' Who's there ? " a woman's voice swift 
 
 cried : 
 '* A stranger 1 " Ragan straight raplied. 
 " Amidst these swamps I've lost my way ; 
 Beneath yonr shelter let me stay 
 Ont of this storm till break of day, 
 And yoii I will most amplj^ P^3'-" 
 Whether 'twas insatiate greed 
 To get from him the i^romised meed, 
 For the few short hours he craved 
 Of shelter from the storm that raved, 
 Or whether she thought the while. 
 To let him in with friendl^^ stjde, 
 Bid him kind welcome from the storm, 
 And while he stretched his weary form 
 Beside her hearth in slumber deep, 
 She might to him with dagger creep, 
 And shed his life, then seize all gold 
 She might amongst his clothes behold, 
 I cannot rightly tellj^ou now, 
 But 'twas for cause like this I trow, 
 That she unbarr'd and ope'd the door 
 And bade him pass the threshold o'er, 
 And shelter find from storms that roar'd, 
 And pelting hail and sleet that pour'd 
 
 Across the threshold swift he past, 
 And round the hut his vision cast ; 
 Upon the floor George Musgrave lay, 
 With visage pale as snow-white clay, 
 And gazed on him with mute dismay. 
 
130 BETRAYED. 
 
 There on the ^'all of that abode 
 A brace of loaded |-)istols glowed, 
 These, swift within his hand he caught, 
 And to the wall his back he brought, 
 And did confront with savage air 
 That trembling and astonished pair. 
 Who all bewilderd on him stared. 
 So was his face o'ergrown with beard- 
 So robed was he with sleet and hail, 
 Which glowed o'er him like silver mail, 
 And made him look so tall and grim — 
 So huge of shoulders and of limb, 
 George Musgrave recognized not him 
 JSTor did the wife of Hugh Lenore 
 Then know the man she stood before, 
 Though lay but one brief j^ear between 
 The time she last that man had seen. 
 Each seem'd afraid to frown or smile. 
 And silent gazed at him the while. 
 
 At length he gave a heavy groan, 
 And said in low sejiulchral tone, 
 " This night to God for aid I cried. 
 Nor was His help to me denied. 
 But one short while f had to wait. 
 Ere came the day to meet my fate, 
 And though no utter chance I saw. 
 For me to 'scape the cruel law, 
 Yet faith in God was rooted fast. 
 And sure He brought me aid at last ! 
 Woe ! unutterable woe to him ! 
 May furies tear him form and limb, 
 Who shall through malice, envy, hate. 
 The life of mortal antidate I 
 
BETRAYED 131 
 
 Woe to the perjured villain, woe ! 
 May God forever be his foe, 
 And cast him to some grim abyss 
 Where famished dragons writhe and hiss, 
 Who for any cause at all shall dare 
 Against the innocent to swear ! 
 May he be cui'sed through endless time, 
 And ne'er forgiven for his crime ! 
 May his victim from the tomb 
 Arise, and horrid make his doom! 
 Flay and shred him, form and Soul, 
 And endless tortures be his goal — 
 Fell tortures all unknown before. 
 More dread e'en jet than Furies bore 1 " 
 
 XII. 
 
 He ceased, and on the woman's face 
 He silent gazed a little space ; 
 Fell misery, despair and want 
 Seemed limned upon her visage gaunt ; 
 A face more foul, illshaped and grim 
 Had never yet been seen by him ! 
 Black was her eye, and fierce its stare, 
 And from it shot a fiendish glare ; 
 And o'er the hellish light the}' show'd, 
 Her brows all black and shaggy flow'd ! 
 Her hair was long — nights blackest shade, 
 And lair on her broad shoulders made ; 
 Tall was her form, and huge its limb 
 As is some monster's strong and grim. 
 Five times she had a mother been, 
 But scarce her babes that fiend had seen 
 Than with a knife their lives she shed, 
 And to wild beasts their bodies fed ! 
 
132 BETRAYED. 
 
 Than her, methinks, all hell could boast 
 No fiercer fiend 'mongst all its host. 
 From her grim face, and e3'^es that burn'd 
 Like flame in hell, that gazer turn'd 
 And on George Musgrave fix'd his gaze, 
 Who lay bewilderd with amaze. 
 With mournful look he viewed the child. 
 Then said to him in accents mild : 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Arise, my boy, and follow me, 
 For I have come to set you free ; 
 Come, fear from me no slightest harm, 
 I'll take you to 3'our father's arm ! " 
 Scarce, scarce these words had left his 
 
 tongue 
 Than fierce at him that woman sprung ! 
 Her fingers swift a pistol clenched — 
 From his hand the weapon wrenched 
 As swift as ever lightning grim 
 Tore from the stately oak a limb ; 
 And as she wrested it from him, ' 
 Just as from out his hand it came. 
 There burst a sound and flash of flame ! 
 And with that flash the pistol's charge 
 Made through her hand an opening large ! 
 Right through her palm the bullet tore, 
 And from her hand its centre bore 
 Then fast from it the crimson blood 
 Streamed to the floor in ample flood. 
 Upon the floor the weapon fell. 
 And from her burst a fearfull yell, 
 Which echoed through that dismal bield 
 As if all shrieks from hell had pealed 
 
BETRAYED. 1 33 
 
 Together in one fearful blast 
 Mix'd with all agonies aghast, 
 
 XIV. 
 
 As scream'd her j^ell, she backward drew, 
 On Ragan cast one second's view, 
 Then swift as light on him she flew, 
 And round his form her arms she threw ; 
 Around him fix'd her crushing hold, 
 Strong as an anaconda's fold. 
 Now, presumptuous fool ! " she cried, 
 With voice that echoed far and wide, 
 " Your cursed form shall swiftly feel 
 These arras possess the strength of steel I 
 And living, you shall pass no more 
 From out the arms of Ruth Lenore ! 
 Think you to take this boy away, 
 And not to me his ransom pay ? 
 Not all powers that 3-et had birth 
 Within all lieaven, hell or earth, 
 That boy from out my thrall shall free 
 Till ransom in my hand I see I 
 But as to you, you worthless fool, 
 Your heated rashness soon I'll cool, 
 1 11 tear your flesh and crush each bone, 
 Then food to beasts 3'ou shall be thrown." 
 As thus she speaks, she tighter draws 
 Her folding arms like dragon's claws, 
 That own the strength of mountain storm 
 Around Earl Ragan 's struggling form. 
 
 XV. 
 
 From side to side he tugged and strain 'd, 
 Yet round his form her arras remain 'd I 
 
134 BETRAYED. 
 
 Still these kept their iron hold, 
 Nor could he burst from out their fold ; 
 From side to side his form he threw, 
 Yet still her fold more stronger grew I 
 At last awhile they moveless stood, 
 As two grim statues carved in wood ; 
 Silent they stood as forms in death, 
 Save beating heart and panting breath. 
 Was heard 'mongst them no other sound. 
 Though tighter still her arms she wound. 
 Sudden as doth the lion bound 
 From toils encircling him around. 
 And fiercely dashes them aside, 
 Then o'er them stalks with lordly pride, 
 So, sudden, swift, and with such strength, 
 He burst from out her fold at length. 
 With all his force of form and limb, 
 He scai'cely broke the thraldom grim 1 
 And as from out the coil he flew. 
 He on the floor the woman threw ! 
 With such terrific force she fell, 
 That fall did all her fury quell ! 
 So still upon the floor she lay. 
 It seemed all breath had passed away ! 
 Her features ghastly pale and pinched. 
 Her fingers all convulsive clinched, 
 Her mouth a gory foam o'erspread. 
 Streamed nose and ears with liquid red. 
 And all so still she lay and dead, 
 It seemed the life from her had fled ! 
 Ne'er a fall so dread she'd known before. 
 In all her frays with Hugh Lenore, 
 Nor from his comrades fierce and grim 
 Of giant strength and thewy limb, 
 
BKTUAYED. 135 
 
 With whom she often in hei* life, 
 Had waged unearthl}', deadly strife. 
 A moment's gaze on Iw.r he threw, 
 Then to the trembling hoy he drew, 
 Ills arms around the lad he cast 
 And with him o'er the threshold past. 
 And to'rds his steed from that a1)ode 
 Through hail and sleet he lightly strode ; 
 In saddle swift his form he tlirew, 
 And with the boy through tempests flew. 
 
 xvr. 
 
 By this the beams of coming day 
 Had di'ove the gloom of niglit away, 
 Though still did clouds the sky deform 
 And swept o'er eartli tlie driving storm; 
 Yet, forth o'er regions drear to A'iew, 
 That gallant steed with riders flew. 
 He seem'd to heed nor storm nor hail, 
 But onward sped like mountain gale ; 
 His form was strong, his limbs were swift 
 As sands that with the simoom drift ; 
 On he sped o'er many a league. 
 Nor did lie show the least fatigue ; 
 O'er sixty miles liis load he l)ore. 
 And could have ta'cn it sixty more 
 Before the set of that day's sun, 
 If such he need that day have done. 
 And just ore noon he bore his load 
 Up the steep and slippery road 
 Along a mountain grim and hoar, 
 Which led to Richard Musgrave's door ; 
 Here, swift to earth Eaid Rngan sjirung. 
 Around the boy his arms he flung; 
 
136 . BETRAYED, 
 
 Right swift he ope'd that mansion's door. 
 And trod the well-known threshold o'er. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Richard Musgrave sat in a chair, 
 His arms placed on a table near 
 Which well did books and papers crowd, 
 And on his hands his head was bowed. 
 He must have been in slumber sound, 
 Or wrapt within some thoughts profound 
 When Reagan ope'd his mansion door 
 And loudl}^ strode upon the floor. 
 For raised he not his hoary head, 
 Though at his side did Ragan tread ; 
 Nor did he stir until the cry, 
 " Father ! Father ! " pealed wild and high. 
 Then from his arms he raised his face, 
 Which instant met his boy's embrace. 
 "Kiss me, father! Father, kiss j-our 
 
 child ! " 
 Loud scream 'd the boy with rapture wild, 
 As round his neck his arms he threw, 
 And to his lips with kisses grew. 
 But all so o'erpowered with joy 
 That parent was, to see his ^boy, 
 His arms and tongue he could not moA-e, 
 The rapture of his soul to prove ; 
 His lips grew pale as those in death, 
 And thick and heavy came his breath ; 
 And in his cheek, it seem'd the blood 
 Had turn'd unto a snow-white flood. 
 But soon the joy that bound his soul, 
 Like ice that binds the Northern Pole, 
 Begun to feel the thawing glow 
 Of love's warm sunshine o'er it flow, 
 
BETRAYED. 13'] 
 
 And changed its order of control ; 
 Apace his tears began to roll, 
 Down his pale cheek the}- swept amain, 
 And o'er his offspring flowed like rain ; 
 At length he shouted hoarse and wild, 
 " Bless God I God ever bless my child ! 
 Bless him, God, and ever bless the morn, 
 On which to me this child was born ! " 
 So spake the father, hoarse with joy, 
 And to his bosom clasped his bo}-, 
 While fast his flowing tears he shed, 
 O'er him he deem'd till then was dead. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 At length he raised his hoary head, 
 
 And unto Ragan thus he said : 
 
 " Is it a dream, or is it true. 
 
 That I my child and Ragan view ? 
 
 It was but oul}^ yesterday 
 
 I saw thee led to cell away — 
 
 The horrid murder proved on thee. 
 
 Of him who here alive I see ! 
 
 How comes it now, tliat 3'ou are here ? 
 
 Where was my boj'. Oh, tell me where ? 
 
 Is it the truth, or do I dream ? 
 
 It flotli to me like fiction seem ; 
 
 And fantasies all wild and strange 
 
 Throughout my mind and being range, 
 
 And visions of eternal change! " 
 
 XIX. 
 
 '' Wh}' for that murder I was tried, 
 I cannot tell ! " he swift replied ; 
 But that your child is safe and well, 
 You plainly by ^-our eyes can tell. 
 
138 BETRAYED. 
 
 How it chanced or how it befell 
 
 I freed myself from prison cell, 
 
 Me to relate to yon, I trow, 
 
 Is all too long and needless, now ; 
 
 Save this, I got from prison free, 
 
 As by my coming here you see. 
 
 From it I rode through storm and sleet, 
 
 Until I did your offspring meet ; 
 
 And I believe 'twas God who led 
 
 My journey to the dismal shed 
 
 Where he was kept in bondage grim. 
 
 Until it chanced I rescued him ; 
 
 And how it came that he went there, 
 
 And who his base abductors were. 
 
 And wh}^ I'm charged with crime so fell, 
 
 I do not know, nor cannot teil ! 
 
 May be this boy can give some clue 
 
 Whereby to pierce this secret through ; 
 
 As it is said that truth shall fall 
 
 From lips of babes and sucklings small. 
 
 And the}^ shall burst through falsehood's 
 
 wall. 
 Though reared as mountains proud and 
 
 tall! 
 And innocence and truth, though bare 
 Of gleaming armor, sword and spear. 
 Shall over falsehood's might prevail ; 
 Break all his armor, pierce his mail, 
 Scatter his might as mist on gale. 
 And all his loft}' strongholds scale ; 
 From thence disperse his cohorts grim, 
 However strong of form and limb, 
 And make them melt as frost awa^'. 
 When comes the sun's unclouded ray, 
 
BETRAYED. 139 
 
 And on it pours its warmth amain, 
 Swift moves it from the hill and plain, 
 Sends it through lower earth to drain 
 And never to he seen again. 
 And this poor boy may burst the vail 
 Of gloom that doth my soul assail, 
 Pour in some light so I may see 
 Through this dense night of mystery ! 
 So unto us now let him tell 
 All, all that unto him befell, 
 Since his abductors took him hence — ■ 
 Tell of his journeys all, and whence." 
 
 XX. 
 
 GEORGE MUSGRAVE'S STORY: 
 
 " ' With kite in hand one sunny day, 
 I did o'er yonder mountain stray, 
 Which rears aloft its treeless brow 
 Two miles or more from here, I trow, 
 So I might let it sail in air 
 With nought to stop its passage there ; 
 And scarce on higli I'd let it fl}'. 
 Than near me I did Bolton spy. 
 " Sonny," he said, " better kite, by far, 
 Which will fly as high as any star ; 
 Or fly as high as is the moon, 
 Or is yon glowing sun at noon, 
 I have at m}'^ oavu home with me. 
 And I will give it unto thee. 
 When boy I was, I let it fly 
 Till I could see it touch the sky ! 
 I oft have let it pass through cloud 
 Where lightnings flashed with thunders 
 loud. 
 
140 BETRAYED. 
 
 And then I've drawn it down to me, 
 And lightning bolts w^ould on it see I 
 I took them off and sent it back 
 To fly upon the thunder's track, 
 And when of bolts it gathered more, 
 I'd do as I had done before — 
 I'd pull it down with all its load, 
 And them within my pockets stowed ! 
 And oh, these bolts, ai-e fair to see — 
 Like starr}^ gems they glitter free ! 
 Lots, lots of them are home with me. 
 And them with kite, I'll give to thee ! 
 I just am on my way to'rds home. 
 If thither there with me thou'lt roam, 
 I'll give them all to thee, my son. 
 And with them thou'lt have lots of fun I 
 It is not far for thee to go, 
 Thou'lt be back in an hour or so. 
 So come along, m}' son, with me. 
 And thine the kite and gems shall be." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 That with him I w^ent, I scarce need tell, 
 
 For this 3'on know but all too well. 
 
 I roam'd with him o'er lofty fell. 
 
 O'er wild morass, through w^ooded dell. 
 
 Until we reached a lonely bield 
 
 That was midst brush and vines concealed ; 
 
 So hid by them j^ou could not trace 
 
 A rood away there was such place. 
 
 We reached the hut, he ope'd the door, 
 
 But as I trod the threshold o'er, 
 
 I saw three men stretched on the floor. 
 
 And mongst them him call'd Huah Lenore ; 
 
BETRAYED. 141 
 
 All dead drunk, were tliej", I ween, 
 For cans of grog were near them seen, 
 And from the floor the}^ did not rise, 
 Nor stir at all, nor ope their eyes. 
 Although loud noise old Bolton made 
 As there each sleeper he surveyed, 
 And hoarsely said, " What I drunk so 
 
 soon ? 
 Why, damn it ! it is scarcely noon ! 
 You must right jolly times have seen, 
 While I have been awa}^, I ween." 
 As this he said, a can he caught 
 Within his hand, and it he brought 
 Unto his mouth ; a lively smile 
 Displaj-ed o'er all his face the while ; 
 Long drank he from the spacious can, 
 Then said to me, " My little man. 
 When more advanced in years you grow, 
 I guess you, too, will also know 
 The joy, the ecstacy, and bliss, 
 In drinking luscious grog like this ! 
 It makes a mortal feel sublime ! 
 And you this truth will learn in time." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 An hour past, and that old man. 
 Again, again, drank from the can, 
 Until a score of times, I ween. 
 That can unto his mouth had been ! 
 Between each drink he'd say to me, 
 " I soon will give the kite to thee. 
 And pocket full of thunderbolts. 
 Bright as the ej^es of tricky colts. 
 Long ropes of bright and flashing gems, 
 In clusters thick as grapes on stems ; 
 
142 BETRAYED. 
 
 And I will homeward go with thee, 
 Thou to thy father's door will see." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Time past, and with a heavy snore, 
 
 From out his sleep rose Hugh Lenore ; 
 
 Around the hut his gaze he cast, 
 
 Then rose, and out the hut he past ; 
 
 Strode from the bield a little space. 
 
 And with him Bolton left tlie place. 
 
 They paused, I saw them where they stood. 
 
 Though Avell hid were they by viny wood, 
 
 And thus I heard old Bolton sa}' : 
 
 " I got an easy job to-day ; 
 
 Dow2i wants it done, and Crawford too, 
 
 'Twas them who gave it me to do ; 
 
 They wish that boy put out the way, 
 
 And want it done this ver}^ da}^ • 
 
 So 1 am going him to slay. 
 
 For they will give most ample pay. 
 
 To do the job I've ta'en my oath, 
 
 And do it so 'twill serve them both — 
 
 To make it plain to j^ou in words, 
 
 I with one stone must kill two birds. 
 
 Within the way this youngster stands 
 
 Of Judge Down heiring Musgrave's lands ; 
 
 So I must put him out the way, 
 
 And let Judge Down o'er these gain sway ; 
 
 For in the mother's will is found 
 
 Some clause which just like this doth 
 
 sound : — 
 " If dies my child before he's grown. 
 Or has the years of manhood known — 
 Say twenty j^ears have o'er him flown, 
 My brother all my wealth shall own." 
 
BETRAYED, 143 
 
 So when I put him out the way, 
 You see the Judge will have full sway. 
 Concerned in it is Crawford, too, 
 For Logan's maid he cannot woo, 
 Nor can he hope to win her hand 
 While Ragan in the way doth stand, 
 Which causes Crawford much of woe ; 
 Then I must kill this stripling so 
 'Twill plainl}^ seem through coming time 
 That it was Ragan did the crime ! 
 So he will soon in cell be flung, 
 Be tried, condemned, and for it hung! 
 On Crawford's way to Mary's love, 
 No Ragan shall a hindrance shove. 
 But be free as that of the dove 
 That flaps its wings in air above ! 
 Without making it a lengthy yarn. 
 The rents in Crawford's love I'll darn, 
 And put it on a stepping sarn. 
 There is a lofty, craggy earn, 
 That OA^erlooks a gurge and tarn 
 Right closely seen by Ragan 's barn 
 And thither I the boy will bring. 
 All, all his clothes from him I'llwrinl^ 
 Stain o'er his clothing with his blood. 
 Then cast him in the whirlpool's flood ; 
 I'll place his robes in Ragan 's mow. 
 Just where they will be found, I trow ; 
 Then straight I'll noise it far and wide, 
 By Ragan's hand George Musgrave died ; 
 Swear that I saw him do the deed ; 
 But help in this I'll surely need, 
 So 3'ou must swear the same as me, 
 Just make 3'our tale with mine agree ; 
 
14 4 BETRAYED. 
 
 And lots of boys we'll bring to swear, 
 
 And prove the crime on Ragan clear ; 
 
 In prison cell he must be flung, 
 
 Be tried, convicted, also hung. 
 
 Then lots of grog, we'll have, old boy. 
 
 And grog, you know, brings lots of joy." 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " I'll help you through," the other said, 
 " For this, I pledge my life and head! 
 I'm on my road to Ragan's now 
 And if you will it so allow, 
 I'll do for 3'ou this little task, 
 And for the job no mite I'll ask I 
 'Twill save yon going there to day, 
 And long and weary is the way ; 
 So if it with your wishes be 
 Just send the boy along with me ; 
 In doing it I'll take a pride ! " 
 '' I will," the other swift replied. 
 And me from out the hut he called ; 
 I was not by their talk appall 'd ; 
 For something in me seemed to say, 
 I from these men would get away ; 
 So with no sign of fright nor fear, 
 I to those ruffians drew me near. 
 To speak old Bolton thus began : 
 " Now, you, my noble little man. 
 Just go along with this, my friend ; 
 Not far with him you'll have to wend ; 
 A bow he'll give of hickory strong, 
 And lots of arrows sharp and long : 
 A bow that sends a shaft more swift 
 Tlmn e'er did sand on tempest drift ; 
 
BETRAYED. 145 
 
 A bow that sends an arrow for, 
 And straight into tlie furthest star ! 
 When this he gives to J'OU, my son, 
 Just back to me riglit swiftly run ; 
 I'll have your kite all ready then, 
 And bolts ta'en from the lightning's den 
 Where thunders growl and roll and burn ; 
 Xow go, and swiftly back return.''' 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Across the mountains, wild and hoar, 
 I strode along with Hugh Lenore ; 
 Soon roam'd we through a narrow pass, 
 Which open'd on a wide morass ; 
 Across this wild and dismal fen 
 With weary feet I journeyed then ; 
 The place seem'd filled with snakes and 
 
 frogs. 
 With lizards, and with snorting hogs, 
 With rank, coarse grass and rotten logs ; 
 And right glad was I when it we past, 
 And trod on solid ground at last ! 
 For shades of night were round us cast, 
 And everything looked drear and gliast ; 
 For clovids of huge and ragged form. 
 And edges all with lightning warm, 
 Commenced athwart the sky to swarm, 
 And showing signs of coming storm. 
 We gained a forest dense and drear — 
 Huge vines o'er trees were growing there, 
 But ere a mile through this we strode, 
 We came upon a lone abode — 
 As dismal and as grim a bield, 
 As e'er from storm gave mortal shield 
 
146 BETRAYED. 
 
 In any dreary bog or moor, 
 And 'twas the home of Hugh Lenore. 
 Within his hand the latch he caught, 
 And swift the door wide open brought ; 
 We enterd, and save Ruth Lenore, 
 Of mortal kind I saw no more. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Soon "with choice food she spread the 
 
 board. 
 And well my plate with dainties stored, 
 And at that meal, if truth I'd tell, 
 I'd say the}^ used me kind and well ; 
 The woman spoke right mild to me 
 And said, henceforth her son I'd be. 
 Soon as m}' hungry mood the}' fed, 
 They put me in a cozy bed ; 
 Soon sound asleep I seemed to lie, 
 But wide awake the while was I ! 
 Both lightly to mj'- bedside drew. 
 And o'er me cast a lengthy view ; 
 But ere awa^^ from me the}^ stept. 
 Thy deemed t-hat I most soundlj^ slept, 
 
 xxvir. 
 
 That sound I slept they had no doubt, 
 Away they sped, the lamp blew out, 
 And unto bed they also drew, 
 Their forms upon the couch they threw. 
 Long time they silent la}' ; no word 
 From either one of them I heard ; 
 At length to whispering they drew. 
 Soon this more loud and louder grew. 
 Till I could plainly hear at last 
 Each syllable that 'tween them past. 
 
BETRAYED. 147 
 
 " Yes," said Lenore, " the truth to tell, 
 I have deceived old Bolton well ! 
 Ere this, he thinks, the boy is dead. 
 His life-blood o'er his clothing shed ; 
 His body cast within the tarn, 
 And gory robes in Ragan's barn. 
 But let the old fool fanc}^ so, 
 The truth would onl^^ cause him woe. 
 On Ragan we will cast the crime, 
 And swear to it when comes the time ; 
 And when on him we've proved the deed, 
 And Down and Crawford pay its meed. 
 Then I will straight to Musgrave tell 
 His boy is safe, alive and well ; 
 And if he will my toil reward, 
 To him shall be the child restored. 
 Soon as such news to him be told, 
 He'll give me gold I he'll give me gold ! 
 And doing thus, old girl, you see, 
 I'll coin, I'll make a double fee ! 
 And 3'ou and me I and you and me ! 
 Right jolly times through life shall see 1 " 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 What else he said, I could not hear. 
 For thunder peals benumbed mine ear. 
 Without the tempest howl'd and roar'd. 
 And down the rain in torrents poured ; 
 The lightning flashed, the thunder pcal'd 
 And shook all o'er that dismal bield ; 
 And lull'd to sleep by screaming blast, 
 Into the land of dreams I pass'd. 
 
X48 BETRAYED. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 I wakened in the early dawn, 
 Just as gray tints o'er skies were drawn, 
 Long ere the sky was rosy red, 
 I woke and sprung me forth from bed ; 
 But as from out of bed I drew, 
 These clothes to me the woman threw ; 
 And said to me, " My boy, wear them. 
 Your others I must darn and hem." 
 I donn'd the garb, and cross'd the floor 
 To where wide open stood the door, 
 And there without I saw Lenore, 
 With vessel full of clotted gore — 
 An earthen vessel, long and deep. 
 And near him lay a slaughtered sheep ; 
 I saw him take the clothes I wore 
 And steep them in that tub of gore ! 
 Scarce a sight of this I caught. 
 Than me from there the woman brouglit ; 
 Fiercely she closed that shanty's door. 
 Bade me ne'er look that threshold o'er ; 
 From that morn till now, I've no more 
 Gazed on the face of Plugh Lenore. 
 What time with her I sojourned tliere, 
 She always gave me best of fare ; 
 Whate'er of her I chanced to crave, 
 To me witli ready hand she gave. 
 But on the night that you came there, 
 I longed and yearned to journey here ; 
 And when I thought that woman sle[)t, 
 All noiseless from my bed I crept. 
 And light as air unto the door 
 I pass'd along that shanty's floor; 
 
BETRAYED. I49 
 
 Nigh all the bolts I luid unbarr'd, 
 When one against the staple jarr'd, 
 Whicli ronsed the woman from her sleep, 
 Who did on me like tigress leap ! 
 A storm of oathes she on me threw, 
 As to iny trembling form she flew, 
 Ul)on my head she dealt a blow, 
 And me npon the floor did throw, 
 And there I lay as still as death, 
 Almost afraid to draw my breath, 
 Until you trod her threshold o'er 
 And found me l^ing on the floor.' " 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Here ceased the boy; his tale was told, 
 And Ragan's mysteries imrolled, 
 Grim darkness left each tangled fold, 
 And he could plainly all behold ! 
 " Can it indeed be true," he thought, 
 " That Crawford has tliis evil wrought ? 
 On me such shame and trouble brought ? 
 Of wrong I've never done him aught ! 
 And wealth I oft have loaned him much, 
 When I scarcely could spare him such. 
 I've always deem'd that man my friend. 
 And one on whom I might depend. 
 If ever trouble grim and sore 
 Should chance to knock u[)()n my door. 
 Yes, pure and bright, I deem'd his h^oul. 
 As any star that gilds the pole ; 
 Firm as the rock by ocean found, 
 Deep bedded on the solid ground. 
 That neither storm nor wave can move. 
 However fierce their fury prove ! 
 
150 BETRAYED. 
 
 Is it a dream ? or did my ear 
 
 But now that stripling's story hear? 
 
 Am I indeed, deceived, betrayed, 
 
 By one in whom all trust I laid ? 
 
 And one who a3'e professed to he 
 
 The warmest, truest friend to me ? 
 
 Can it be true a soul so grim. 
 
 And heart so base is found in him ? 
 
 Oh, life of man indeed is strange. 
 
 And we will find it full of change 
 
 Where'er upon this world we range 1 
 
 E'en though we roam through joy and 
 
 mirth. 
 Or where has onl}^ sorrow birth ; 
 It matters not the slightest where. 
 All, all, is ever changing here ; 
 Forever shifting as the sand 
 The tempest moves o'er desert land, 
 Where naught a moment's space of time 
 Remains the same, through all its clime. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Oh, that the eye of mortal man, 
 Could only through the future scan ! 
 Could pierce the gloom around it cast, 
 And see it as he can the past ! 
 How many troubles would we shun, 
 And dangers into which we run ! 
 We do not pause to look nor think, 
 But tread fondly b}^ the mossy brink 
 Of some tremendous wa41 of earn. 
 Which overlooks dark, awful tarn. 
 Whose sable, silent floods below 
 Sweep on where distant whirlpools flow, 
 
BETRAYED. 151 
 
 And carries with resistless force, 
 All things it meets upon its course. 
 Down from the mossj" brink we go 
 All unawares, to floods below, 
 Are borne upon its current fast, 
 And in its roaring vortex cast ; 
 Are lost amidst its foaming flow, 
 And spin to its abyss below, 
 Where, far beneath its horrid rim, 
 Amidst its regions dark and grim. 
 Dread, awful things of form and limb 
 Amidst the roaring eddies swim. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Perhaps e'en now I stand betrayed 
 By others in whom trust I've laid. 
 For whom, if fate had will'd it so, 
 I would have braved all mortal woe ! 
 Yes, willingly have met my grave. 
 If them from woe and harm I'd save ; 
 Whose love I deem'd was true to me, 
 As is the flood that fills the sea, 
 Which naught shall wholly waste away 
 Till time and nature shall decay ; 
 But over all its bed shall flow, 
 Hide its unevenness below. 
 And not one imperfection shoAv, 
 Though wild its waves the tempests throw. 
 Yes, just to me as faithful prove, 
 And b}' my side forever move. 
 Hide, hide all faults within me found, 
 Though did they numberless abound ! 
 Perhaps e'en Mary Logan, now. 
 Would meet me with disdainful brow ; 
 
152 BETRAYED. 
 
 Perhaps e'en at this veiy time 
 She deems me guilty of the crime ! 
 Yea, deems me as the basest "wretch, 
 Whose neck did ever gallows stretch I 
 And Crawford Storm had never sought 
 To bring on me the stain he brought, 
 Had he not seen within that maid 
 Some signs of love for him displaj-ed ; 
 Saw that the love that for me buru'd, 
 Could easy unto him be turn'd ; 
 I could be readily dethron'd, 
 And banished from the realm I own'd ! 
 Perhaps e'en now her soul is free 
 Of far less sconi for him than me ; 
 And never near her shall I move, 
 Till fate to me this fact shall prove ! " 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 While thus his aching thoughts revolved, 
 O'er problems which they might have solv'd 
 As easy as the noonday sun 
 Makes frost-work into licpiid run. 
 When on a warm, bright summer's day 
 The frost-work comes beneath its ray. 
 Had he but chose to wend his way 
 Within the presence of that maid. 
 A hand was on his shoulder laid. 
 And brought him from each gloomy 
 
 thought, 
 With which profound his mind was fraught. 
 And spake a voice he knew fullwell — ■ 
 " I went to free j-ou from your cell, 
 But found that you had gone away, 
 And I have searched for you all day, 
 
BETRAYED. 
 
 153 
 
 Hoping that we would somewhere meet, 
 
 Amidst this storm of hail and sleet; 
 
 For Ellen Fay revealed to me 
 
 The secret that she set you free ; 
 
 And said , none, none your flight would know 
 
 Until at least three days should go ; 
 
 And as I homeward hent my wa}', 
 
 I fancied we would meet to-day, 
 
 And for this I fondly prayed, 
 
 Though 'tis by chance that here I strayed." 
 
 Earl Ragan swiftly turned around. 
 
 So wrapp'd he'd been in thought profound 
 
 He had not seen the door thrown wide, 
 
 And o'er it's threshold Logan stride ; 
 
 But as he turned to meet the clasp 
 
 Of Logan in his stalwart grasp, 
 
 He said, " There, alive, is the boy. 
 
 Whose life they swore I did destroy ! " 
 
 " Where ? " said Logan. 
 
 Earl Ragan turned, 
 But nowhere he the child deserned. 
 So wrapp'd in thought ha,d Ragan been, 
 He had not the departure seen 
 Of Richard ]Musgrave and his boy 
 From out that room, who, wild with joy. 
 Had left to let his houseliold know 
 They had no longer cause for woe ; 
 That they had mourned and wept with him 
 Till hearts were broke and eyes were dim, 
 For one alive and sound in limb. 
 Not murdered horrible and grim. 
 And cast away forevermore 
 From them, where hidden whirlpools roar, 
 Swift to grim caves their waters pour, 
 And such will do till time is o'er. 
 
154 BETRAYED, 
 
 PAKT Y. 
 
 A starless night, and piercing cold, 
 For ice la}^ thick o'er hill and wold ; 
 Roar'd hoarse and loud the driving blast, 
 While sleet from inky clouds was cast ! 
 Hard, thick and fast the frozen rain 
 The clouds poured on the earth amain ; 
 And through the gloom and tempest wild, 
 Ragan, Logan, Musgrave and his child. 
 Well armed and on their chargers fleet, 
 Set out in spite of storm and sleet 
 To noise the joyous tidings round 
 To friends and foes, whercA^er found. 
 The child was safe, alive and well ! 
 And let him them his story tell ; 
 And wipe each gory stain away, 
 That o'er the name of Kagan la^'^ ! 
 Yes, show alike to friend and foe, 
 They could no stain on Ragan throw I 
 And muster all the neighbors round. 
 That 3^et were true to Ragan found — 
 Arouse the neighbors, one and all 
 O'er moor and plain and mountain tall. 
 As though they heard an earthquake's 
 
 sound. 
 Uprooting fierce the solid ground. 
 And shaking all the country round ! 
 Make them come forth all undisma3'ed. 
 And gather fast to Ragan 's aid ! — 
 
BETRAYED 155 
 
 Rally, not only for his cause, 
 
 But broken and insulted laws ! 
 
 A vigilance committee form — ■ 
 
 Straight seize Judge Down and Crawford 
 
 Storm ! 
 Those villains, Bolton and Lenore, 
 And all who, 'gainst him falsel}' swore ! 
 Bring perjured scoundrels to account, 
 And for such crimes the gallows mount ! 
 '"For," said John Logan, " those who bear 
 False witness — unto such will swear. 
 Should be for life in dungeon flung. 
 Or unto death on gallows hung ! — 
 Should meet no milder doom than him 
 Who has committed murder grim ! 
 And as some mighty avalanche, ' 
 
 That breaks the forests, bole and branch. 
 And leaves their broken roots upturned, 
 Far from their native mountains spurn'd. 
 Amidst the roaring floods below — ■ 
 Where they no more shall vintage show, 
 So shall we, on those villains go. 
 And deal to them eternal woe ! 
 Or give them dungeon, ball and chain ! 
 We'll drive them from the land amain ; 
 Their rule and reign shall soon be o'er. 
 Such fiends shall curse the land no more ! " 
 
 II. 
 
 Such words in wrath John Logan said. 
 And forth upon such errand sped, 
 In spite of driving storm and blast. 
 And sleet that showered hard and fast ; 
 Awa}' they sped o'er hill and wold. 
 Unchecked by gloom or piercing cold. 
 
156 BETRAYED. 
 
 Many a house that night thej' sought 
 
 And from their beds the inmates hronght 
 
 So tliey might all the boy behold, 
 
 And hear the story that he told. 
 
 Soon as each neighbor saAv tlie bo}-, 
 
 All wild was their suprise and jo}- — 
 
 Cried " Vengeance, on the wretches grim,. 
 
 May furies crush them form and liml) ! 
 
 "Who were so base and vile and low, 
 
 To such a crime on Ragan throw! " 
 
 " Xow, friends and neighbors," Logan said, 
 
 " Upon each cursed villain's head, 
 
 Who in tliis plot Judge Down has led, 
 
 Must fall a retribution dread 1 
 
 So do not sleep at all to night, 
 
 But forth like us, now, take your flight 
 
 In spite of storm and pelting hail. 
 
 Rouse our friends o'er hill and dale ; 
 
 Fly I rouse them up on field and wold, 
 
 Wherever you a house behold ! 
 
 Awake all pco[)le, far and wide, 
 
 Tell them to rally to my side ; 
 
 Reck not how fierce the tempests roam, 
 
 But straight to come to Logan's home ! 
 
 To meet liiin lliorc ere dawn of day, 
 
 And let us speed in vast array 
 
 Upon those dens of grimest crime, 
 
 Ere to escape we give them time." 
 
 III. 
 
 Awa}^, away, through storm and sleet ; 
 Away, away, on chargers fleet I 
 O'er field and wold, o'er hill and vale, 
 The neighbors rode to spread the tale. 
 
BETRAYED. 157 
 
 From house to house the news was spread 
 
 Swift as couki swiftest chargers tread I 
 
 Voice after voice took up the tale, 
 
 Until it rung o'er hill and dale I 
 
 Till over field and wold it past 
 
 Swift as the pinions of the blast ; 
 
 And long ere earth had cast away 
 
 The robes of night, donn'd those of da^, 
 
 Had met a formidable throng 
 
 Of Grangers, active tall and strong. 
 
 Who, to avenge Eai-1 Ragan's wrong, 
 
 To'rds Logan's mansion sped along — 
 
 Who not for either quick or dead 
 
 Would from the path of justice tread. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Upon a dark and winding road 
 Three miles or more from his abode, 
 Along which groves of cedars grew 
 And much obscure all things from view. 
 Though shelter gave from storms that 
 
 blew, 
 John Logan and his comrades drew. 
 Two hundred 3-ards from him ahead, 
 On the winding road, Earl Ragan led ; 
 Loose rein and spur he gave his steed. 
 For soon, he knew that path would lead, 
 And bring him to Logan's abode ; 
 For this sole cause ahead he rode, 
 With 3'earning heart and joyous mind. 
 And left his comrades far behind ; 
 For first of them he wished to be, 
 To tell his Mary he was free 
 Of all the crime upon liim tlirown, 
 Let this to her by him l)e known. 
 
158 BETRAYED. 
 
 When sudden on his pathway drew 
 
 A horse and rider, right in view, 
 
 And straight a woman's scream he heard, 
 
 "Which o'er the roar of tempest stirr'd ! 
 
 And as that horseman nearer drew — 
 
 Still plainer came within his view — 
 
 A woman's form he soon espied. 
 
 Did with tlie man the charger ride ; 
 
 The steed both man and woman bore ; 
 
 A sable robe the female wore, 
 
 And sat the bow of saddle o'er — 
 
 The man behind and she before ; 
 
 His arms were round the woman cast, 
 
 And just as they beside him past. 
 
 Another scream the woman gave. 
 
 And cried. Oh, me ! for Grod's sake save ! 
 
 V. 
 
 " Halt I halt ! " Earl Ragan fiercely cried. 
 Just as they darted hy his side ; 
 And strove to catch their fl3'ing rein, 
 But only strove to catch in vain ! 
 On, on, by him they lightly flew. 
 As swift as ever tempest blew. 
 And still her shrieks the woman gave. 
 And cries of Pity me, and saA^e ! 
 Which rose above the roar of blast ; 
 But scarce five 3'ards b}^ him they past, 
 Than straight his hand a pistol caught, 
 Its aim upon the steed he brought, 
 A flash of bright and ruddy flame, 
 From out the hand of Ragan came. 
 And with it burst a sharp, loud sound, 
 And swift the steed dropped on the ground. 
 
BETRAYED. 159 
 
 The charger gave one piercing groan, 
 As there lie on the earth was thrown. 
 
 VI. 
 
 As flies the bird from fowler's snare, 
 And wings its flight to distant air, 
 And safely hides midst brnsh or weed. 
 So, swift and with such lightning speed 
 The rider of that tumbled steed, 
 His feet from out the stirrups freed, 
 And midst the grove of cedars flew. 
 That all around so densely grew. 
 And straight was lost to Ragan's view. 
 Swift from his steed his form he threw, 
 And to that woman's rescue drew. 
 Then, then that female form he knew ! 
 
 VIT. 
 
 'Twere long and needless now to tell. 
 
 All, all that there that night befell, 
 
 When Logan and the rest drew round. 
 
 And in this plight his Mary found ! 
 
 And by her saw the dying steed 
 
 From which she had just thus been freed ! 
 
 These facts to them she soon made clear : 
 
 The villain who had brought her there 
 
 Was none but Bolton, well they knew. 
 
 From his description, which she drew : 
 
 Earl}' that morning he had strode. 
 
 As beggar unto their abode ; 
 
 He'd craved for bread ; she'd given food 
 
 And satisfied his hungry mood ; 
 
 He'd craved God's blessing on her head. 
 
 For having him so kindly fed ; 
 
100 BETRAYED 
 
 A holy ditty then he sung, 
 And left with mild and civil tongue. 
 When night closed in again he came, 
 And this time called her by her name. 
 Then said, " Your father and a friend 
 Bade me right swiftly to you wend, 
 And bid you not a moment waste, 
 But straight awa}^ unto them haste I 
 But here, this letter will reveal 
 All that they did from me conceal ; 
 'Twill +ell you what of you they crave." 
 A letter imto me he gave ; 
 It swift unto a lamp I bore, 
 Then straight the cover open tore 
 And read the Avriting o'er and o'er — 
 From end to end, three times or more ! 
 That m}' own father's hand had penn'd 
 That letter all from end to end, 
 I had no slightest doubt the while. 
 For all was penn'd within his stjde ; 
 Each letter on the scroll surveyed, 
 I would have sworn my father made ! 
 His style the writing nothing lack'd, 
 'Twas shaped and framed his way exact. 
 I swiftly glanced the writing o'er, 
 This was the message that it bore : 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Dear daughter, come to me with speed 
 He who brings this the way will lead. 
 This morn I found I could not bail 
 By gold, Earl Ragan out of jail, 
 B3' force of arm I got him free, 
 And have him hei'e all safe with me. 
 
BETRAYED. 161 
 
 But much I fear when it is known 
 That he has from his dungeon flown, 
 The Sheriff's men will follow him, 
 And sure his fate will be most grim ; 
 If they should capture him to-night, 
 He would not see the morning's light ; 
 They'd hang him on the nearest tree, 
 He'd from them none of mercy see ! 
 For such a fate I too much fear 
 To let him in my house appear ; 
 The Sheriff's men may find him there ; 
 But you can safel}' journey here ; 
 Come with this messenger in haste. 
 And do not now a moment waste. 
 Hark, daughter, unto what I say. 
 Your loving father's words obey ; 
 Do not a moment's space delaj'^, 
 But come, this man will lead the way. 
 But let of this no single word 
 By any in the house be heard, 
 When read, this in the fire throw, 
 Where it shall straight to ashes go ; 
 And do not let the servants know 
 Away you have been summoned so ; 
 Keep all as secret as the grave. 
 And we may yet Earl Ragan saA^e." 
 
 IX. 
 
 That it was forged I never dream'd, 
 It all so like m}^ father's seem'd, 
 It came from him I well believed, 
 Nor had one thought I was deceived. 
 Soon as I had the letter conn'd, 
 My cloak and hood I swiftly donn'd. 
 
162 BETRAYED. 
 
 To shield me from the tempest keen, 
 
 And hy the servants all unseen 
 
 I with him pass'd the threshold o'er, 
 
 Unheard bj all I locked the door. 
 
 Then forth through night and pelting liail, 
 
 And through the roaring, sweeping gale, 
 
 I followed where that villain led, 
 
 Till man}" a weary step I'd sped ; 
 
 At length we reached a clump of wood 
 
 That swajdng to the tempest stood ; 
 
 Amongst it pines and cedars grew. 
 
 Which hid all things within from view ; 
 
 Within it swift we onward drew. 
 
 For where he led I did pursue. 
 
 But scarcely twenty j^ards we'd past 
 
 Amidst the gloom it round us cast, 
 
 Than I a saddled steed espied, 
 
 And two men standing hy his side. 
 
 As to that steed my leader drew, 
 
 His form upon the horse he threw, 
 
 " IS^ow hand her iip, m}^ boys ! " he cri(><l, 
 
 To those two men that there I spied. 
 
 " This maid is Crawford's promised bride, 
 
 And I shall bear her to his side ! " 
 
 Then me they seized with all their force, 
 
 And bore me struggling on the horse ; 
 
 My form upon the steed they threw, 
 
 Round me his arms the horseman drc^w 
 
 And said, " Be still ni}' pretty maid, 
 
 Of mc 3'ou need not be afraid ! 
 
 You must not show the least alarms, 
 
 For you are safe within m}^ arms ; 
 
 To cr}' there is no use at all, 
 
 It will not free 3'Ou from my thrall ; 
 
BETRAYED. 163 
 
 Just go along riglit still with me, 
 
 And you slirJl shortly CraAvford see I 
 
 For fitter spouse for 3'ou is he, 
 
 Than Ragan, though of crime all free ; 
 
 But if a noise you dare to make, 
 
 I will 3'our prett}" jaw bones break ; 
 
 I'll tie 3'our hands and split your tongue, 
 
 And in some flood ^-ou shall be flung ! 
 
 So scream not, while you go with me. 
 
 Or what I've said, I wean, j-ou'll see 1 " 
 
 As this he said with savage tone. 
 
 That thrill'd through marrow, nerve and 
 
 bone, 
 Within the startled charger's flank. 
 Sudden and deep his rowel sank ; 
 And down the road of crashing sleet, 
 Thundered his gharger's flj' ing feet. 
 And terrorstricken and dismayed, 
 Then, then, I knew I was betraj'ed ! 
 As down the winding road we drew, 
 Until we came within your view ! ' " 
 
 XI. 
 
 'Twere vain for me to limn or tell, 
 Tlae rage that did in Logan swell ; 
 Through all his form the bounding blood 
 Went sweeping like a mountain flood ; 
 His heart was throbbing in his breast 
 Like some flerce ocean in unrest. 
 And plainl}' could be heard its sound 
 As beating gainst its walls around, • 
 
1G4 BETRAYED. 
 
 As if that broad and ample chest 
 Gave not scope unto its fierce unrest ; 
 For anger seem'd to shake his form, 
 As tree that swayes in mountain storm ; 
 Rage lit his eye and dyed his cheek, 
 And fill'd him so he scarce could speak. 
 Within his arms he clasped his child, 
 And thus broke forth in accents wild : 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Curst be the fiend who brought you here, 
 And laid for you this cunning snare ! 
 On him shall fall a father's curse. 
 And what to him shall be far worse, 
 On him shall fall that father's hand, 
 And lifeless crush him in the sand ! 
 Yea, I shall crush him unto death I 
 By my own hand shall cease his breath I " 
 
 xni. 
 
 As this he said, away he flew 
 Where dense the grove of cedars grew, 
 And long he midst the forest sought, 
 But he no trace of Bolton caught, 
 Although he searched it far and wide. 
 " Father, come back," the maiden cried ; 
 Homeward bear my shivering form 
 From out this driving hail and storm ! 
 Come, father, pit}^ take on me, 
 And set me from this tempest free ! 
 Father, dear father, come away ! 
 Dear father, list to what I say ! " 
 The tempest roared so hoarse and wild, 
 The father did not hear his child, 
 
BETRAYED. 165 
 
 As mongst those frozen trees lie sought 
 For one he would have gladly caught, 
 And dealt on him all hurt and harm 
 That slumbered in his stalwart arm ; 
 But as amongst the trees he wound 
 And trod upon the sleety ground, 
 His feet kept up such crashing sound, 
 His daughter's cries and shouts were 
 
 drown 'd ; 
 And not till those who with him sought 
 Were with the fruitless task o'erwraught, 
 Did he regain his daughter's ^de 
 And Avith her towards his mansion ride ; 
 But ere the}' left the dismal place, 
 A smile was limned on every face. 
 For shouted loud George Musgrave there, 
 So that if Bolton an3'where 
 Was crouching midst that forest drear. 
 He could his voice right plainly hear. 
 " Sa}', Bolton ! " loud the stripling cried, 
 " By Hugh Lenore I have not died I 
 So all your thunderbolts and kite, 
 You straight can bring to me to-night I 
 If ever to a man I grow, 
 And fate 3' on in mj' path shall throw, 
 I'll tell 30U plainly then, you lied ! 
 None of my feelings from you hide." 
 Thus spake the boy, who little knew 
 In Bolton's ear his shouting flew ; 
 And also every word he spake 
 Did on the ear of Crawford break ; 
 For he was close beside them there, 
 And all they spake did plainly hear : 
 He lay to them so close, so near, 
 Amidst the cedars dark and drear, 
 
IGG BETRAYED. 
 
 Which dense around did foliage rear, 
 Each word they spake fell on his ear ; 
 And twice beside the place he lay 
 Amidst the cedar's sable spra^^, 
 Both Ragan and John Logan past, 
 But not on him their vision cast. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 With speed they left the dismal place, 
 Where onl}- cedars they could trace. 
 That shook to tempests to and fro, 
 And rovmd did icy branches show ; 
 Where naught they deemed they'd left be- 
 hind 
 In shape of any breathing kind , 
 Save dying steed that groaning lay 
 And slowly bled his life away ; 
 A noble steed as ever trod 
 O'er solid rock or dewy sod, 
 As ever grazed o'er pastures green. 
 Or mongst the race of steeds was seen ; 
 With tliew}^ limbs and brawn}^ form, 
 Fleet as the blast, strong as the storm ; 
 With neck that looked like bended l)ow, 
 And mane that hung in heavy flow ; 
 With stately head, erect and proud, 
 And eyes that flashed like flame in cloud ; 
 Ears forward pricked as though to hear 
 Some sound to which he jovirne3'ed near ; 
 From some strange object that he eyed 
 With snorting nostrils huge and wide ; 
 With shoulders deep, and brawn^^ breast. 
 Which plain his matchless strength con- 
 fess 'd. 
 
BETRAYED. 161 
 
 John Logan and his daughter rode 
 With tempest's speed to tlicir abode, 
 In spite of gloom and driving storm ; 
 One arm was twined around her form. 
 And 'gainst his broad and swelling breast 
 She placed her gentle head at rest. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Daughter," he said, " to-night I see 
 That God has not abandoned me ! 
 That He doth still beside me stay, 
 And ever guides me on my way ; 
 Prospers my ways where'er I move, 
 And still a friend to me doth prove ; 
 And will not let the evil arm 
 Deal me or mine a lasting harm ; 
 And lightly turns a^ide the blow 
 Was bieant to cause my overthrow. 
 And were I in the whirlpool's flow. 
 Where waters spin to depths below, 
 He would not let me downward go 
 But straight to me would mercy show ; 
 Yea, me he would not fail to save. 
 And draw from out the whelming wave. 
 It is not oft I go this way, 
 By either night-time or by day, 
 'Tis onl}' when the sun is warm. 
 Or sweeps like now a piercing storm, 
 That I this woody high-road take. 
 Then it is done for shelter's sake ; 
 I alway take some other road. 
 When I go forth from my abode, 
 Or unto it I wend my way. 
 Let it be either night or day ; 
 
168 BETRAYED. 
 
 And when on it my charger strode 
 I felt like turning off this road 
 And guiding him another way, 
 But go it, something seemed to say I 
 Though it was all against my will 
 I rode along this woody hill ; 
 I drew my rein, and let my steed 
 Move up the slope with slackened speed ; 
 I let the rest ride on before, 
 , While in my mind I pondered o'er 
 The voice I heard within me say 
 John Logan you must take this wa}^ ! 
 And while this fill'd m}^ spii'it all. 
 Kept it close bound in pensive thrall, 
 I heard your voice for mercy call, 
 Heard pistols blare, and something fall, 
 Now, child, I know 'twas God who spake. 
 Bade me this dismal passage take ; 
 None other voice than his I heard. 
 His was the whisper in me stirr'd ! 
 His was the hand that drew the rein, 
 And forced me up this road amain ; 
 His was the arm that rescued you 
 From that vile fiend of hellish crew ; 
 Your rescue, child, God will'dand plann'd. 
 And had it done by Ragan's hand. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Thus as he spake, they onward drew 
 Until the mansion rose in view ; 
 But scarce within the yard they came. 
 Than round them flashed a ruddy flame, 
 That from some score of lanterns gleam'd. 
 And far on night their lustre stream'd ; 
 
BETRAYED. 169 
 
 All Logan's servants, young and old, 
 Did in their hands a lantern hold ; 
 They just had missed the lovely maid, 
 And for her safety all afraid, 
 Thej-'d searched the mansion through and 
 
 through, 
 But nowhere she had met their view ! 
 The door was locked, the key had flown, 
 Out, the lamps that were lit were blown 
 Within the room she last had stood, 
 And vanished were her cloak and hood ; 
 So at her absence all disnwyed, 
 Their numbers swiftl}^ they arrayed. 
 And forth they flew through storm and 
 
 cold 
 To search for her o'er field and wold, 
 Through valley and through mountain ca^-e. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Wild were the shouts of jo}^ they gave. 
 High o'er the roar of storms they grew ! 
 And on their wings o'er mountains flew, 
 When Logan and his daughter drew 
 And followers within their view. 
 When there the boy before them sped. 
 Whom they till then had fancied dead, 
 And Ragan, too, their eyes beheld. 
 Hoarse, high, their shouts on tempest 
 
 swell 'd ; 
 True, heart-felt joy flash'd in their eyes, 
 And fiird their souls with glad surprise ; 
 Their lanterns swift on earth they plac'd 
 And did to every horseman haste. 
 The reins within their hands the}^ caught. 
 And from each steed each rider brought ; 
 
I TO BETRAYED. 
 
 And while upon the tempest roar'd 
 The deafenmg welcome that the^^ pour'd, 
 Within their arms each form the}- bore 
 The threshold of the mansion o'er ; 
 The lamps were lit, and flamed each hearth 
 Midst shouts of heartfelt j 03' and mirth. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 To stable were the horses led, 
 And if e'er steeds were amplj^ fed. 
 Had corn and hay before them spread, 
 And given dry and easy bed. 
 And wiped of every drop of rain 
 That on them lay, from feet to mane. 
 These weary steeds received it there ! 
 But well did Ragan's charger fare, 
 To it they showed especial care ! 
 They viewed it with delighted e3'es, 
 Praised long its thew^- limbs and size, 
 And all agreed a nobler steed 
 They never 3'et had given feed ! 
 This thought seem'd firml3'' in them set. 
 Its lord would be their master, 3-et. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Bright shone the lights in Logan's home. 
 
 In ample mugs the ale. did foam, 
 
 In goblets bright and deep and broad, 
 
 The rudd3^ sparkling wine was pour'd ; 
 
 With ample fare the board was croAvn'd 
 
 The best within the country found ; 
 
 Fish, flesh and fowl, were smoking there, 
 
 The best of earth or flood or air, 
 
 Upon that ample table stood ; 
 
 The wine look'd tempting, rich and good, 
 
BETRAYED. 1 7 1 
 
 Right luscious loolc'd tlio ale and food, 
 And round it throng'd in liungry mood 
 Five happy souls, as void of care, 
 As ever trod this planet here ; 
 For those they loved upon this sphere 
 The most of all Avere witli tliem there! 
 One ate and drank Avitli teeming joy 
 Near his feasting, chatting boy ; 
 One as he dranlc and ate, the while 
 Did on liis lovely daugliter smile, 
 Whose beaming broAV and rosy face 
 Displayed each sweetest charm and grace 
 Tiiat God e'er gave to woman's race 
 Since first on earth he did her place. 
 When lie the glorious creature wrought, 
 First unto life the serai)h brought 
 And her fair form and being fraught 
 With all the noblest charms He caught 
 Midst boundless regions of Ilis thought. 
 And how to blend, divinely taught ; 
 From tilings the best Avitliin His span 
 lie did tliat creatui^e mould and i)lan ; 
 And placed her here to bless or ban 
 The race he loved and cliristened man. 
 The other ate and drank beside 
 His all beauteous, promised bride. 
 And as he sat beside tlie maid 
 And her bewitching face surveyed, 
 He felt that God had him repaid 
 For woes that fate had round liim laid ; 
 And thanks to God swept tlirough his 
 
 soul 
 For peace and joy did it control. 
 Loud roar'd without the tempest's din, 
 But all was feasting mirtli Avithin, 
 
112 BETRAYED. 
 
 Mongst souls untouchied by crime or sin, 
 And souls where such no hold shall win. 
 
 XX. 
 
 When they had left the dying steed, 
 And that lone place of them was freed, 
 Had far upon their journe}^ sped, 
 No more was heard their horses' tread, 
 From out his dismal hiding place 
 Old Bolton moved with liA^ely pace. 
 And trod along the sleety road, 
 Which brought him soon to his abode ; 
 Where his two aids had swiftly sped, 
 Through short cuts o'er the mountain's 
 
 head — 
 Lone byways known but to a few, 
 Which to that dismal shanty drew. 
 These, these they threaded, nimbly traced, 
 When on the steed thej^'d Mary placed, 
 And left her to old Bolton's care ; 
 But where to go, they reck'd not where. 
 With curse and groan at fate and God, 
 O'er sleet}^ paths old Bolton trod ; 
 On, on, he sped till Crawford's ear 
 His footfalls could no longer hear, 
 Till on the crisp and brittley sleet. 
 Was heard no crashing from his feet ; 
 Then from a cedar huge and tall 
 Whose spra^' was black as midnight's pall, 
 And dense as is the clouds of night. 
 Whose fold hides all the moon from sight 
 Crawford Storm down swiftly drew. 
 From of his robes the sleet he threw. 
 And towards the dying steed he sped, 
 With padded feet and noiseless tread ; 
 
BETRAYED. 173 
 
 Beside the fallen steed he drew, 
 O'er it cast a lingei'ing view 
 With eyes that flashed with fiendish glow ; 
 And with fierce curse and kick and blow, 
 He strove to make that charger rise, 
 But vain the task, on earth he lies 
 In spite of curse and kick and blow, 
 While from his ^ound in rapid flow 
 The blood pours out, and crimson glow 
 Doth to the frozen sleet bestow ; 
 Save groans that tell his pain and woe, 
 No signs of life that steed doth show. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 As lightnings flash in sable skies, 
 And flame on high incessant flies, 
 So blazed the rage in Crawford's ej^es 
 When he'd proved the courser could not 
 
 rise. 
 And thus he muttered, fierce and low, 
 '' May fate deal everlasting woe 
 On that cursed wretch who dealt the blow 
 That caused my charger's overthrow ! 
 May fate discard him evermore, 
 Deal him all throes this charger bore 1 
 For this to me he owes a debt 
 That he shall trebly pay me yet, 
 In spite of all the force of fate. 
 And all the fraud of love and hate, 
 Of life, and grisl}^ death, its mate ! 
 The time will come yet, soon or late, 
 That cursed Ragan yet shall cower, 
 A 'fenceless victim in my power ; 
 He yet shall meet an end most grim, 
 Though periled be my life and limb 
 
174 BETRAYED. 
 
 In the attempt to injure him ; 
 Though I througli seething lava swim, 
 I do not care, I shall not reck, 
 So that the gallows stretch his neck ! 
 And Bolton, curse his trick}' soul, 
 I'll deal on him eternal dole I 
 Him death shall also chortly woo. 
 Shall win and wed and mate him, too ! 
 Bolton in whom such trust I laid ; 
 Me, me, that traitor has betraj-ed ! 
 To me ho has most grossly lied. 
 By him George Musgrave never died ! 
 From home he's only him decoyed. 
 His life, his life, he ne'er destroyed ! 
 In him I trusted and believed, 
 And me, and me, he has deceived! 
 Yes, 3^es, to me he's grossly lied, 
 Has me betrayed on every side 1 
 But for his treacher}', his breath 
 Shall forfeit pay to me and death ! 
 He soon shall die most dread and grim 
 With agon}' in every limb ! " 
 
 XXIT. 
 
 Witli curses dropping from his tongue 
 
 As dread and grim as ever rung 
 
 On breath pour'd out by human tongue. 
 
 From that lone d^'ing steed he sprung ; 
 
 And swiftly strode the sleety road 
 
 Which led to Bolton's drear abode ; 
 
 He sped upon the shortest way 
 
 That 'tween him and the shanty lay ; 
 
 As lonely path as ever seen. 
 
 Which few could walk, saxe him, I ween ; 
 
BETRAYED. 1^5 
 
 A full long mile he had to pass 
 
 O'er hill, vale, bush and wild morass, 
 
 Ere he would reach the dismal bield 
 
 That did from storms old Bolton shield ; 
 
 But o'er this mile he swiftly sped, 
 
 And did in Bolton's shanty tread. 
 
 Some huge pine logs blazed on the hearth. 
 
 Save these the hut of light was dearth ; 
 These threw around a gloomy light. 
 And left the place half hid in night. 
 Upon the dirty, filthy floor 
 Stretched out the burning logs before, 
 Just light enough to show each face. 
 Lay the three inmates of the place — 
 Bolton, and Joe, and Bill — the three 
 We did within it lately see. 
 But soon as Crawford ope'd the door, 
 Ere he had cross'd the threshold o'er. 
 Old Bolton leapt from off the floor, 
 For him placed a chair the hearth before, 
 Bow'd low his head, and humbly said, 
 " Boss, welcome to old Bolton's shed ! 
 A fearful night is this, I trow. 
 For you to be out walking, now. 
 Boss, our fire is very low, 
 But for your sake, shall brighter glow ! 
 So take this chair, now, if you please, 
 Here j^ou can warm yourself at ease." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 As this he said, some chips he threw 
 Amongst the blazing logs, and blew 
 On them until the hearth became 
 One roaring blaze of ruddy flame, 
 
l^Q BETRAYED. 
 
 Which sparks in blasts sent up the flue 
 Unnumbered sparks of ruddy hue, 
 While Crawford, in the proffered chair 
 Sat down in calm, familiar air. 
 Serene his visage looked the while, 
 In fact, o'er it was limned a smile ; 
 ISTo sign the while at all he show'd 
 Of the fell rage that in him glow'd. 
 Nor of the savage vengeance grim 
 That throbb'd in form and every limb, 
 That was on Bolton soon to burst 
 With rage and hate like, fiends accurst I 
 Soon glowed the fire warm and bright, 
 And round him glowed its ruddy ligbt : 
 And thus he spake, in accents mild. 
 As might some gentle maid or child : 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Bolton, how did you fare to-day ? 
 Could you not bring the maid awa}^ ; 
 Or have you safely brought her here ? 
 If so, where is she ? tell me where ? 
 And I will show you how I woo, 
 And win a lovely maiden, too ! 
 You can lay by this blazing log 
 And smoke j^our pipe and drink j^our grog, 
 And view the spryest scene, I trow, , 
 You've seen in all your life, till now 1 
 1 11 bring a smile upon your brow, 
 By all the saints on earth, I vow I 
 Just show to me this lovely bird ! 
 You need not say another word 
 After 3^ou the introduction give, 
 Is just as true as here I live I 
 
BETRAYED. IfT 
 
 Just pass her out, my jolly boy, 
 And I will make you mirth and joj^ ! " 
 
 XXV. 
 
 '' Ah, Boss ! " old Bolton said, " all day 
 I did near Logan's mansion stay 
 Where I could ever3^thing survey, 
 But found no chance to bring away 
 The precious jewel that I sought ; 
 Only one sight of her I caught ; 
 Upon her porch, the while, she stood, 
 And so was wrapp'd in cloak and hood 
 I scarce could see her face at all, 
 But knew her by her stature tall, 
 For I was scarce from her a rood ; 
 Cheerful she seemed, and spry of mood, 
 Some old bird near her had its brood 
 And she to these was casting food, 
 Singing a mournful song, the time, 
 'Bout birds starved midst blast and r-ime. 
 Unseen of her I nearer trod. 
 Till 'tween us scarcely lay a rod ; 
 For all so light I trod the sleet, 
 And moved from bush to bush sofleet, 
 She did not hear my padded feet, 
 Nor yet a sight of me did greet ; 
 But all so hard pour'd down the hail, 
 And all so piercing drove the gale, 
 And made such roar and constant sound 
 Amongst the evergreens around 
 That densely so the garden crown'd, 
 And all completely hid the ground, 
 No other object could be seen 
 From where she stood amidst the green, 
 
lYS BETRAYED 
 
 However scant the space between ; 
 Little she thought, the while, I ween, 
 That anything like human form 
 Was lurking there midst such a storm. 
 And just Avas I upon that maid 
 In act to. make a sudden raid — 
 Drag her midst the foliage dense, 
 Bind and gag her, straight bring her hence. 
 When close at hand I heard a sound 
 Like coming horse hoofs on the ground ; 
 Plain and more plainer still, mine ear 
 The clatter of those hoofs could hear, 
 And soon from whei-e I stood, I spied 
 Five horsemen to the mansion ride ; 
 "Right to the porch they <all drew near, 
 The first was Logan, that I'll swear, 
 One was Judge Down, that well I know, 
 I knew him by his locks of snow ; 
 It was his form, from head to feet, 
 And had his tone of voice complete ; 
 It was Judge Down, I do believe, 
 Nor think mine e^^es could me deceive ; 
 The rest I could not guess at all. 
 But one among them was so tall, 
 And showed such comeliness of form, 
 I fancied he was Crawford Storm ; 
 And so his voice with yours did chime. 
 It made me marvel at the time 
 To think what j^ou were doing there 
 Whom I thought far away elsewhere. 
 
 xxvr. 
 
 Those five soon in the mansion drew. 
 And since of them I've had no view, 
 
BETRAYF.r'. 119 
 
 Not one of them, nor has the maia 
 Again herself to me displayed ; 
 Though round that house all day I strayed, 
 Just where I everything surveyed ; 
 And there near froze, midst storm T stood, 
 And sad to sa}', for little good, 
 Till day declined, and night's dark hood 
 All nature donn'd; with sable snood 
 Bound tresses of her waving wood, 
 And draped her boundless form with speed 
 In her sad, sablest mourning weed. 
 Then from my hiding place I drew, 
 Keeping that mansion in my view ; 
 Three times I round its structure pass'd, 
 My gaze on every window cast, 
 But not one utter sight I caught 
 Of the fair maiden that was sought. 
 Then I to Logaai's stable drew, 
 A saddle on a courser threw, 
 His halter doff 'd, a bridle donn'd, 
 More swift than ever oath I conn'd, 
 Right soon on him my form I threw 
 And from the gloomy stable flew ; 
 But ere I halfwa}^ homeward sped 
 'The worthless courser fell down dead I 
 Now o'er his loss I shall not weep, 
 Since fate gave him to me so cheap, 
 For had he lived I'd kept him here, 
 Bestowed on him too much of care. 
 And oft at night I'd lost my sleep 
 In stealing fodder for his keep. 
 Logan when dawns to-morrow's morn 
 Will learn he of a steed is shorn ; 
 But he will never know, I guess, 
 I made his list of horses less. 
 
X80 BETRAYED. 
 
 Now, Boss, because to-day I failed, 
 
 Let not your hope be e'er assailed 
 
 With slightest shadow of a fear 
 
 Or doubt I ne'er will bring her here ; 
 
 Give me another da^^, or two, 
 
 And 3^ou will have her here to woo ; 
 
 For nothing can old Bolton daunt ! " 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 *'' You shall have all the time you want," 
 
 The other with a smile replied, 
 
 As he the while old Bolton eyed. 
 
 And saw how well the villain lied, 
 
 Saw how he strove from him to hide 
 
 The fatal failure of that day 
 
 That hope was wrecked and cast away I 
 
 And never, now, alive or dead. 
 
 Would Mary Logan's foosteps tread 
 
 Beside them in that dismal bield, 
 
 Fate ne'er to them such sight would yield I 
 
 And fate from them that maid "\yould shield, 
 
 And never give to them a field 
 
 For any action 'gainst her more, 
 
 On Time's or Eternity's shore I 
 
 And all their craft, wile, fraud and force, 
 
 Would swerve not fate from such a course. 
 
 Well Crawford knew when came the morn 
 
 Bolton would from that hut be torn 
 
 And beaten to a shapeless mass, 
 
 Or else away his life would pass 
 
 On foremost tree or gallows g"rim — 
 
 No time or trial spent o'er him ; 
 
 That frantic men by Ragan led, 
 
 Or with John Logan at their head, 
 
BETRAYED. lyl 
 
 Would oome in terrible array 
 
 And tear him from the hut away ; 
 
 And all they therein found with him, 
 
 Would meet a fate most dread and grim ; 
 
 Nor would they waste a moment's time 
 
 To prove or fix on them a crime ; 
 
 But other thoughts his spirit swayed — 
 
 Ilim, him, old Bolton had betrayed ! 
 
 Had lied most grossly, base and vile, 
 
 Had treated him with fraud and wile ; 
 
 Had traitor been to him through all ; 
 
 His treachery had wrought his fall ; 
 
 For had he done as he had plann'd. 
 
 All things that night would different stand : 
 
 Mary had been at his command, 
 
 A trembling victim in his hand ; 
 
 And Ragan had in dungeon gloom 
 
 Sat waiting for his coming doom. 
 
 Dread fate his schemes and plans had 
 
 cross'd, 
 And them in wild confusion toss'd ; 
 Flowers of hope he'd proudl}^ rear'd, 
 All, all, had perished, disappeared ! 
 All pass'd awa}^, forever lost, 
 Cut down by fate's untimely frost, 
 Ne'er to grow again from out that rime. 
 Through all eternity or time ! 
 Fate ne'er again the chance Avould show 
 For him to deal the slightest blow, 
 Or any way cause overthrow 
 To those he loved or hated so. 
 For he himself that very night. 
 Must from that country take his flight ; 
 Must speed to some far distant shore, 
 Where they will hear of hiai no more, 
 
182 BETRAYED. 
 
 Or he'll be cast in dungeon gloom, 
 
 Or else the gallows is his doom ! 
 
 And this all caused b}^ Bolton's guile, 
 
 Whom he had trusted all the while ; 
 
 The traitor ! he had caused it all 1 
 
 Yea, to the dust made Crawford fall ; 
 
 Heaped on him shame and all things vile, 
 
 And for his treachery and wile 
 
 Bolton must die a death most grim ; 
 
 His eye shall glare, his brain shall swim, 
 
 With agony in every limb I 
 
 And he must feel those pangs through him, 
 
 For it is ordered so by fate, 
 
 By vengeance, rage, lost hope and hate I 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Though thoughts like these fill Crawford's 
 
 soul. 
 As burning lava through it roll, 
 And there tremendous warfare wage. 
 He secret kept his hate and rage ; 
 His smiling features all belied, 
 Did workings in his spirit hide; 
 That seethed like a volcano's core. 
 Whose outward form and summit hoar, 
 The snow and sunshine cover o'er ; 
 But soon will burst with fatal roar; 
 And mild as ever zephyrs blew. 
 Which not from leaf can shake the dew, 
 Or on the lake a ripple wake. 
 He smiling thus to Bolton spake : 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " You shall have all the time you want, 
 Your failure me doth nothing daunt j 
 
BETRAYED. 183 
 
 I know, old boy, you'll soon succeed, 
 And when 3'ou do, you'll have your meed ; 
 So just take all the time 3'on need, 
 And rightly do for me this deed ; 
 This world did not within a day, 
 Grow to the thing we now survey ; 
 It took long days and years of time 
 To form its plains and hills sublime. 
 And make its mighty floods that roll. 
 And stir it like a living soul. 
 And no great task was ever wrought, 
 Nor unto great perfection brought, 
 With wonders all sublimely fraught 
 Except thrdugh patience, time and thought. 
 Had Homer's soul and mind not caught 
 This truth, and labor'd as they ought, 
 This day his story had been naught ! 
 Had ne'er to countless ages taught 
 How heroes warr'd, how heroes fought — 
 Against Old Illium,s warriors haught ! 
 How heroes' lives their glory bought, 
 While they proud Troy's destruction 
 
 sought I 
 Long 3'ears must pass ere trees can grow 
 Unto the mighty boles they show ; 
 And time it takes for everything 
 Nature does to perfection bring. 
 Time, nature needs to breed a storm, 
 As well as smaller insect form ! 
 And you'll have all the time you need, 
 To do for me this little deed. 
 But when this task you have perform'd. 
 Your spirit shall with joy be warm'd 
 Beyond all you can dream of now, 
 I swear by all on nature's bro\Y. 
 
I8t BETRAYED. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 You said you did not use my steed, 
 But of one Logan's stables freed 1 
 Now I indeed am glad of this, 
 To-night I would him sorely miss, 
 If of his life he had been shorn, 
 For I mvist reach the town ere morn. " 
 ^' 0, do not leave us, boss, to-night ! 
 Abide j^ou here till morning's light ! 
 Your steed is safe within my stall, 
 No harm will unto him befall ; 
 I gave him lots of hay and corn. 
 Enough to last him unto morn." 
 " Yes, Bolton, I must go to-night. 
 And reach the town ere morning's light, 
 There is a deed I must perform 
 Ere morn, in sj^ite of night and storm ; 
 I will be back in a da}' or two. 
 To see how jon the maid pursue." 
 " Then, Boss, if 3'ou will go, just take 
 A little grog for friendship's sake ; 
 The night is dark, the way is long, 
 The sleet is cold, the tempest strong, 
 A little grog will do no wrong ; 
 'Twill fill 3'ou full of mirth and song. 
 And will all through from head to heel, 
 Make j^ou far better think and feel, 
 As to the town you journey forth. 
 Facing cold breezes from the north." 
 *'No, Bolton, no, I scarcely drink, 
 Ere into drowsy sleep I sink ; 
 So offer me no grog, to-night. 
 For I must keep my senses bright ; 
 
BETRAYED. 185 
 
 Or I'll not find the road ario-ht 
 Which leads the shortest way to town, 
 I o'er some cliff may stumble down, 
 Or get lost within some wild morass, 
 You know by such I have to pass. 
 But ere I go 3'ou all Til treat, 
 With best of drink you e'er did greet ; 
 I have with me a flask of Avine 
 From Italy's most choicest vine ; 
 Since from the grape it came till now, 
 Full fifteen 3'ears have past, I trow ; 
 In Judge Down's cellar it hath been 
 Some ten years mellowing, it's seen ; 
 This morn my uncle's vaults I sought. 
 This from his favorite barrel brought ; 
 You never drank such wine before. 
 Next time I come I'll bring you more ; 
 Now hand three cups, my boy to me, 
 I'll share it mongst 3'ou equall3%" 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Just soon as this had Crawford said, 
 Forth for some vessel each man sped ; 
 Three rusty tin cups sAvift they caught, 
 And these with haste to Crawford brought. 
 " Now, Boss," said Bolton eagerlj', 
 I am the oldest of us three. 
 So, sharing it deal me the most, 
 And I Trill give a noble toast ! " 
 Within the cups the Avine Avas pour'd. 
 All Avould the spacious flask aflford ; 
 Rucld}^ as blood the liquid glow'd 
 As from the flask to cups it flow'd ; 
 Swift each man raised his rust}' cup, 
 But ere to lips the}' brought them up 
 
186 BETRAYED. 
 
 Old Bolton said, " A toast I'll give : 
 
 Long years of J03' m^^y Crawford live I 
 
 And all his proud and noble race, 
 
 May they still keep the foremost place 
 
 In all this happy country' round, 
 
 And ne'er in want and need be found ; 
 
 And when here next shall Crawford come, 
 
 Ma}'^ I be blind and deaf and dumb — 
 
 Yes may the furies seize my breath 
 
 And bear me through the vale of death, 
 
 If here he doth not find the maid — 
 
 If more his wishes be dela^^ed ! 
 
 M}'^ heart is bold as is the rock, 
 
 And heeds no storm nor lightning shock ; 
 
 My grasp is firm, m}^ arm is strong 
 
 As is the flood that sweeps along ! 
 
 Old Bolton has no laws to fear, 
 
 He ne'er will any fetters wear ; 
 
 Nor e'er in cell of jail resort. 
 
 While Judge Down rules within the court ; 
 
 So here's long life, my merr}' bo^'S, 
 
 And one fill'd to the brim v/ith joys. 
 
 We'll do our work and fear no noise ! " 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Down, down, the ruddy wine was toss'd. 
 In craAdng maws from siglit was lost ; 
 Loud each man smacked his lips, and 
 
 swore 
 That such a luscious drinlc before 
 It ne'er had been their fates to taste ! 
 And hoped that time the daj' would haste 
 Their Boss would bring them plenty- 
 more ! 
 " That I will ! " Crawford said, " before 
 
BETRAYED. 187 
 
 To-morrow's set of sun, I will 
 
 Give unto eacli of you 3-our fill ; 
 
 But I must leave 3'ou noAv, Adieu ! adieu ! " 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The door he open swiftly threw 
 
 And lightly o'er the threshold drew, 
 
 Then closed the door upon their A"iew ; 
 
 Around the shant}- swift he past 
 
 To where the window stood, and cast 
 
 His vision through the narrow pane 
 
 Which smut and dust did amplj;- stain. 
 
 And mutterd thus, as there he stood : 
 
 " Thej- thought m}^ wine most luscious, 
 
 good ; 
 Little they dream'd in it was mix'd 
 A poison which has often fix'd 
 In ghastly pain such subtle knaves. 
 And bi'ought them to untimely graves ! 
 Slow, slow, it works, but sure as fate, 
 Soon, soon, the3''ll feel my deadly hate ! 
 Yea, SAvift its burning throes will swina 
 Through cveiy cursed form and limb ; 
 And I shall wait me here and see 
 Each mortal throe of agony ! 
 I'll watch them how they twist and turn. 
 Just while it at its height doth burn." 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 He said no more, for shriek on shriek. 
 Did soon their agony bespeak ; 
 And groan on groan told of their throe, 
 Of mortal and increasing woe ! 
 Writhing from side to side thc}- turn'd. 
 As if midst scorching flames they burn'd ; 
 
188 BETRAYED. 
 
 Rose from the floor, back on it fell, 
 With scream and curse and groan and ^ell ; 
 At one another fierce they sprung, 
 Their arms around each other flung-, 
 And tussled hard with curse and groan, 
 Till they upon the floor were thrown ; 
 Then terribly they swore and fought. 
 At one another's throats they caught ; 
 Until grim death put to a close 
 Their agonj^, and tomb-like repose 
 Did unto Crawford's eye reveal 
 They neither pain nor life could feel ! 
 Then in the hut he swift rcturn'd, 
 Though fierce with heat each body burn'd ; 
 . Each, each was dead, he soon discern'd. 
 For with his heel each brow he spurn'd ! 
 (ifrimly distorted was each face, 
 Swelling and growing black apace ; 
 Their open eye with horrid glare 
 Put on a fix'd and gliastly stare ; 
 A gory foam their mouths o'crspread, 
 Prom whence yet oozed the bubbles red ; 
 Distorted was each form and limb. 
 Revealing all the tortures grim 
 With which their lives had past away, 
 And swept through them like burning 
 
 spray ; 
 Their rigid arms distended were, 
 As though they reached for something 
 , there ; 
 
 Their fingers all together clinched 
 
 As tight as ever vice Avas pinched ; 
 
 Their feet were towards their bodies 
 
 brouglit. 
 And all in c^rim distortions wrouG:ht : 
 
BETRAYED. ] 89 
 
 And seem'd those men from heel to head 
 So ghastl}', horrible, and dread, 
 Distorted so in form and limb, 
 Their features racked with writhings grim, 
 'Twas plain to see some poison dread 
 Those wretches of their lives had shed. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Aha! " said Crawford, as he spurn'd 
 Old Bolton's brow, and roughly turn'd 
 Each dead man round so he could trace 
 The swollen features of each face, 
 '• You little dream'd that draught of wine 
 Did death and hell in it combine I 
 You'll traitor play to me no more. 
 Your days for lying now are o'er ; 
 When mornijig comes j^ou'll not disclose 
 The trust I did in you repose ; 
 Nor to Logan and Ragan tell 
 My secrets, which 3'ou knew too well ; ■ 
 When here in search of 3'ou they come, 
 They shall find my betrayer dumb. 
 But had 3"ou lived till morning's shine 
 You straight had ruined me and mine, 
 For so 3'ou saved your cursed neck. 
 For me or mine you would not reck ; 
 For this with death I did you strike ! 
 This place must look more business-like 
 When they come here at morn to search. 
 So each of you on chairs I perch 
 Before your limbs too rigid grow ; 
 You all must make a better show 1 
 You'll all sit up, though dead and dumb. 
 When here your overthrowers come." 
 
190 , BETRAYED. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Three chairs he round the tnble drew, 
 In each a lifeless form he threw ; 
 After much toil, with all his strength 
 He straightened out their legs full length. 
 And on the table placed their feet 
 So each leaned back within his seat ; 
 Then packs of cards, all soiled, defaced, 
 Around in each man's lap he placed ; 
 These were all nicel}^ cut and mix'd, 
 Then in each mouth a pipe he flx'd ; 
 And on low stools by eyery man 
 Some grog he placed in spacious can, 
 And said, " When morning comes, I trow, 
 You all will look as spry as now ; 
 And should old Logan come at morn, 
 He will not treat j^ou then with scorn ; 
 I ti'ow 3'ou'll entertain him much, 
 When he beholds your postures such ! " 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Forth from the shanty Crawford flew. 
 And down a narrow pathway drew, 
 And past along a craggy earn 
 Whose head leaned e'er a sable tarn, 
 Strode on a narrow path that gave 
 Scant footway 'tween the rock and wave ; 
 Here soon he gained a wider space 
 Beneath the rocks, an ample place, 
 Which through the gloom, appearance 
 
 gave 
 Of entrance to some spacious cave ; 
 
BETRAYED. 191 
 
 A match he lit, and gazed around, 
 There tied secure his steed he found ; 
 Swift from the place his heast he led 
 Till he had to the shanty sped, 
 Then on his back his form he cast, 
 From out the lonely mountains past, 
 Till they were far beyond his view, 
 And towards the town he swiftlj^ drew. 
 Muttering as he onward hied, 
 " I really thought old Bolton lied, 
 I did not think to find at all 
 My horse within that dismal stall ; 
 Now fl}^, my steed, my hate and wrath 
 They'll feel who dare to bar thy path." 
 
 .* 
 
 J. 
 
92 BETRAYED. 
 
 PART YI. 
 
 A moment Crawford slacked his speed, 
 A moment breathed his panting steed, 
 Which for a halt stood sore in need ; ■ 
 And swift himself from saddle freed, 
 As at the very spot he drew 
 Where last he did Down's mansion view. 
 The stately building grand and fair. 
 No longer met his vision there — 
 Had like a phantom pass'd away. 
 There only wreck and ruin lay ; 
 Gone was the stately building all, 
 The walls that rose so grand and tall, 
 The lofty cupola and roof, 
 That seem 'd 'gainst time and tempest proof, 
 The marble steps, the spacious door, 
 And stately windows, were no more ; 
 All, all, was leveled to the ground. 
 In dai'kened heaps of rubbish round ; 
 What had the place with beauty crown \1, 
 In promiscuous ruin frown'd. 
 Crawford, bewildered and amazed, 
 Upon the charr'd, black ruin gazed ; 
 A column tall of sable smoke, 
 From out the devastation broke ; 
 And from the ruin's centre came 
 At times huge waves of ruddy flame ; 
 In spite of melting sleet, that fast 
 The clouds upon the ruin cast. 
 
BETRAYED- 193 
 
 The embers burn'd with ruddy glow, 
 
 Amidst the ruin deep below, 
 
 Where in the cellar, wood and stone 
 
 Were all in wild confusion thrown. 
 
 *' What cursed hand this deed has wrought, 
 
 Such loss upon my uncle brought ? " 
 
 lie muttered with bewildered thought, 
 
 And mind with grim forebodings fraught, 
 
 '• Something with Down has gone amiss ; 
 
 I straight must learn the cause of this ! 
 
 Can it be true he's lost his swa}-, 
 
 And all his power past awa}^ ? 
 
 Has some fell villain done this deed 
 
 Through hate, or for some foeman's meed, 
 
 Who wished to see the countr}- freed 
 
 Of him thej always had to heed, 
 
 No matter how against their will 
 
 Orders he bade them to fulfill ? 
 
 No, no, this cannot be at all. 
 
 The Judge himself has wrought this fall ! 
 
 Methinks I now see all things plain, 
 
 The wine cup miist have di-enched his 
 
 brain, 
 And while he drunk has been, I ween, 
 He's done as I have often seen 
 Him do when such has been his mood, 
 Perhaps to give his fire food, 
 And just to save himself some toil. 
 Instead of coal a can of oil 
 He's on the glowing embers thrown 
 And all his house to ruin blown. 
 Himself to atoms torn, but this 
 I'll shortly learn, know what's amiss." 
 
] 94 BETRAYED. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thus Crawford thought, then spurr'd his 
 
 steed 
 And galloped forth with headlong speed, 
 Soon gained the sleety, winding road 
 Which led to Wallace's abode ; 
 Then he swift himself of saddle freed. 
 And in the stable placed his steed ; 
 Right soon he reached tliat tavern's (h')or, 
 Right soon he pass'd the threshold o'er : 
 Around upon that barroom's floor 
 Lay drunk, the crew of Hugh Lenore ; 
 And there he 'neath the table viewed 
 The Judge with drink and sleep snl)d'ied ; 
 Supine upon the floor he lay. 
 As senseless as a lump of cla}^ ; 
 And close beside him, Hugh Lenore 
 Did in a drunken stupor snore ; 
 Behind the bar a taper glowed. 
 And there the landlord plainly showed ; 
 Like all the rest he senseless lay — 
 And snored the fleeting time away. 
 But scarce had Crawford gazed around 
 On the scene of drunkenness profound, 
 Than lightly in the room o'erhead, 
 He thought he heai'd a footstep tread ; 
 He listened long the truth to prove, 
 When low again he heard it move ; 
 Then swiftly up the winding stair 
 He sped, but light as noonday air ; 
 Along a narrow hallway past 
 And reached a spacious door at last ; 
 That massive door with bolt and bar 
 Did Crawford's further progress mar; 
 
BETRAYED. 195 
 
 But through the keyhole Crawford gazed, 
 
 A lamp upon the table blazed, 
 
 And mighty piles of shining gold 
 
 He did beside that lamp behold ; 
 
 Huge trayes and urns of silverware 
 
 He saw beneath that lamplight glare, 
 
 And all the mighty ill-got hoard 
 
 That landlord there for years had stored. 
 
 All thieves to him their plunder brought. 
 
 And with his grog their spoil he bought ; 
 
 "Well known was he to every thief. 
 
 In fact he was of thieves the chief. 
 
 And o'er this board of bright arra^' 
 
 With sack in hand, stood Sheriff Fay, 
 
 And in it swift the hoard he threw , 
 
 Till all w^as out of Crawford's view ; 
 
 Then on his shoulders strong and broad. 
 
 He threw that sack of shining hoard ; 
 
 But ere unto the door he drew, 
 
 Back to the barroom Crawford flew ; 
 
 From thence imto the street he past 
 
 And hid amidst the darkness vast. 
 
 But scarcely there had Crawford sped,. 
 
 Than plain he heard the Sheriff's tread ; 
 
 Soon saw him ope that tavern's door 
 
 And swiftly pass the threshold o'er. 
 
 Close it again as swift as light, 
 
 And with his sack pass out of sight. 
 
 nr. 
 
 " Curse him ! why did I let him go, 
 No hindrance to his passage throw ? 
 On earth I have no deeper foe ! 
 I should have laid the villain low ; 
 
196 BETRAYED. 
 
 I should the wilj^ wretch have shxin, 
 And all his sack of treasure ta'eu ! 
 How easy, as he closed that door, 
 Could this right hand have shed his gore ! 
 I could have brained him with a blow, 
 And he'd never known who laid liini low ! 
 Yes, all that hoard I might have ta'en, 
 And my worst foe on earth have slain — 
 Left him no more to cross my path. 
 And make me crouch beneath his wrath ! 
 Curse on this form that idle stood 
 When offered fate a chance so good ! 
 Curse on this hand that trembled so, 
 And failed to strike its mortal foe ! 
 , Curse on these nerves and fibres all, 
 
 For letting fear their action thrall ! 
 And doubly curse my coward soul, 
 For letting terror it control ! 
 It should have urged this arm amain 
 Till it yon deadly foe had slain ! 
 Another chance like that, I ween. 
 Will never more by me be seen ! 
 For well I see this very night, 
 I from these scenes must take my flight ; 
 Must to some far-of regions go 
 Where no one Ci-awford Storm shall 
 
 know ; 
 If here another day I dwell, 
 Thej^'ll lodge me in some dungeon cell 
 Where I shall waste my life in gloom. 
 Or else the gallows is my doom ; 
 For in this land my uncle's sway 
 I plainly see has pass'd away ; 
 Another day, and he will too. 
 His countless crimes in dungeon rue : 
 
BETRAYED. 197 
 
 Or else he'll on the scaffold tread, 
 For many ai'C his crimes, and dread. 
 That wily Wallace, Hugh Lenore, 
 And all that round my uncle snore, 
 Would swiftly noise his crimes abroad 
 And give him to the hangman's cord, 
 If slightest chance the}- saw to save 
 Themselves from jail, or felon's grave. 
 Yon sheriff has senselss drank them all, 
 So he could surer work their fall ; 
 He will be back ere morning's raj', 
 And all of them to jail convey. 
 With Ragan he must be in league, 
 The two are working some intrigue, 
 Else Ragan had not ta'en his flight, 
 From out those prison walls last night. 
 The Sheriff has the Judge betrayed' 
 And 'gainst him all his foes arrayed. 
 Yes, yes, tomorrow's rise of sun, 
 Will see my uncle all undone — 
 A captive unto prison led. 
 His swa}'^ and rule forever fled ! 
 But I to him will mercy show — 
 Will save him from his ruthless foe ! 
 And mine own hand shall deal the blow 
 That brings his final overthrow ; 
 To-night this tavern I will burn. 
 And him with it to cinders turn ! 
 Leave here a scene of such array, 
 'TwiU hold his sternest foe at bay ! " 
 This said, he ope'd that tavern's door, 
 And Crawford strode the threshold o'er ; 
 As closed that door, fierce Crawford's ear 
 The village clock strike three, could hear. 
 
198 BETRAYED. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ten minutes past, o'er all that floor 
 
 Huge jars of rum did Crawford pour, 
 
 And all the whiskey he could see, 
 
 He poured around that barroom free 
 
 This done, to it a flame he plied. 
 
 Which swept o'er all that barroom wide ; 
 
 Soon from that flame a stifling air 
 
 Reigned in that barroom everj^where ; 
 
 From it was Crawford forced to fly, 
 
 Or midst the stifling gasses die ; 
 
 All through that tavern swift he fled, 
 
 And through it flaming fire he spread, 
 
 Till all around that inn became 
 
 Enveloped in a roaring flame ; 
 
 Till Crawford saw no chance remained 
 
 For it to be by man restrained. 
 
 From room to room the fire spread 
 
 In one broad torrent vast and red ; 
 
 The roof, in spite of rain and sleet, 
 
 Was wrapp'd in one broad ruddy sheet ; 
 
 From the windows, above, below. 
 
 Out rushed the flame with crimson glow, 
 
 Did all that tavern overflow, 
 
 Till scarce a spot that inn could show 
 
 O'er all its tall and ample frame, 
 
 That was not red with scorching flaitic ! 
 
 Down, down, the roof with thunder fv II, 
 
 Into a yawning, raging hell ! 
 
 Then thousand sparks arose on high 
 
 Did on the barn and stable fl}'^ ; 
 
 And joyous welcome found the^^ there — 
 
 Shot up in one broad crimson glare ; 
 
BETRAYED. 1 99 
 
 And every 1)uil(liiig Wallace ovA'iied 
 ]>cne.Mth the fiery torrent groaned ; 
 Though rain and sleet was falling fast, 
 •Furious swept the driving blast, 
 A nd fann'd the roaring floods of flame 
 Till like roaring billows they became, 
 That in floodtime through the valle}- roar 
 And carry all their path before. 
 Around upon the gloom of night, 
 Those buildings cast a ruddy light ; 
 From earth to sky their glow the^' slied. 
 And o'er tlie heavens cast their red ; 
 Though walls and roofs went crashing 
 
 down, 
 Yet no one in the distant town 
 Heard those smouldering ruins fall, 
 Nor saw the flames that swallowed all ; 
 So if one of those lost wretches there 
 Awoke to feel the scorching glare, 
 He awoke, alas 1 when all too late 
 '^Po shun or 'scape his awful fat(! ! 
 For every door was locked and barr'd, 
 All chance for flight had Crawford marr'd ! 
 If they awoke 'twas but to die 
 Midst scorcJiing flames they could not Uy. 
 And thus died three and twenty men, 
 As vile as e'er trod robber's den ; 
 As e'er felt pangs of love or hate, 
 Past to a grim, untimel}^ fnUi ; 
 A horrid end, and by the hand 
 or one of their own ruthless band. 
 
 V. 
 
 With panting steed and rowels red, 
 Far, iaj- JVom there had Crawford nped — 
 
200 BETRAYED. 
 
 For scarce did he the fire start 
 Ere he did from the scene depart ; 
 Spurr'd on his weary steed until 
 Some five miles off he gained a hill • 
 
 That was with scrubb}^ pine o'ergrown, 
 And little save to outlaws known ; 
 Here Crawford stayed his panting steed, 
 For rest that horse stood sore in need. 
 Delighted, on the reddened sky 
 Did Crawford cast his sahle eye ; 
 Enraptured viewed the ruddy glow 
 Those flames did o'er the heavens throw ! 
 Long space he gazed, his face the while 
 Was wrapp'd in one unclouded smile ; 
 And as he viewed the distant glow 
 / Thus to himself he muttered low : 
 
 " Oh, how my spirit would delight 
 To stand by yonder scene to-night, 
 And see each cursed roof and wall 
 Come tumbling down in headlong fall ! 
 And to haA^e seen the roaring flame, 
 As it around 3'on building came ! 
 What glorious scenes they must have made 
 When they were all in flame arrayed ; 
 And ten years of life I'd freely give 
 Had I but only twelve to live. 
 If there to-night I dare have staj^ed, 
 And yonder burning men surveyed 1 
 I can't believe those wretches felt 
 The flames that did their bodies melt ! 
 Ere on the floor the rum was thrown 
 I sulphur o'er the floor had strown, 
 A jar of it to flour ground 
 Placed right behind the bar I found : 
 
BETRAYED, 201 
 
 Ants, roaches, all vermin grown. 
 For many years that inn had l^nown, 
 So Wallace sulphur much employed, 
 That might this vermin be destroyed. 
 It was this that made the flame so blue 
 And gave to all such ghastly hue, 
 And all so stifling made the air, 
 Those spreading flames engendered there ; 
 All, all of them were void of breath 
 And sleeping in the arms of death 
 Ere the all-devouring flame 
 Around their senseless bodies came. 
 Far better they should die this way 
 Than for their lives in dungeon stay, 
 With fetters on each manl^' limb, 
 Or die upon the gallows grim ; 
 For one of these had been their goal, 
 Just sure as billows swell and roll ; 
 Yes, yes, just sure as glow is thrown 
 O'er 3^onder sky that's not its own. 
 Little those wretches deem'd, I trow, 
 Their graves should be so bright as now, 
 That light for them should thus be given 
 To guide their fleeting souls to heaven ! 
 Far better thus to take their flight 
 Than from out dungeon black as night. 
 Or while the hangman's sable hood 
 Shuts from the eyesight all things good. 
 I too, must die, but not like those 
 Poor fools that in yon flames repose, 
 Whose brightest jo3'S or wildest woes 
 Were worth no thought from friends or 
 
 foes : 
 And ere a score of 3'ears have flown 
 They'll be forgotten and unknown ; 
 
202 BETRAYED. 
 
 Yes, leave no faintest trace behind 
 To tell there lived such human kind 
 Back in so short a space of time. 
 Though they were born and reared in crime, 
 But common, petty thieves were the}', 
 Who stole by night and slept by day — 
 Who robbed from those that fate had blest 
 With wealth the}^ ne'er should have pos- 
 sessed ; 
 Fools like themselves, who onl}^ knew 
 To grasp Mdiat fortune round them threw, 
 And idly it in bureaus hoard, 
 Instead of spreading it abroad 
 For general good of all mankind, 
 As generous fate had it designed ; 
 Through joy or woe, through toil and care. 
 They hoard it for some worthless heir, 
 Who grieves not, Imt ^vith joy is Avild 
 When gravej'ard mold is o'er them jnled ; 
 And scatters soon their 3'ears of gain 
 As clouds cast o'er the earth their rain 
 Which ne'er to clouds will rise again 
 But through the earth forever drain. 
 When all the hoard they heired is ilown 
 
 , And they'd to abject paupers grown, 
 
 Too lazy and too proud to toil. 
 They seek their neighbors' hidden spoil, 
 Reck not hoAv o'er its loss he grieves. 
 And stjdes them ruthless, cvirsed thicA^es. 
 Poor pads, they never rise above 
 A foeman's hate or comrade's love ; 
 They plod along with that dull throng 
 Who hardl}^ know the right from wrong, 
 
 ' Who at the best are little things 
 
 Frail as tlie dust on insects' wings, 
 
BETRAYED 203 
 
 That gives 'neath light a gaud}' o-low 
 But slightest breatli aAvay can blow ; 
 They never seem to dream at all 
 There is a peak of crime so tall 
 That those that to its summit go 
 Can king-like look on those lielow, 
 And all unshaken stand above 
 The realm of passion, hate or love, 
 I>ut tower there in deathless prime 
 Beyond tlie wreck of storm and time, 
 And leave a record there Sublime 
 Above all men in guilt and crime ; 
 Naught, naught, can dim his dread renown, 
 Xor bring liim from that mountain's crown ; 
 Below he sees the tempest frown, 
 But lightnings smite it deeper down. 
 And it shall be my choicest bliss 
 To mount on that dread precipice 
 . The highest peak of guilt and crime, 
 And dwell there through all coming time ! 
 Mankind shall shudder at my name 
 As if a spasm shook their frame, 
 A horror round my name they'll wreathe, 
 And fear the verj^ air I breathe ; 
 The maid shall start from out her dream 
 And waken with a frightful scream. 
 While terror shakes her soul and form. 
 And tell she dreamt that Crawford Storm 
 Had strewn her home with murder dread, 
 And turned it into embers red 1 
 Mothers shall hush their inf^mts' cry 
 By telling them that Crawford's nigh, 
 And neath the quilts they'll hide their 
 
 head 
 And lie as silent as the dead I • 
 
204 BETRAYED 
 
 And i\'lien they hear the winds without, 
 They'll fancy that they heard me shout ; 
 When fierce- at night the tempest moans, 
 Young men and old, and hoar}^ crones, 
 Shall all turn pale and quake with fear 
 And fancy Crawford Storm is near! 
 In shriek of blast my voice the3'll hear, 
 And tremble lest 1 shall appear ; 
 Whene'er a barn or mansion's burn'd 
 Their thoughts will be on Crawford turn'd ; 
 But sound my name, the nun will quail 
 And on the altersteps turn pale, 
 Let fall her beads, forget her prayer, 
 And tremble all with mortal fear ! 
 Yes, at the whisper of m^^ name 
 She'll quail with thoughts of guilt and 
 
 shame, 
 Ivemember all m^^ deeds and crimes 
 And cross herself a thousand times ; 
 And priests shall shake with mortal fears 
 When sounds my name upon their ears ; 
 They'll drop their candle, book and bell, 
 And shake with fears no prayers can quell ! 
 And through long ages this shall last. 
 E'en when among the dead I've past ; 
 E'en when I'm dead and past awaj-, 
 My name when breathed shall bring dis- 
 may, 
 As though I walked abroad in life 
 Scattering death and ruin rife 1 
 Those yet unborn shall dread my name. 
 And kings shall tremble at the same. 
 And when my earthly race is run, 
 'Twill close like set of tropic svm 
 
BETRAYED. 205 
 
 On a fieiy summer day, 
 When not a cloud obscures his ray ; 
 And not a cloud doth meet the eye 
 O'er all the regions of the skj^, 
 When all his orb is turned to flame 
 As red as e'er from furnace came, 
 And 'neath the hills he drops from sight 
 And instant leaves the world to night, 
 No trace of twilight leaves behind , 
 Doth all the world in darkness bind — 
 Sends o'er the sky no parting glow, 
 But takes it all with him beloAv. 
 
 VI. 
 
 This land I'll fly a little while. 
 
 But soon return with beaming smile. 
 
 And when old faces I shall meet, 
 
 With seeming gladness them I'll greet, 
 
 The gentlest manners I will show 
 
 To friend, to kinsman and to foe — 
 
 I'll be a seeming friend to all, 
 
 So I ma}^ surer Avork their fall ; 
 
 E'en to old Logan I will tell 
 
 Within Avhat place his son doth dwell, 
 
 Yea, let him know his child doth live, 
 
 And rapture to his heart I'll give ; 
 
 Vov since the night he lost his child 
 
 A grief has o'er his soul been piled 
 
 Beneath whose weight of mortal woe 
 
 Xo joy on earth could ease bestow I 
 
 And when the jo3'ous news spreads roinil, 
 
 Through Crawford Storm his son was 
 
 found, 
 Perhaps his rosy daughter's ear 
 Will deign my words of love to hear, 
 
206 BETRAYED 
 
 Althoiigli thej' may seem strange and wild 
 
 To one who is so very mild. 
 
 Her in my snare I'll soon decoj-, 
 
 This done, away I'll cast the toy 
 
 For Ragan, or some other fool, 
 
 To worship till their love shall cool. 
 
 Yes, yes. 111 win her love, her trust, 
 
 And then I'll cast her to the dust 1 
 
 VII. 
 
 There's only one, now, breathes the air 
 In all this country far and near, 
 "Who could aught of guilt against mc 
 " swear 
 
 And make a crime 'gainst me appear, 
 
 And that's the wife of Hugh Lenore, 
 
 All, all the rest are now no more ; 
 
 This veiy night I've stopp'd their hreath 
 
 And past them to the vale of death. 
 
 If she were dead, I here might stay. 
 
 And fear no foe by night or da}^ ; 
 
 If her from out my way I'd move, 
 
 None else could aught against me prove ; 
 
 No, no 1 one mortal yet remains 
 
 With life still coursing through his veins. 
 
 Who knows too much of me, but he 
 
 Will never breathe a thing 'gainst me ; 
 
 I am his confidant and friend, 
 
 And ne'er through him my life will end ; 
 
 The sun from out the sky shall fade. 
 
 Ere by his tongue I am betrayed ! 
 
 And ere he to me traitor prove, 
 
 His being from this world I'd move ; 
 
 And leave m}^ i>assage clear and free. 
 
 Lest he should wrathy wax with me ! 
 
BETRAYED. 207 
 
 Most all my crimes I've done so well, 
 
 Who did them, none but I can tell. 
 
 But here awhile I will not bide, 
 
 Though should it weal to me betide ; 
 
 Be^'ond these hills a city stands, 
 
 Some forty leagues in foreign lands. 
 
 And thither now shall Crawford go. 
 
 Betide me weal, betide me woe 1 
 
 So come, wake up, my gallant horse. 
 
 Lend me a while thy noblest force ! 
 
 If no mischance to us befall, 
 
 I soon within some friendly stall 
 
 Will lodge thee well, and drink and food 
 
 Shall then refresh thy weary mood." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Forward that dark bay courser flew, 
 As if his master's words he knew, 
 In spite of storm and driving sleet. 
 Forward he sped as whirlwind fleet ; 
 O'er hill and dale, o'er stream and plain. 
 Onward he sped with flying mane ; 
 Onward he sped, league after league, 
 Nor showed that steed the least fatigue ; 
 His massive form and limbs of length 
 Were built for fleetness, toil and strength. 
 Each perfect thew and limb was fraught 
 With all the lightning speed of thought ; 
 Deep his shoulders, broad his breast 
 As ever j^et a steed possessed ; 
 His arching neck and comely head 
 Showed him from best of chargers bred, 
 His nostrils wide and flashing eye 
 Showed him of mettle proud and high ; 
 
208 BETRAYED 
 
 A nobler formed and stronger horse 
 
 "NTe er stemm'd a storm nor torrent's force. 
 
 IX, 
 
 Fleet as the wind or mountain roe, 
 O'er pathless wilds did Crawford go ; 
 And many leagues had Crawford fled 
 Ere night before the morning sped ; 
 Rose round him forests broad and vast, 
 But these on tempest's wings he past ; 
 Broad, open fields before him la}', 
 O'er these like thought he made his way, 
 lentil a ridge of hills he gained 
 Where all in barren grandeur reigned 
 Around, about on every hand 
 Tall rocks rose up sublime and grand, 
 While here and there a scrubby pine 
 Leaned o'er each granite's steep incline ; 
 Between tall lines of winding rocks 
 That seem'd riven by earthquake shocks. 
 So craggy, disolate and wild 
 They wei'e upon each other piled. 
 Which left a rough and narrow road ; 
 His bounding steed did Crawford goad ; 
 Cold blew the wind, the hail and sleet 
 Hard on the steed and rider beat ; 
 But on, in spite of cold and blast 
 Along that rugged road the}'' past : 
 That narrow pass so wild and strange 
 Throughout whose drear and dismal range 
 Were pits and fearful chasms found 
 That sunk far in the rocky ground, 
 And did no sign of bottom show 
 To longest lines e'er cast below, 
 Down which did roaring torrents flow ; 
 
BETRAYED. 209 
 
 AVhen tlie sunshine's radiant glow 
 To liquid turned the ice and snow 
 That winter o'er those hills did throw ; 
 And when the rain in summer time 
 Came pouring o'er that rocky clime, 
 And sweird to torrents deep and strong 
 And dashed that rocky pass along, 
 Down through these chasms dead and deep 
 Awa^' from siglit the floods would sweep, 
 Rush in one tumultuous mass, 
 From sight within the chasms pass : 
 And none within that countrj^ round 
 Perhaps, save Crawford could be found. 
 Along that fearful pass would ride 
 For all the gold that country wide ! 
 Strange tales about that pass were told 
 That awed the boldest of the bold ; 
 With gloviing eyes and lips apart, 
 With trembling form and throbbing heart, 
 Would listening peasants sit to hear 
 Its tales of Vi'onder and of fear ! 
 How at a certain time of night 
 An all-unearthl}-, hellish light 
 Would from each horrid pit emerge 
 While spectres danced around its verge ; 
 And from them horrid monsters came 
 With eyes of fire and tongues of flame, 
 With mouths that stream'd forth clotted 
 
 gore, » 
 
 With hands tliat murdered mortals tore ; 
 And awful forms, terrific, strange, 
 Along that fearful pass would range ! 
 On high would gor}^ daggers gleam, 
 And oft would come unearthly scream ; 
 
210 BETRAYED. 
 
 Huge, fleshless forms and goblins grim 
 Of monstrous shape and horrid limb, 
 The peasants swore they'd seen at night 
 From out those chasms take their flight ; 
 Eor ages had those tales been told 
 About this pass, and 3-oung and old 
 Believed them true, 3-ea, all around 
 Believed that pass was haunted groun<l I 
 And all that round that region dwelt 
 For that wild pass a horror felt ; 
 And not one breathing mortal there 
 At night would to that pass repair. 
 And view its dreadful scenes alone 
 For all the gold to mortals known ! 
 Not e'en alone on brightest day 
 Through it would an}^ peasant stray ; 
 Right seldom was that rock}^ glen 
 E'er trod b}' foot of mortal men. 
 " The Devil's Rift," this pass was called. 
 In prose and tales of rhyming Scald ; 
 It had been known by that sole name 
 Since first to sight of man it came. 
 
 X. 
 
 Though well did daring Crawford ken 
 The peasant's tales about this glen, 
 For these he no more thought nor cared 
 Than for a leaf that's torn and seared ; 
 Yea, he thought of them no more the while 
 Than for an infant's frown or smile. 
 Right well each pit and chasm grim 
 Within that pass was known to him ; 
 He oft by them had ta'en his way, 
 By darkest night and brightest day ; 
 
BETRAYED. 211 
 
 Knew just where every cliasm 3-awned 
 As w^ell as ■when the morning chxwned, 
 And could by each his charger rein 
 As safe as o'er a level plain ; 
 Along that rocky pass full well he knew 
 Xo other traveler's footsteps drew, 
 And him no mortal man would aicw 
 To tell upon what course he flew ■ 
 If Logan chanced to take the whim 
 Upon tliat morn to search for him ; 
 Beside, three leagues he gained, and more, 
 In journe3-ing those mountains o'er, 
 And traveling to the town he fled. 
 Taking that road so lone and dread ; 
 Around those hills fair was the way. 
 But it was travelled night and da}". 
 And Crawford Avished no human eye 
 His journe}" on that morn to spj-. 
 For this through short-cuts lone and dread, 
 From travelled wa^'s had Crawford fled. 
 
 XI. 
 
 With tightened rein and rowels red 
 Throughout The Devil's Rift he sped, 
 And here a beaten road he found 
 Which round that range of mountains 
 
 wound ; 
 Beyond far as his eye could view, 
 Were forests dense as eA^er grew, 
 Huge oak and pine and giant elm, 
 And gum and poplar, clad the realm ; 
 A rolling countr}^ decked with wood 
 All, all, be^'ond those mountains stood, 
 And no abode of human kind 
 Amidst its range the e3'-e could find. 
 
212 BETRAYED. 
 
 XII. 
 
 '• My gallant steed, from sleet and storm 
 
 I soon will lodge thy weary form ! 
 
 Thy strength that I this night have shorn 
 
 I will repair with hay and corn ; 
 
 Beyond, where stands yon woody hill, 
 
 Flows clear as glass a crystal rill, 
 
 And thou of it shall have thy fill, 
 
 Let fate betide ns good or ill ! 
 
 It flows beside a lonely inn, 
 
 Where we from sleet shall shelter win ; 
 
 Yes, now let good or ill befall 
 
 I'll tarry there, within its stall 
 
 An hour's rest I'll give to thee, 
 
 E'en Logan there himself I seel 
 
 And e'en though while I t^rry so, 
 
 Ragan and every mortal foe 
 
 Should gain upon the path I go ! " 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Thus to his steed he muttered low, 
 And gained the woody hill, where rose 
 An inn midst forests clad with snows ; 
 Some giant trees leaned o'er its form, 
 As though to shield it from the storm ; 
 Aged as those trees, that inn appeared, 
 And out of craggy rocks was reared ; 
 Together all its walls were placed 
 Firm as the hill on which 'twas based ; 
 All about it save its mossy roof, 
 Was unto storm and lire proof; 
 Nor was that inn of humble size, 
 Majestically did it arise. 
 
BETRAYED. 213 
 
 Like some grand old feudal tower, 
 
 When decay displa3^s its power, 
 
 That yet can show through storm and time 
 
 Some traces of its ancient prime — 
 
 That Avhile it stands, nor years nor storm 
 
 Shall deface, nor utterly deform ; 
 
 But will to every mortal eye 
 
 That shall its wasting strength discry, 
 
 Long as its stately walls shall last 
 
 Convey some glory of its past ; 
 
 And bid them all in it behold 
 
 The wonders of the days of old ! 
 
 Strange tales about that inn were told, 
 
 Of crimes and murders manifold ; 
 
 And one is told about the race 
 
 That last had owned that ancient place : 
 
 " Two brothers," so the stor}' runs, 
 
 And thus told from sires to sons, 
 
 "■ Together heired that ancient hall. 
 
 And boundless tracts of forest tall ; 
 
 And there high mirth those brothers held. 
 
 As ever mortals did of eld ; 
 
 The song and dance and joyous feast 
 
 Ne'er in that ancient castle ceased ; 
 
 From night till morn, from morn till night, 
 
 All in that place was wild delight ! 
 
 For 3'oung and old, that country round. 
 
 Glad welcome in that castle found. 
 
 Yea, there did 3'ouths and maidens throng 
 
 And join the feast and dance and song; 
 
 The flowing ale or wine-cup quaff 'd. 
 
 Away with mirththe fleeting hours laugh'd. 
 
 But on one night, while round the board 
 
 The mirth, the jest, and revel roared, 
 
214 BETRAYED. 
 
 And ruddy wine in goblets glowed 
 Pure as e'er yet from vineyards flowed, 
 And all seem'd round as void of woe 
 As an}^ scene all earth could show, 
 As free of every worldly care 
 As ever j^et did mortal share, 
 There came a strange and dismal soimd, 
 As though an earthquake shook the 
 
 ground ; 
 And o'er the festive board a cloud 
 Came rushing on with thunders loud ; 
 In air it paused above the heads 
 Of those two lords, and darkness spreads 
 So dense throughovit that festive place. 
 No one could see his neighbor's face ; 
 While from that dark and awful cloud. 
 Thus spake a voice as tempest loud : 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Seducers of the 3'oung and fair, 
 Who've brought the pure to grim despair ! 
 Betrayed, forsook, despoiled, deceived 
 Those who in ye trusted and belicA'cd — 
 The innocent, the pure and good, 
 Who before ye chaste as angels stood ! 
 Ye've filled their souls with grim despair, 
 And brought them to an earl}^ bier ! 
 Wh3' shall 3'e longer live to curse 
 The liuiit of this brio-ht universe ? 
 This very night 3''e'll meet your doom, 
 And pass to everlasting gloom ! 
 But ere 3-e go, 3'our crimes revicAv, 
 Which wrath Divine upon 3c drew ! '' 
 Then ceased the voice, so dread ;;nd loud, 
 And lia-htninofs filled the awful cloud ! 
 
BETRAYED- 215 
 
 A panorama all of woe 
 
 Flashed midst the cloud's increasing glow. 
 
 It moved along in rapid flight, 
 
 Revealing many a ghastly sight 
 
 Of maids betrayed and left forlorn 
 
 Beside their infants newly born, 
 
 Who sought to hide their guilt and shame 
 
 By either poison, flood or flame ! 
 
 And as the picture flashed along, 
 
 More awful did the cofFms throng ; 
 
 Women with babes of tender frame 
 
 In coflin after coflTm came, 
 
 Till all that scene naught else disclosed 
 
 But cofHns, where the dead reposed ! 
 
 Then, last of all, a spectre came 
 
 Upon that cloud of flashing flanie ; 
 
 A spectre dread, of horrid mold 
 
 As ever yet did hell behold 
 
 Amidst all the dread and grimest forms 
 
 Its winter chills or summer warms I 
 
 Its head was like the dragon grim, 
 
 Like anaconda was each limb ; 
 
 Twas like the crocodile in form, 
 
 But black as clouds of thunder storm ; 
 
 Its eyes were red as coals of flame, 
 
 And from them awful lightnings came ! 
 
 Dread and more dread the spectre grew, 
 
 As nearer towards those lords it drew. 
 
 And from its mouth that stream'd Avitli 
 
 smoke 
 An awful voice like thunder broke. 
 But what it said, no mortal there 
 Knew one sole sound that reached his car ; 
 'Twas in the tongue of some strange land 
 s^o mortal there could understand I 
 
21 G BETRAYED. 
 
 As spake the spectre fierce and loud, 
 
 To utter darkness grew the cloud, 
 
 An awful blackness filled the room, 
 
 And thunders shook the horrid gloom, 
 
 And screams burst forth as dread and 'ghast 
 
 As e'er on ears of mortals past ! 
 
 And witli these screams, from out the 
 
 room 
 Swift as thought sped forth the cloud of 
 
 gloom. 
 Throughout the spacious windows past, 
 With all the roar of simoom blast. 
 Or like the roar of floods long pent, 
 That through their barriers find vent. 
 But when that awful cloud liad sped, 
 Each giiest looked round with mortal 
 
 dread 1 
 The lights around that banquet glowed, 
 And clear as day their brightness flowed 
 On ever^^thing within that room, 
 But over ever}^ soiil a gloom 
 And horror dread and grim was cast 
 As ever yet o'er mortal past, 
 For nowhere in that hall around 
 Could those two lords be seen or found ! 
 And never from that awful night 
 "Were they e'er seen b}^ mortal sight ! 
 That horrid spectre, fierce and grim, 
 Had ta'en those lords away with him ! " ' 
 A hundred tales like this were told 
 About that castle strange and old. 
 And all the peasants far and near 
 Had for that place a mortal fear. 
 And when they neared that haunted hold 
 Straight grew their blood and marrow cold. 
 
BETRAYED. 
 
 XV. 
 
 217 
 
 Soon to that inn fierce Crawford rode 
 And o'er its stately threshold strode ; 
 A hoarygroom came at his call 
 And led his charger to the stall. 
 Ilight in the barroom Crawford came 
 Where sat the landlord and his dame ; 
 A very aged pair were they, 
 With wrinkled broAvs and tresses gray ; 
 But neither form was bent through time, 
 Erect they stood as in their prime. 
 The landlord in his youth had been 
 A figure of commanding mien ; 
 Tall was his form, his shoulders broad 
 Did with his brawny breast accord, 
 His thewy limbs of ample length 
 Displayed a lion's peerless strength, 
 llis mass_v arms and spacious hands 
 Contained the force of iron bands. 
 And well his brawny neck displayed 
 The giant thews of which 'twas made, 
 On which as comel}' head was placed 
 As e'er an Anglo Saxon graced ; 
 Did o'er his manl}- features flow 
 A heavy beard as white ns snow, 
 "Which o'er his brawny bosom rolled 
 Like ridge of snow oh Northern wold, 
 His mouth, that heavy beard beneath, 
 Revealed itself with peerless teeth ; 
 These, these, were just as perfect still 
 As in their prime ; but stubborn Avill 
 Those thin, pale, curving lips revealed 
 That neither age nor beard concealed ; 
 
2 I 8 BETRAYED. 
 
 They had a stubborn, haught}' curve, 
 Did ne'er from their fix'd purpose swerve, 
 And in that head an eye was placed 
 Whose brightness time had not defaced, 
 Small, bright gray e^-es, of twinkling glow, 
 Shone 'neath shaggy bi'ows the hue of 
 
 • snow, 
 When just within the cloud 'tis wrought 
 And not a taint of earth has caught ; 
 And seemed his forehead, high and broad, 
 To have much knowledge 'neath it stored ; 
 O'er it did hoar^^ tresses rest 
 yrhite as the foam on ocean's breast, 
 Or like the mists that bask at night 
 lieneath the full moon's silver light ; 
 Like prophet of the olden time 
 He seem'd, and was as free of crime 
 As any one in human mold 
 Who ever lived to be so old. 
 Like him, his aged, hoary dame. 
 Had been as cornel^'- in her frame ; 
 Ne'er a more perfect female form 
 Felt summer's heat nor winter's storm ; 
 Thau hers a foot more light and true 
 Did ne'er its path through life pursue, 
 'Twas like the fall of fleecy snow. 
 Or move of air when zephyrs blow, 
 Soft as the echoes of a song 
 Whose dying strains the hills prolong ; 
 Iler lips and cheeks all still were fair 
 As an}^ fann'd by vital air. 
 And still her rul)y mouth revealed 
 The pearl}'- teeth it half concealed ; 
 Ne'er a more sweet and comely face 
 Yet smiled amongst the human race. 
 
BETRAYED. 219 
 
 'Neath arching brows that heavy flowed 
 Her sable e^^es like lightnings glowed, 
 Flashed like the diamond's starrj^ ray 
 When full on it the sunbeams pla}^, 
 And rose her forehead high and broad, 
 Like that of her own ancient lord. 
 So seem'd this aged, hoary pair, 
 That Crawford Storm encountered there. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 For fift}' years had they been wed, 
 And joy and grief had to them sped ; 
 Their share of both, this pair had known. 
 Though of grief the lai'gest share was 
 
 shoAvn, 
 Yet still the}' loved as fond and true 
 As when their morn of life was new ; 
 Yea, that love had far stronger grown. 
 As on the stream of years had flown ; 
 The love that had between them sprung 
 When they were buoyant, gay and young, 
 Had been like mortar the mason throws 
 Between two solid rocks, that grows 
 Firm as the rocks themselves, through 
 
 time. 
 Through svimmer's heat and winter's rime. 
 Unites those rocks so sure and fast 
 They all become as one at last ; 
 Nor will it let them sundered be. 
 Though floods may dash around it free ; 
 Nor sundered will it let them go 
 Unto the sturdy workman's blow ; 
 The granite rocks themselves may break, 
 Its hold on them it won't forsake 
 
220 BETRAYED. 
 
 Although should earthquakes rend the 
 
 plains. 
 Thus bound with adamantine chains 
 Of love, in thc^ir old age this couple dwelt. 
 And all each other's joys and sorrows felt. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 So wild the tales had rumor told 
 About that castle gray and old, 
 All held the place in awe and fear 
 And seldom ever ventured near ; 
 All peasants in that country round, 
 Believed the place was haunted ground, 
 Also believed that hoary pair 
 Were just the ones for them to fear; 
 Some swore they'd seen that aged dame 
 Change water into hissing flame ! 
 Transform a cat till it became 
 An old man, crippled, blind and lame ; 
 Seen her oft in open daj'^ 
 Mount on a single spear of hay 
 High up in air o'er forests tall, 
 And fly around that castle wall ; 
 Seen her o'er broadest torrents leap, 
 Followed in air by flocks of sheep ; 
 And all believed this aged pair 
 Held nightly commune dread and drear. 
 With all those forms so grim and strange 
 That in The Devil's Rift did range ; 
 All round them held them so in awe, 
 Their neighbors seldom e'er they saw 
 But all strangers, and many, too, 
 Who 'long that noted highway drew, 
 Held in high esteem that aged pair, 
 And praised their virtues grand and rare 
 
BETRAYED. 22 1 
 
 Al)road their virtues wide were Mown, 
 And as the good old pair were known, 
 But mougst their nearer neighbors there 
 They both were shunn'd with mortal fear. 
 Nine sons and daughters they had seen, 
 Of sprightly souls and comely mien, 
 But eight were l^ang still and low 
 On yonder hill beneath the snow ; 
 In early life they pass'd away. 
 To him who fashioned night and day ; 
 One son alone to them remained, 
 Whose soul the3- knew with guilt avus 
 
 stained ; ^ 
 
 Was steeped in every loathsome crime 
 That ever yet was known to time ; 
 Had often them with blows abused, 
 And every wa}^ he could, misused : 
 And 3'et they loved him fond and wild 
 As ever parents loved a child. 
 Although it was that son who told 
 To all the peasants young and old. 
 The tales about that aged pair 
 Dealing in rites most grim and drear ; 
 Of bringing round them spectres dread, 
 That did at night that castle tread ; 
 And fill'd with tales each rustic's ear 
 Till them they shunn'd with mortal fear! 
 And once had roused the rustics so 
 That they had plann'd one day to go 
 And that old haunted place o'erturn, 
 And that gray pair of witches burn ! 
 And they had felt their wrath and liati' — 
 Most horrible had been their fate, 
 Had it not chanced upon that day 
 Some score of travelers passed that v^ay. 
 
222 BETRxVYEDc 
 
 Who oft had in the castle stayed 
 And there their home o'ernight had made. 
 When they the rustic clowns. beheld 
 And learned the cause which had imjjeird 
 Those rustic fools to seek the life 
 Of that old landlord and his wife, 
 Back the furious throng they fought, 
 And from their hands the old pair brought , 
 Forced promise from that rustic throng, 
 They ne'er would do this old pair wrong. 
 
 xvm. 
 
 Yes, all this pain and trouble grew. 
 And every source of grief they knew. 
 With which their aged souls were wrung 
 By one base wretch who'd from them 
 
 sprung. 
 Who should have been their foremost 
 
 friend. 
 The first to shelter and defend, 
 And happy made their closing life 
 By spreading round them comforts rife. 
 Instead of everlasting strife. 
 Would God that he had pass'd away 
 Where all the rest in silence lay, 
 Nor left one cursed trace behind 
 To tell his fate to human kind ! 
 For harder heart and sterner soul 
 Did never human form control ! 
 Oh, gaze upon that aged pair 
 As cruel Craw^ford standeth there. 
 Such likeness in the three 3'ou see. 
 You'd swear their son must Crawford be : 
 In him the mother's eyes are seen 
 That flashed on all with lightning sheen. 
 
BETRAYED. 223 
 
 Dark were they as the womb of night, 
 But flashed bright as electric light ; 
 His was the mother's airy tread 
 And his the mother's comely head, 
 Like hers, his voice was soft and low, 
 Sweet as music's sprightliest flow ; 
 But his tall form and swelling chest 
 Was like that the sire jjossessed, 
 With him was that commanding mien 
 Like ever in his sire was seen. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Across the floor tall Crawford drew, 
 His arms around his mother threw, 
 And placed upon her aged brow 
 One kiss as cold and soft as snow, 
 And with a smile as meek and bland 
 He grasped his hoary sire's hand. 
 And while his face serenely smiled, 
 He thus began with accents mild : 
 " Not as of old I greet you now, 
 With saucy tongue and haught}^ brow ; 
 I come not now with threat and blow, 
 But in submission, meek and low ; 
 And not a word you now shal^hear 
 That is not welcome to your ear. 
 For I do regret with all my soul 
 I ever caused your spirits dole. 
 And mourn with all my heart and mind 
 I ever treated j^ou unkind 
 And served 5^ou not like loving son. 
 For such from me you should have won, 
 For kind to me you've always been 
 As any parents ever seen, 
 
224 BETRAYED. 
 
 And much my spirit doth regret 
 
 My actions ever made you fret ; 
 
 Henceforth, I swear by all that's good, 
 
 And let my words be understood, 
 
 Never by any deed nor thought. 
 
 Though unto me a crown it brought, 
 
 Shall aught on earth by me be wrought 
 
 Will make your souls with sorroAv fraught ; 
 
 Still kind and true to you I'll be, 
 
 As 3^ou both have ever been to me ! 
 t 
 
 But mother, mine, I've journeyed long, 
 
 The way was rough, the tempest strong. 
 
 Some ruddy wine would do no wrong ; 
 
 With it methinks a little food 
 
 Would soon refresh my wear}^ mood, 
 
 And make your son far better feel 
 
 Through all his form from head to heel." 
 
 XX. 
 
 The while his aged mother stored 
 With food and wine the spacious board, 
 His sire forth a letter drew, 
 Which unto Crawford's hand he threw. 
 " Read this, my son," the old man said. 
 The letter Crawford ope'n spread. 
 And this unto himself ho read : 
 Richard Storm : — 
 
 When thou read this o'er 
 I shall with the living be no more, 
 So do the little deed for me 
 That I herein shall crave of thee ; 
 See all I ask is promptly done. 
 The bearer is John Logan's son. 
 Whose abduction years ago I wrought ; 
 I wish liim to his father brought, 
 
BETR,AYED. 225 
 
 And kiaowing thou art Logan's friend, 
 
 And by thy inn the ho}' must wend 
 
 To reach the place his father dwells, 
 
 For unto me thy Crawford tells 
 
 John Logan lives just as of yore 
 
 Where I from him his infant bore ; 
 
 See that the old man finds his boy, 
 
 And crown his latter days with J03' ; 
 
 Let rapture dwell in sorrow's stead, 
 
 For long he's thought his infant dead. 
 
 JS'ow, twenty years have flown, and more. 
 
 Since I hired Bolton and Lenore 
 
 To crush his life and blast his joj-, 
 
 By bringing me his rosy bo}^ 
 
 To foreign climes with him I fled, 
 
 .Vnd in a Convent had him bred ; 
 
 I hid the infant so secure 
 
 Tlis sire ne'er had found him more, 
 
 Though he'd trebled all the vast reward 
 
 lie offered to have his child restored. 
 
 But why from him his child I stole, 
 
 Shall ne'er be known by living soul ! 
 
 That secret is but known to me, 
 
 And uttered it shall never be ; 
 
 Down to the grave with me 'twill pass. 
 
 And wither with this mortal mass. 
 
 r>ut tell John Logan this, for me, 
 
 Of other crimes 'gainst him I'm free ; 
 
 T did not burn his barn, nor tell 
 
 My men to do a deed so fell ; 
 
 ' Twas Hugh Lenore's and Bolton's liniid 
 
 That turned them to a flaming brand ; 
 
 Why they did is unknown to me, 
 
 And I of all that crime am free. 
 
226 BETRAYED. 
 
 Enough tlii'ough me this boy shall }ie\r 
 To all his father's loss repair, 
 As far as burning barns shall go, 
 But I cannot repa}' the woe 
 Ilis sire all these j-ears has borne. 
 Since from his sight his child Tvas torn ; 
 But this I would not, if I could, repay, 
 Though it brought all earth beneath my 
 
 sway, 
 Or for that deed this fleeting soul 
 Should one-half of heaven control ! 
 I've hated Logan all my life. 
 With loathing CA'cr strong and rife. 
 And evermore, through good or ill, 
 My spirit shall detest him still ! 
 I damn him with m}^ latest breath, 
 And I shall curse him after death ! 
 If e'er in other worlds we meet. 
 Still he in me a foe shall greet. 
 Who ne'er forgets and ne'er forgives 
 Long as his deathless spirit lives ! 
 But here upon my bed of death 
 I can sa}' with my latest breath, 
 I ne'er a harm to Logan wrought. 
 Save that from him his child I brought ; 
 To injure him by deed or thought 
 In other wa}', I've never sought. 
 The night we stole his child from him 
 I saved him from a death most grim, 
 For while he fought the roaring f.ame 
 That fast around his building came, 
 While he 3'et lingered in a stall 
 Beneath a burning building tall 
 Which then was just about to fall, 
 
BETRAYED. 227 
 
 Old Bolton's hand had closed the door ; 
 From there he ne'er had issued more ; 
 For 'neath the falling ruin vast 
 Midst smoke and flame he'd breathed his 
 
 last ! 
 But sternly I the deed forbade, 
 And Logan's life I longer made. 
 For one I hate I would not kill, 
 Death frees them of their grief and ill ; 
 Such mercy I could never show 
 To any one I deem'd my foe ; 
 No, let their life no ending know. 
 For length of days is length of woe. 
 A twelvemonth now has nearly flown 
 Since unto Crawford Storm 'twas known 
 Where I was with the boy concealed ; 
 To him I all the facts revealed. 
 And made him promise me, that he 
 Just soon as I of life was free. 
 Which well I knew would shortly be. 
 He'd give John Logan back his son, 
 And tell him I the theft had done, 
 And let blame on none but me be laid ! 
 Thy son my confidant I made 
 For reasons only known to me. 
 Save what I herein tell to thee. 
 And with thee let it hidden be : 
 Some things about thy son I know — ■ 
 Some crimes he did long, long ago ; 
 If they were only noised abroad 
 They'd give him to the hangman's cord ; 
 And wex-e those deeds but told to thee, 
 Thy love for him woidd blasted be ; 
 
228 BETRAYED. 
 
 Thy hoary hair would stand on end, 
 And death pangs through thy heart would 
 
 wend ; 
 Throughout thy veins the crimson blood 
 Would cease to move, be frozen flood ! 
 I trust him, for he knows too well 
 While living on this earth I dwell. 
 His life and fame are in my hands, 
 By me he either falls or stands ! 
 My tale is done, my race is run ; 
 See thou that Logan gets his son. 
 And what I've said to Crawford tell, 
 Let him explain to Logan well 
 All facts about my theft and flight, 
 I made to him all plain as light. 
 
 Farewell! Yours, Etheldred." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A frown 
 Dark as the cloud on mountain's crown 
 That rolling thunder smiteth down 
 Unto the gloomy vale below, 
 Wheredeepening shades of darkness grow ; 
 So dark, so grim, grew Crawford's wrath, 
 And o'er his visage showed its path. 
 From off his chair he instant sprung, 
 The letter on the floor he flung 
 And on it placed his heel, and said 
 " Thus will I trample Etheldred 1 
 I'll make the l^'ing wretch deny 
 What he has said, or he shall die ! 
 No deed of crime he knows 'gainst me 
 Than I know of the Polar Sea 1 
 Full twenty years, I'll swear, have pass'd 
 Since I on him have looked mj' last • 
 
BETRAYED. 229 
 
 At least my sight he has not eross'd 
 Since poor old Logan's child was lost ! 
 His story is all rh^^me and jingle, 
 In which sense and nonsense mingle, 
 But won't, like wine and water, mix ; 
 No crime on me that wretch can fix 
 But what I from my name shall move, 
 And him a doted liar prove ! 
 Enough of him. Come, mother mine, 
 Give me some food and rosy wine=" 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Across the floor tall Crawford strode, 
 
 Where on the board the red wine glowed ; 
 
 To the brim he fill'd a spacious cup. 
 
 But ere to his lips he brought it up 
 
 He thus the aged pair address'd : 
 
 " May my soul ne'er know a moment's rest, 
 
 Nor reach the kingdom of the blest. 
 
 But ever be with woe distress'd 
 
 If I don't clear my name and fame 
 
 Of all this infam}^ and shame ; 
 
 And ma}^ this draught of ruddy wine 
 
 Ne'er pass within these lips of mine, 
 
 If I don't prove old Etheldi-ed 
 
 The falsest liar ever bred ! 
 
 Prove there's no truth in what he's wrote, 
 
 More than a crag of rock w^ll float 
 
 Like cork upon the water's breast I 
 
 Yes, trust 3-our son will ncA'er rest 
 
 Till he shall crown your days vrith jo}-, 
 
 And 3'our old age shall bless 3'our boy 1 
 
230 BETRAYED. 
 
 Down went the ruddy wine ; again 
 The cup he filled ; once more did drain ; 
 Three times he filled it to the brim, 
 And three times the cup was drained by 
 
 him. 
 And never yet a hungry steed 
 E'er ate a meal with greater greed, 
 Than Crawford soothed his hungry mood 
 With rudd}' wine and smoking food ; 
 For two full days at least had flown, 
 Since Crawford drink or food had known. 
 The while he ate, his father's e^e 
 Did full on Crawford's features lie, 
 The while he gazed he well could trace 
 The features of the mother's face — 
 When she was happ}^, bright and j^oung. 
 And with no age nor sorrow w^rimg 1 
 Yes, like when first she graced his side, 
 His partner and his gentle bride. 
 And while he gazed, the old man's soul 
 Yearned with a love beyond control 
 For that vile wretch who onlysought 
 • To injure those fate round him brought. 
 Right well the father knew his child 
 Was all treacherous, base and Avild, 
 And was to hiln as false and vile 
 As any villain skill 'd in wile ; 
 Yet for that son his spirit thrilled 
 With love wai-m as ever bosom filled ; 
 All that son's foul abuse and guile 
 His heart and soul forgot the while ; 
 Nor did the old man doubt one word 
 That he from out his Crawford heard ; 
 
BETRAYED. 2:jJ 
 
 And all that letter said, lie thought 
 Were lies as foul as e'er were wrought. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 ■ tf 
 
 With ruddy wine and smoking food 
 Had Crawford soothed his hungry mood, 
 Then thus addressed that aged pair 
 In accents gentle, soft and clear : 
 " Parents, methinks I heard you say 
 Young Logan left here j^esterda^^ ? " 
 " We did," the father straight replied ; 
 " I with him sent a trusty guide. 
 And if they ha"i e not travelled slow 
 And kept the road I bade them go, 
 Their journey by this time is done. 
 And Logan has his long lost son. 
 Thank God, the old man's grief is o'er I 
 And may he never sorrow more, 
 I wish him j 03^ with all my soul. 
 And gladness unallo3^ed with dole ! " 
 " If wishing brings the least of good, 
 And sucK it does, I've understood, 
 I wish him all joy in nature wide," 
 Crawford with beaming smile replied, 
 '• But if his boy''s been reared and bred 
 By such a fiend as Etheldred, 
 I'd not much for his morals give ; 
 I trust no greater scamp doth live ! 
 But then, for this we need not care, 
 I trust he'll seldom journey here." 
 " Nor I," the father swiftly said, 
 " I never liked old Etheldred, 
 E<jr in his dark, deceitful eye 
 Was craft and guile of deepest dye, 
 
232 BETRAYED. 
 
 I shunn'd liim as some adder grim, 
 
 Yet, never was unkind to liim ; 
 
 But we are of that villain free, 
 
 If Log-an lias not lied to me ; 
 
 lie said the old man's mind of late, 
 
 Grew to a raelancholj^ state. 
 
 Each da}^ he seem'd to grow more sad, 
 
 Then, like a dog, died raving mad ! " 
 
 " 'Tis well, indeed, if thus he died, 
 
 For the way he on me has lied 
 
 In 3'onder note ; when next we met 
 
 To punish him I VI not forget. 
 
 But a feeling in my breast doth lurk 
 
 That tells that mischief is at work ; 
 
 So straight from here I now must go, 
 
 Though falls the sleet and tempests blow ; 
 
 I'll shortly see who in this land 
 
 'Gainst me will dare to lift their hand, 
 
 And say I ever did a deed 
 
 That unto any crime Avould lead ! 
 
 But while I'm gone, if any wretch 
 
 The slightest tale to yon should feteli 
 
 About your son, straight j'ou reply, 
 
 You know their tale to be a lie. 
 
 And breathe you in no mortal ear 
 
 When last 3'our Crawford journeyed h3rc, 
 
 And breathe you to no friend nor foe 
 
 That I from here this day did go ; 
 
 1 11 thwart the schemes of foemen all, 
 
 If any such have plann'd m}' fall 1 
 
 But ere I go, give me all hoard 
 
 That both 3"our purses can afford ; 
 
 Sure as on j^our hearth the embers burn, 
 
 Within a week I will return 
 
BETRAYED. 233 
 
 Each mite you lend to me this i\iiy. 
 And with it am})le interest paj-.' 
 
 T- J> 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Some thirty coin of shining gokl, 
 All, all, that did their purses hold, 
 And all the hoard on earth they owned, 
 The}^ swift unto their Crawford loaned. 
 " Could 3'ou swear that this is all the gold 
 That is by both of you controlled ? 
 Have you no stockings stowed aAva}' 
 That would far more of it display, 
 Tf 3'ou two only chose to bid 
 Them brought from places where the \- "re 
 
 hid ? 
 Fear not to lend it all to me, 
 Xo mite of it shall squandered be ; 
 I'll give it not the least abuse, 
 But put it to a proper use." 
 " No other mite have we, my son, 
 As you have bid ns, ayc have done, 
 And loaned you every mite we oavu ; 
 Think not that we have misers grown 
 In our old days, and would not give 
 All we possess to make 3'ou live 
 Contented both in soul and mind ! " 
 " Parents, it grieves me sore to find 
 And thus to see Dame Fortime's hand, 
 Gave not far more to your command ; 
 Far more than this, I really thought 
 You could Iiave from your purses brought 
 To aid me on the path I go. 
 And you fiir more than this could show. 
 But I must be content with this — • 
 I go — Farewell ! May joy and bliss, 
 
2;}i B::TiiAyED 
 
 Long life on earth and ruddy health, 
 'With ceaseless Inflow of vast wealth, 
 Be my dear aged parents' lot, 
 And I hy them be ne'er forgot ! 
 Farewell, a little while ! " 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The door 
 lie open drew, and pass'd the threshold 
 
 o'er, 
 "Whieh nevermore beheld the form 
 Xor knew the tread of Crawford Storm. 
 .Soon from the stall his steed was brought 
 Whose mane within his hand he caught, 
 And swift as ever gre3'hound sprung 
 Upon the deer, or to guard her young, 
 On foes tlie leaping panther flew. 
 His form lie in the saddle threw, 
 And swift as breath of mountain blast, 
 A down the hill from sight he pass'd. 
 Long, long, those aged, hoary twain 
 Watched him who ne'er returned again ; 
 E'en when from them lie disai^pearcd 
 Midst forests vast before them reared, 
 Alone they in the doorway stood, 
 And watched afar that boundless wood, 
 Though icy blasts upon them blew. 
 And wild their hoary tresses Acav, 
 Like shreds of tattered snow-wiute sail 
 That round the masts stream on the gale ; 
 Far other thoughts their hearts controll'd, 
 Nor did they feel tlie tempest's cold ; 
 No other thought their spirits knew 
 Than him who parted from their view ; 
 
BETRAYED. 235 
 
 And after him their feelings flew 
 Till all else oblivious grew 
 Save that child's sorrows, weal or woe — 
 Those souls no other feelings know ; 
 Xor from the door the old pair drew 
 Till shades of night around them grew, 
 And sky and hill and forest vast, 
 From sight in utter darkness past. 
 Day after day this old pair stood 
 And gnzed upon that boundless wood, 
 Which dense o'er earth its shadow spread 
 And hid the path their child had fled, 
 But never to their sight he came ; 
 Nor did despair their spirits tame ; 
 Grim, gaunt Despair could never cope 
 With the brawny arm of stalwart Hope I 
 E'en stronger, f^ir, is Hope, than Death, 
 And lingers with man's latest breath ; 
 Bright Hope! with her flaming sword arid 
 
 targe, 
 Comes as a river red and large : 
 Through serrid ranks of grim Despair, 
 Hews down her passage l)road and clear ; 
 Through realms of night makes sure her 
 
 way, 
 And turns them all to brightest day. 
 And hope each aged soul beguiled ; 
 They watched the coming of their child 
 With hope that warmed each bosom's core 
 As furnace glows with molten ore, 
 And day by day they wept or smiled, 
 And watched the coming of their child 
 Till blind with age those old ones grew, 
 Yet no sight aior sound of him they knew. 
 
236 BETRAYED. 
 
 Oa, pathless wood ! oh, lonely wild ! 
 Will 3'e return no more their child ? 
 What ye receive, will ye no more 
 From out yoiir lonely realm restore ? 
 A wandering roe or startled deer, 
 A tree fell'd by the storm's career, 
 Is all from out that forest drear 
 Those old ones ever see or hear. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 'Twere long and useless now, to tell 
 
 O'er what mountain, valley, hill- and dell 
 
 Crawford pass'd, and what to him befell, 
 
 As on he rode with all the speed 
 
 That lay within his gallant steed, 
 
 O'er byways dismal as his thought, 
 
 And reached the city that he sought. 
 
 By night and da}', by daj^ and night, 
 
 He paused not in his onward flight. 
 
 Though hard it blew and hailed and rained. 
 
 Till he the wished-for city gained. 
 
 *Twas dead of night when there he drew, 
 
 One lamp its light on darkness threw 
 
 As up a narrow court he rode. 
 
 Which led unto a vast abode ; 
 
 High through the darkness and the gloom 
 
 Did its tall walls and spires loom. 
 
 Within, it was as silent all 
 
 As was its dark and massive wall 
 
 All looked as dark and desolate 
 
 As IS the outlaw felon's fate, 
 
 Who treads alone his dungeon room 
 
 The niffht before he meets his doom. 
 
BETRAYED. 
 
 •237 
 
 Who knoAVS when morning lights the sky, 
 
 lie shall upon the gallows die ! 
 
 Before a gate as black as night 
 
 Did Crawford from his steed alight, 
 
 A secret spring he touched, and straight 
 
 A tread was heard behind the gate, 
 
 A sound within of heavy keys 
 
 Unlocking bolts came on the breeze, 
 
 Soon the gate was open cast 
 
 And through it steed and rider past. 
 
 Then swift the gate was closed once more. 
 
 And bolted, locked, and barr'd secure. 
 
 So dark and dismal was the place, 
 
 E'en scarcely Crawford's eye could trace 
 
 The features of that mortal's face, 
 
 Who there to him admitance gave 
 
 Midst silence solemn as the grave. 
 
 Too well that silent porter knew 
 
 What step beside that gateway drew 
 
 Soon as was touched that secret spring, 
 
 To ask of him one single thing. 
 
 Pvight oft had Crawford pass'd that gate 
 
 On such a night, and just as late ; 
 
 E'en dogs within that spacious yard 
 
 That nightly there were placed on guard, 
 
 Knew well that steed, knew well that nun i, 
 
 And whining welcome, round them ran. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 His steed to stall the porter led, 
 While o'er that yard tall Crawford sped 
 And reached a door of that abode • 
 Through whose wide transom lamplight 
 glowed ; 
 
238 BETRAYED. 
 
 Along a winding hall he past 
 And gained a spacious room at last ; 
 Huge logs of oak and pine were stowed 
 Upon a hearth that cheerful glowed, 
 And cast their warmth around the room, 
 And with their light dispell'd the gloom. 
 Before those embers' cheerful glow, 
 There sat a man whose locks of snow 
 In heav}', wavy, ringlets spread. 
 Around a manly, comely head ; 
 Hung o'er a forehead broad and hio-h, 
 'Neath which there shone a piercing e^^e — 
 Huge, flashing eyes, so dark and bright 
 They dazzled each beholder's sight. 
 Perhaps it was his brows of snow 
 Which made them seem of such dark glow. 
 His cheeks were hollow, pale and lean. 
 And these of hair were shaven clean. 
 But on his chin a scanty beard 
 The hue of purest white appeared ; 
 And on his upper lip a vast 
 Mustache of white was spread, that cast 
 So long and dense a growth below, 
 He could of mouth no vestige show ; 
 But 'tween those beardless cheeks arose 
 An all-abundant mass of nose ; 
 Far out it reached, and downward curved 
 Towards his mouth like beak of parrot 
 ' swerved ; 
 
 He was a man whose iron nerve 
 Did aye his Avill obedient serve ; 
 As firm of purpose, strong of will. 
 As rocks that prop the solid hill ; 
 Sooner the sun might change his course, 
 The swollen stream foraret its force 
 
BETRAYED. 239 
 
 And instant stop its rapid flow 
 
 To open gulfs that j-awn below, 
 
 Than he would swerve from any scheme 
 
 His will had plann'd, though it might teem 
 
 With dangers all as dread and grim 
 
 As e'er brought loss of life and limb ; 
 
 Some way he'd find his deed to do, 
 
 Had he to search all nature through. 
 
 Of smile or frown no faintest trace 
 
 Was ever seen upon his face ; 
 
 O'er every thought that stirr'd his soul 
 
 His will held absolute control ; 
 
 Of joy or woe, of pain or fear, 
 
 And all the passions mortal heir, 
 
 He seem'd as void as is the stone 
 
 That dwells midst ice on mountains lone ; 
 
 A pipe within his mouth he held, 
 
 From which were clouds of smoke im- 
 
 peird. 
 Before the warm hearth Crawford drew. 
 His hat and cloak from off him threw. 
 Shook off the clots of frozen snow, 
 Before that fire's ruddy glow 
 Upon a chair his robe he spread 
 To dr}^ before those embers red. 
 Then to the old man thus he spoke. 
 Whose face was hid midst clouds of smoke : 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " I see 3'our ncjind again is fraught 
 
 With some o'erwhelming rush of thought. 
 
 Which doth your spirit all o'erflow ; 
 
 I reallv don't believe you know 
 
 That Crawford's form is standing now 
 
 Here right before your beaming brow ! 
 
240 BETRAYEDo 
 
 I don't believe my words 3-011 hear, 
 Though breathed so loud upon 3'our ear I 
 And were not for the smoke I see 
 Arising from your pipe so free, 
 I would have sworn that 3-ou were dead, 
 ' Or to the land of dreams had sped ! 
 
 But Ryan, is there any word 
 ■Of news about our plot you've heard ? 
 If so, wake up and tell me all, 
 Nor silent gaze on 3-onder wall, 
 As some old corpse for hours dead ! " 
 " I was just thinking," R3^an said, 
 " If rightly should the plot succeed, 
 How glorious will be our meed I 
 Soon as the morn the day shall bring 
 We herald in another king, 
 We'll be next to him in power, 
 For we are promised ample dower ! " 
 " Think you he'll make his promise good ? 
 For seldom kings have faithful stood 
 To an3^ promise, oath or vow 
 They'd made since they commenced till 
 
 now ! 
 They get some fools like 3-ou and I 
 To lift them up to power high, 
 When this is done those fools the3^ shun. 
 Their prizes are by others won 
 While with foul infam3" we reek ! " 
 " No, Crawford, no ! The one we seek 
 To place upon this Kingdoiji's throne, 
 To break his word was never known ! 
 Sooner he'd lose his life, his head, 
 And let the dogs his carcass shred. 
 Than break a promise that he made. 
 Or falsehood e'er his soul invade ! 
 
BETRAYED. 241 
 
 He knows that we, and we alone, 
 Can free foi* him this nation's throne ; 
 Disperse in air that nionarcli's brow, 
 Who swayes and rules the nation now.! 
 . He knows that none within the land 
 As I, so close the king doth stand, 
 For his most private friend I am, 
 Know all he seeks to bless or damn ; 
 Know every secret that he knows, 
 Such faith in me he doth repose 
 E'en this stately castle, here, 
 He places solely 'neath my care ! 
 Even though he does all this, I fain 
 Would see the other monarch reign! 
 For wider sway and richer spoil 
 Will then reward my patient toil ! 
 The future monarch also knows 
 In 3"0U the secrets all repose 
 Of working right that dread machine, 
 Xone other knows its whole routine ; 
 That machine whose power shall fling 
 In air, the palace of a king, 
 .Vnd clear the road for one amain 
 Who has a juster right to, reign! " 
 
 XXX. 
 
 As thus he spake, a wily smile 
 Shot o'er Crawford's face the while, 
 And when had Ryan ceased, he said, 
 '• Your words would wake to life the dead 
 You send a joy through all my soul, 
 That surges up beyond control, 
 I feel it through all my being sway ! 
 You have whet my sabre for the fray 
 
242 BETRAYED. 
 
 And harness'cl my steed for battle, 
 Soon in air 3'on jilace sliall rattle 
 "With such a deafening din and roar 
 As never mortal heard before, 
 And ne'er will hear till time is o'er ! 
 But light a lamp and let us go 
 And view it in the vaults below. 
 Come, come along, here are the kc^-s. 
 You bring the light, I carry these." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 A light was lit, and down they sped 
 Where nai-row, winding stairways led 
 To cellars deep and dark and drear 
 As ever under castles were ; 
 To a massive iron door they drew. 
 Its bolts and bars aside they threw. 
 The door they ope'd, then lightl}' strode 
 Along a subterranean road, 
 A passage dark and drear, which led 
 To A^aults as dark and damp and dread, 
 Where scarce could breathe a living thing. 
 Beneath the palace of the king. 
 These soon they reached, another door 
 With bolts and bars well covered o'er, 
 Soon all unlocked, unbarr'd were these 
 By ponderous, rusty iron heys 
 Wrought in as strange device as yet 
 Were ever in a ke^diole set ; 
 Soon dupped they wide that iron door 
 And pass'd those twain the threshold o'er. 
 Then in a vaixlt as dark and drear 
 As e'er was fill'd with stagnant air, 
 Upon the ground around them lay 
 Eight machines, which did they survey-. 
 
BETRAYED, 
 
 Of strange device they all were wrought, 
 As e'er wei-e shaped hy human thought ; 
 One huge wire of shining brass 
 Round them, and to each machine did 
 
 pass. 
 From machine to machine did reach, 
 And for some cause connected each. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " What da}', what hour shall it burst. 
 
 And send in air this place accurst ? 
 
 Just fix the time, and sure as fate 
 
 We'll make a ruin desolate ! " 
 
 This Crawford spake, to which replied 
 
 Old Ryan, " Crawford, I decide 
 
 It be done this night one week from now, 
 
 Say just at ten o'clock, I trow 
 
 The king makes revelry that night. 
 
 And we will put his soul to flight 
 
 While mirth and joy is at its height ! 
 
 Besides, that night I'll be away 
 
 On business for the king." " Delay 
 
 The hour that brings us fame 
 
 Or hasten it, 'tis all the same 
 
 To me. Now, I will set the clock 
 
 To running. When it strikes, a shock 
 
 As of an earthquake shall be heard. 
 
 In air these buildings shall be stirr'd 
 
 As high as ever mortal dust 
 
 From earth was towards the heavens 
 
 thrust ! " 
 He said, and touched a wheel which ran 
 Like lightning round, and straight began 
 A motion as of life through all 
 That dread infernal thing; a tall, 
 
 £43 
 
244 BETRAYED. 
 
 Slim pendulum ticked forth its chime, 
 
 And, clock-like, knelled the passing time. 
 
 " Think you 'tis sure, and will not fail 
 
 These buildings through the air to sail ? " 
 
 "It's an invention all my own, 
 
 And not to an}^ man is known 
 
 Its workings, save to me alone. 
 
 'Tis sure as death I Some years ago 
 
 I did one in a vessel stow, 
 
 That was across the ocean bound ; 
 
 She sailed, but ne'er a sight nor sound 
 
 Of her was ever heard or seen ; 
 
 None knew her fate but me, I ween ! 
 
 I know full well that long ere she 
 
 Did halfwa}' o'er the ocean flee. 
 
 That little trunk I placed onboard, 
 
 Like peals of hoarded thunder roared ! 
 
 And all that ship to atoms blew. 
 
 As those these walls and roofs will do ! 
 
 But come; let's move awa3^" 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The door 
 Secure they closed and locked once more 
 Swift through that dismal passage past 
 That was with mildew overcast, 
 And stank like vaults where rot the dead. 
 But ere to the outer door they tread, 
 liike lightning Crawford shot before 
 And on old Ryan closed the door, 
 Turn'd on the locks, drew bolt and bar. 
 So the}^ might sure his exit mar. 
 Left in the vault that villain hoar. 
 From whence he never issued more. 
 
BETRAYED. 24^ 
 
 Up ■winding stairs soon Crawford strode, 
 
 Where in that room the emhers glowed, 
 
 Swift on his hat and cloak he threw, 
 
 A'ul outward toward the stable drew; 
 
 lie brought his steed from out the stall 
 
 And on him threw his stature tail. 
 
 The gate the porter open'd wide, 
 
 And swift through it did Crawford rid(^ ; 
 
 On, on, he spurr'd his steed, until 
 
 He gained the summit of a hill, 
 
 And rode along a lofty line 
 
 Of rocks that o'er a tarn incline, 
 
 Where floods with quick-sand slept below. 
 
 All covered o'er with sleet and snow ; 
 
 Here on this high and rock}^ ground, 
 
 lie paused and turned his steed around, 
 
 And as he tarried here awhile, 
 
 He watched the palace with a smile. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 As there he paused, he muttered low, 
 " If I had time I back would go. 
 And cleave that hoary porter'S/head, 
 And give him to the voiceless dead. 
 For unless he should die to-night 
 When 3'onder buildings take their flight, 
 When they come well the cause to sift 
 What in the air yon walls did lift. 
 He'll tell tliat I was there to-night, 
 And put me in an awkward plight. 
 I should have cleaved his hoarj^ head 
 Ere from that cursed gate I sped. 
 I trust he too, to-night will die, 
 For shortly rocks will wildly fly I 
 
2iC) BETRAYED. 
 
 Will make the air most loudl}' ring 
 With death dirge of a djdng king ! 
 Tes, soon to realms of azure air 
 Yon statel}' palace shall repair, 
 And all who in it sleep to-night 
 Will never see the morning's light ! 
 Beside his consort rests the king, 
 Who nestling to his breast doth cling, 
 As warm around her blooming charms 
 While half asleep, he winds his arms. 
 Within a cot their infants sleep, 
 But ne'er again those babes shall weep ; 
 Their nurse sleeps on the floor above 
 And dreams of coming bliss and love, 
 When to her plighted swain she'll bear 
 Just such sweet offspring bright and fair ; 
 The swain is dreaming of his maid, 
 By whom he'll never be betraj^ed ; 
 He sits with her 'neath waving shade. 
 Their lips warm kisses fast invade ; 
 The porter sleeps the gate beside. 
 Dreams lords and ladies through it ride, 
 As oft the}' have in days of old. 
 And cast to him some coins of gold ; 
 His steed is dreaming in the stall 
 Of climbing OA'er mountains tall. 
 Of leaping through the fearful pass 
 Of chasms, quicksand, and Aiorass, 
 Of roaming over deserts broad 
 Or passing o'er the roaring ford. 
 All in and round that palace sleeps. 
 Save old Eyan, perhaps he weeps. 
 And loudly fills that stagnant air 
 With yells and damnings of despair ! 
 
BETRAYED 247 
 
 I trust he has his curses laid 
 
 On me, hy whom he was betrayed ! 
 
 Perhaps ere this he's died with fright, 
 
 I'ear must have overcome him quite ; 
 
 Tor all who breathe this vital breath 
 
 Dread the approach of grisl}^ death ! 
 
 All, all, within that palace sleeps, 
 
 The watchdog onl^^ vigil keeps ; 
 
 At times his bark comes deep and long, 
 
 As if he knew all would soon go wrong ! " 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Scarce the last words had Crawford spoke, 
 
 Than sounds from out that palace broke, 
 
 As if there an earthquake had awoke, 
 
 Or volcano burst with flame and smoke ! 
 
 The hills around were shook and riven, 
 
 As to the sky those walls were driven ; 
 
 A moment's space the heavens wore 
 
 A crimson glow the hue of gore. * 
 
 So tall and vast the hissing flame 
 
 From out that fatal palace came. 
 
 And looked so horrible and fell 
 
 It seem'd a bursting up of hell. 
 
 Or as if all the flames that dwell 
 
 Within the centre of the world, 
 
 Were there from out that palace hurl'd, 
 
 And all the hoarded din and roar 
 
 E'er engendered in its seething core 
 
 Had from the boiling centre past * 
 
 To upper air, in one dread blast ; 
 
 Tall walls and roofs and lofty spire, 
 
 Went up in air with tumult dire ! 
 
 Through that grim place where R3'an la}'. 
 
 The blast rushed on Avith fearful sway, 
 
248 BETRAYED. 
 
 It and castle from their bases raised, 
 And high in air dread ruins Iblazed ; 
 Then hack to earth a flaming hell, 
 Midst tnmult dread the ruins fell, 
 Down shattered wall, roof and spire, 
 Dropp'd on earth midst tumult dire ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Springs from the shock the startled horse, 
 And forward leaps with headlong force ; 
 And ere could Crawford draw the rein, 
 Down, down his charger vaults amain ! 
 Right o'er that tall and sleety line 
 Of rocks that o'er the tarn incline I 
 As arrow shot from well-strung bow, 
 He sped to the abyss below. 
 Crushed through the robe of frozen snow 
 To where the j^awning quicksands flow, 
 And right above both horse and man 
 The closing sand and water ran ! 
 Soon left no utter trace behind 
 Of steed or form of human kind. 
 Those rocks rose up so vast and tall, 
 And so stupendous made the fall, 
 They must have both been void of breath 
 And resting in the arms of death, 
 Ere from that high ridge of rock and snow 
 They pass'd to the abyss below. 
 , But how that be I cannot tell, 
 
 But well I know this fate befell 
 That gallant steed so fleet and strong, 
 That like a whirlwind sped along. 
 Thus past from sight the lofty form 
 And haughty brow of Crawford Storm. 
 
BETRAYED. 249 
 
 PAKT YII. 
 
 A dark and dismal Biorning dawn'd, 
 It seem'd with sleep all nature yawu'd, 
 With weary drowsiness was rife, 
 And could not wake to active life ; 
 Upon the tall tree clad with snow, 
 All moody sat the sable crow ; 
 Abroad through air no chirping bird 
 On flapping wing that morning stirr'd ; 
 The roe dream'd on the distant hill 
 Of grassy mound and flowing rill ; 
 The fox lay dreaming in his den 
 Of well-filled roosts and fattened hen ; 
 The watch-dog in his kennel lay 
 All still amidst his lair of ha}' ; 
 No cock around the barn-house crew. 
 Nor from his roost that morning fle^v ; 
 The sheep within the distant shed 
 Lay all as silent as the dead, 
 From lamb or ewe no bleating came 
 Nor sound their presence to proclaim ; 
 The silent ox lay on his lair 
 Dreaming of pastures green and fair, 
 The goat dreamed with him in the stall. 
 Of breathless leap o'er stream and wall ; 
 And in his stall the dreaming steed 
 Cross'd deserts wild with lightning speed, 
 And in their pen the dreaming swine 
 Lay all as silent as the kine. 
 
250 BETRAYED. 
 
 It seeni'd that morning's piercing cold 
 With sleep or silence all controll'd, 
 O'er skies the cloud;^ lay dark and still, 
 And poured their hail o'er field and hill. 
 
 II. 
 
 Perhaps 'twas caused by the fatigue 
 Of having travelled many a league 
 O'er hill and dale and wild and moor, 
 Through storm and blast, the day before, 
 That made Logan sleep so late that morn ; 
 Perhaps the old man's limbs Avere worn 
 And Avear}' with the dreary ride, 
 And would not be of rest denied ; 
 He did not rise as wont that morn, 
 Soon as within the east was born 
 The first faint streaks of coming day, 
 While yet the morn was dim and gray. 
 Perhaps his heart felt ease and rest — 
 With glad content was soothed and blest, 
 And such should be forevermore. 
 At having on the eve before 
 With his own hand, his daughter saved ; 
 Iler for whose welfare he had braved 
 And battled Avith the ills of life. 
 To scatter round lier comforts rife ; 
 Her whom he loved as pure and wild 
 As ever parent loved a child — 
 Bless 'd with a blessing deep and strong 
 As could to a father's soul belong ! 
 What i she, his child, his joj^, his love — 
 Pure as a saint from realms aboA^e, 
 Pure as the light when first 'tis born 
 Within the golden sk}^ at morn, 
 
BETRAYED. 25 1 
 
 Pure as the ether's highest air, 
 
 To whicli no foulness can repair — 
 
 Pure as a lily, sweet as love 
 
 When first 'twas born in realms above — • 
 
 Be ta'en from him by a fiend so fell, 
 
 And doom'd to a fate as foul as hell I 
 
 Be doom'd to a fate more grim and dread 
 
 Than babes the hungry tigers shred ! 
 
 Such thoughts as these through Logan roll, 
 
 And busy keep his thinking soul. 
 
 When he awoke upon that morn, 
 
 SaAv night was gone and da}' was born — • 
 
 As all alone that old man lay 
 
 Aud watched the morning's dawjiing ray, 
 
 That evening past seem'd unto him 
 
 A nightmare horrible and grim — 
 
 A dream as drear and wild and strange 
 
 As e'er the realm of sleep could range. 
 
 And brooding o'er it long he lay, 
 
 Nor recked how time had pass'd away 
 
 Since first he'd seen the rays of morn 
 
 Within the dim horizon born. 
 
 III. 
 
 'Twas late, that morn, nigh noon, I ween, 
 Ere Logan from his room was seen — 
 Ere he had ta'en his morning meal, 
 Spread by the hand of her whose AVeal 
 Was ever foremost in his soul — by day. 
 By night — where'er he bent his way ; 
 Whose cheering smite aye solaced him 
 When grew the future drear and dim — 
 Made the mirkest hours bright, 
 And lined his darkest clouds with light, 
 
252 BETRAYED. 
 
 And made the stormy sea of life 
 
 Calm down to joeace and qniet rife ; 
 
 Who wept when he went forth, and smiled 
 
 With joy when he returned, his child 
 
 Who gave hack love as pure and true 
 
 To him as ever spirit knew. 
 
 Many a comely dame and maid 
 
 Since in the grave his bride was laid, 
 
 Had oft, but all in vain, essaj- ed 
 
 With love his spirit to invade. 
 
 Like hero sheathed from head to heel 
 
 In panoply of purest steel, 
 
 And in all feats of battle tried. 
 
 He deftly* turned their shafts aside ; 
 
 In his heart, Cupid's arrows found 
 
 No vulnerable place to wound. 
 
 None in his home should e'er find room 
 
 To annoy his child, or cause her gloom ; 
 
 And e'en had he no daughter there 
 
 His dull routine of life to share, 
 
 They ne'er had brought John Logan's soul 
 
 By any wiles 'neath their control. 
 
 Nor found a place his heart beside 
 
 Like his lost love, his angel bride ; 
 
 Whom he believed he'd meet again 
 
 Beyond this realm of woe and pain 
 
 In endless life on some bright shore 
 
 Where they should ne'er be parted more, 
 
 But dwell in happiness sublime ! 
 
 He deem'd he would lie down some time 
 
 When least he dream'd that time was near, 
 
 Sweet sleep would o'er his senses wear — 
 
 Lead him through realms of happy dreams, 
 
 Lands rich with bloom and crystal streams, 
 
BETRAYED. . 25;{ 
 
 Wiiere pain and time no subjects keep, 
 And "when he'd wake from tliat sweet sleep 
 He'd meet, no more to leave his side. 
 His mourn'd-for angel — his earthly bride. 
 
 IV. 
 
 All too wild the blast, the storm too cold, 
 For a man like him, so worn and old, 
 To journey forth upon that day 
 And vengeance on the outlaws la}'. 
 To hound them over hill and glen. 
 And bring them from their rock}^ den. 
 To up tear them, root, branch and stem — ■ 
 All such treacherous fiends as them. 
 To hang, or drive them from the shore, 
 And let them curse the land no more. 
 But Ragan ! where was he ? — Around 
 They searched, but nowhere was he found. 
 His steed had vanished from the stall. 
 Gone wei-e his pistols, weapons all ; 
 AYhen he had sped, none there had known, 
 And the Musgraves, too, were flown. 
 Out through the window Logan peer'd. 
 Where bow'd the trees as storms career'd, 
 Than these naught else his eye could view. 
 Though far away his gaze he threw. 
 The time wore on, the morn was past 
 And evening was approaching fast ; 
 Far down the road his gaze he threw, 
 But nothing met his eager view 
 Where'er his longing eye he cast. 
 But trees that swaj^ed before the blast. 
 
254 BETRAYED. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! far, far, across the snow 
 Bells are ringing, though faint and low, 
 But louder does their ringing grow 
 Though angril}^ the tempests blow 
 And tear down all that they can throw, 
 The sounds of hcllsno deadening know, 
 And over all their ringings flow. 
 They are ringing, they are ringing. 
 Still their music nearer bringing, 
 And plainer, plainer, sound thej^ still, 
 Their music bringing up the hill. 
 And far be3'ond the waving trees 
 The eye of Logan plainl}?- sees 
 Far down the steep and winding road 
 That leadeth up to his abode. 
 Of sleighs a lengthy, noisy line, 
 Fast gliding up the steep incline ; 
 And at their front by him is seen 
 Some thirty horsemen, full, I ween. 
 Still faster speeds that cavalcade 
 Up the sleety, slippery grade. 
 Foremost of all is Pvagan seen, 
 On his fleet steed of comel3' mien ; 
 Right soon they Logan's mansion <ra\n, 
 And round the old man crowd amain. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Bight soon doth Logan's willing ear 
 Their strange, wondrous tidings hear, 
 For all the Grangers far and near 
 Had gathered, though the da^^ was drear. 
 
BETRAYED, 255 
 
 In one firm mass, compact and strong, 
 And did throughout the mountains throng ; 
 Scoured tlie country far and wide. 
 Sought those who liad the laws defied ; 
 Described the scene old Bolton's bield 
 Had to their searching ejes revealed, 
 Told of the horrid sight they saw. 
 Which almost struck them dumb with awe ; 
 Where once had stood that loathsome den 
 Where died Wallace and those other men. 
 They saw the place to ashes burn'd. 
 The bodies unto cinders turn'd — 
 All so completely singed and charr'd 
 They mortal recognition marr'd ; 
 Which was Wallace, Down, or Hugh Le- 
 
 nore, 
 'Twas vain for mortal to explore ; 
 No eye would ever know them more, 
 Howe'er it searched their bodies o'er. 
 Of all those fiends they had some clue. 
 Save Crawford, naught of him they knew ; 
 For him they'd searched around, around, 
 But Crawford nowhere could be found. 
 And said the Sheriff, who did appear 
 Among that throng of Grangers there, 
 " Crawford, I solemnly can swear 
 Was not in Wallace's abode, 
 Not once his presence there he showed, 
 The two whole nights and one whole day, 
 I did amongst those villains stay ! 
 I drank Judge Down, and all in there, 
 As drunk as ever mortals were ; 
 Nor sound nor scene they could discern ; 
 I stayed with them in hopes to learn 
 
256 BETRAYED. 
 
 Who some foul burglaries hkcl clone 
 
 Within our city. I spun 
 
 Long 3'arns with them, sung, drank and 
 
 swore. 
 Did whiskey down like water pour ; 
 With tliem a ehummj^ I became, 
 Whate'er they did I did the same ; 
 But not one word from them I caught 
 To form a clue to what I sought. 
 I left them in the dead of night, 
 For I was sick and worn outright. 
 But when I left, upon the floor 
 Each did in drunken stupor snore, 
 The massive stove glowed warm and 
 
 bright 
 And round the barroom threw its light. 
 And when I left them on that night 
 ' All seem'd in order, trim and right, 
 
 As just might any barroom show ; 
 What caused the fire, I do not know, 
 And was surprised to see this morn 
 Things round there looking so forlorn. 
 Judge Down lay close the stove beside, 
 And near him did some others bide. 
 It, he or they ma}^ have o'erturn'd, 
 And thus themselves to cinders burned. 
 But how it be I do not knov/, 
 Nor need we care for their overthrow, 
 But glory that their doom is o'er, 
 And that they'll trouble us no more. 
 But Crawford was not there, I know, 
 Himself to us he'll some day show ; 
 Who captures him, alive or dead. 
 Ere from this day a year has sped, 
 
BETRAYED. 257 
 
 Shall have whate'er he choose to ask 
 For having thus performed that task. 
 
 VII. 
 
 To the hut of Hugh Lenore we drew, 
 
 Had of his hag a fiual view — 
 
 For when we open thrust the door 
 
 She with grim death was fighting sore ; 
 
 But ere her lips were sealed in death, 
 
 Revealed she with her latest breath, 
 
 'Twas Bolton and her spouse, Lenore, 
 
 Who years ago, perhaps a score, 
 
 Your stately barns and buildings burn'd, 
 
 And cattle into cinders turn'd ; 
 
 'Twas them who stole your boy and sped 
 
 Away with him for Etheldred, 
 
 Who at that time lived in the town. 
 
 Next building to his Judgeship, Down ; 
 
 Who with the child fled on that night, 
 
 To unknown regions took his flight. 
 
 Some secret purpose to fulfill ; 
 
 And sa}' s if Etheldred is still 
 
 Alive and can be found, and will • . 
 
 Divulge the truth, then you will know 
 
 All 'bout 3-our ofi'spring's weal or woe, 
 
 Learn whether he's alive or dead, 
 
 Where rest his bones, or footsteps tread." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 While thus he spake, far down the hill 
 
 Where trees swaj'ed to the tempest still, 
 
 The Sheriff''s eagle eye espied 
 
 Along the road two horsemen ride. 
 
 " Haste, and look yonder I " loud he cried, 
 
 " If to me my vision has not lied, 
 
258 BETRAYED. 
 
 By all the souls on earth, I vow, 
 Yon foremost man is Crawford now ! 
 He doth exactly like him ride, 
 And doth as nobly steed bestride ! 
 Although his soul is grim and fell — 
 Is in itself a horrid hell, 
 Ne'er better horseman drew a rein 
 Till now, across a charger's mane ! 
 Knights of old, of which the poets tell, 
 Methinks ne'er rode a steed so well. 
 Did ne'er so firm and solid sit — 
 Erect and square the saddle fit, 
 While battling in the tourney's ring 
 To win the daughter of a king ; 
 Or when they rushed for high renown 
 And won a kingdom and a crown." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Ere this was said, upon his steed 
 Had Ragan sprung with lightning speed, 
 Struck deep his spurs, and with a bound 
 Shot forth from those who gaped around, 
 And muttered low as forth he sped, 
 " I'll lose my life or lay him dead I 
 Dead or alive, I'll carry him, 
 A trophy unto vengeance grim ! 
 His life's the prize, that prize be mine. 
 Or I'll not see this day's decline ! " 
 He said, and death had surely been, 
 While 3'et were twenty yards between 
 Those men, had not Earl Ragan seen 
 A comely visage and a mien 
 Far other than he sought, I ween, 
 And rushed for with a hate so keen ! 
 
BETEAYED. 259 
 
 But too tremendous was the force 
 With which then onward sped his horse 
 For him to stop him on that road, 
 Which was with sleet all overflowed ; 
 His speed was all too wild and high, 
 Like bolt of lightning shot he hj- ! 
 His instant death he there had brought, 
 If then so wild a deed he wrought ; 
 For if he'd caused his steed to fall, 
 They both had slid o'er boulders tall, 
 Where ne'er did tree nor vintage grow, 
 Where yawn'd a dread abyss below ; 
 Nor did he pause till far away 
 His steed had carried him, where lay 
 Beyond the hill a level plain. 
 And starkly there drew in the rein. 
 
 X. 
 
 Meanwhile that unknown horseman rode 
 
 On, climbed the hill to that abode, 
 
 And there himself from saddle flung 
 
 And lightly o'er the threshold sprung. 
 
 Strode on, nor head nor body bowed 
 
 To any of that gaping crowd ; 
 
 Strode in with high and haughty head. 
 
 And firm, elastic stalwart tread ; 
 
 And looked around that ample hall 
 
 As he were master of it all. 
 
 Tall was his form, erect and broad, 
 
 And limbs to frame did well accord. 
 
 He seem'd of strength, from head to heel, 
 
 A perfect model to reveal ; 
 
 From side to side, through all his length 
 
 He seem'd activity and strength ; 
 
260 BETRAYED 
 
 And his clean-shaved, frank, open face, 
 Bespoke him born of noble race. 
 "Who, who is he ? the whisper ran 
 Among that throng, from man to man. 
 Who, who is he ? but none can tell. 
 His gaze on them a moment fell, 
 And in that glance eyed every man ; 
 Then with commanding voice began : 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Does here a man named Logan dwell ? 
 John Logan ; can any of 3- on tell ? " 
 " He does, and I here am that man ! " 
 With voice which all as haughty ran, 
 John Logan swift to him replied. 
 And rapidly approached his side. 
 " If you are he, my business, then, 
 Is with you, none of these other men ; 
 So please to grant a moment's space 
 With me, within some private place." 
 A door John Logan opes anon 
 And forthwith led the stranger on ; 
 Into a wide and ample hall 
 Strode then those figures broad and tall ; 
 Closed to the door secure was thrown, 
 And those two men were all alone. 
 The father and the son had met at last, 
 Though twenty weary years had past 
 Since fate asunder them had cast, 
 And made a difference all so vast. 
 
 XII. 
 
 A moment, and but a moment's space, 
 The young man viewed the old man's face, 
 
BETRAYED. ' 261 
 
 And as he did, a beaming smile 
 
 His manly visage shed the while, 
 
 And with a voice all soft and sweet of tone, 
 
 Quite changed to w^hat before he'd shown. 
 
 And boAving low to the hoary man, 
 
 He his business thus began : 
 
 *' Read this, before a word I sa^'-, 
 
 'Twill all my business here convey 
 
 To you direct." With that he lay 
 
 A letter in the old man's hand. 
 
 Sealed tight, and tied with silken band. 
 
 Which swift John Logan open tore 
 
 And spread it wide his gaze before. 
 
 And thus he read. — 
 
 * ^ * * * Since I took your son 
 Till now, just twice ten years have run. 
 And while those weary years have flown, 
 I trust enough of grief you've known ! 
 Enough of anguish, care and woe. 
 To recompense all hate I know. 
 And feel, and have for you ! So now 
 I'll glad your heart and light 3^our brow! 
 I send 3^ou back a soul and form 
 As perfect e'er as life can Avarm. 
 John Logan, no such form and soul. 
 Had ever reared 'neatli your control. 
 Thus, injuries I have repaid. 
 Which were by you upon me laid ! 
 Take back your babe ; Avith him I'm done ; 
 My sands of life are almost run, 
 But still I hate you, as of old. 
 With hatred lasting, deep, xuitold ! 
 Take back your child ! My tale is done. 
 My journey to an ending spun ! 
 
 Guy Etheldred 
 
262 BETRAYED. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Was it joy or woe, 
 Or some strange thoughts of long ago, 
 That surged the while through Logan's 
 
 soul, 
 And bowed it neath their strong control ? 
 For with surprise profound — amazed, 
 Upon the youth the old man gazed ! 
 There, moveless as some statue stood 
 That's carved of stone by sculptor good. 
 The color fled his manly face, 
 Left it white as his locks apace. 
 Amazed, surprised, he fix'd his stare 
 Upon the young man standing there, 
 Where stood the vigor, health and bloom. 
 Tall form and chest of ample room, 
 He did in ruddy prime assume. 
 Ere wrecked with age and sorrow's gloom. 
 And it he viewed as still and dumb. 
 As though death had life o'ercome, 
 And ceased through all that form to thrill. 
 With silence all as stern and still, 
 The young man fix'd his rigid gaze 
 Upon his sire, with amaze 
 Retracing every line of form 
 And face, though bent with age and storm, 
 The ruins of himself. Though gray 
 With age and woe and worn away, 
 Still all majestic in decay. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 An ample space did the}^ survey 
 Each other o'er and o'er; at last 
 A tremor through old Logan past, 
 
BETRAYED 2&3 
 
 And thus lie said : "A certain sign 
 Will manifest if you be mine. 
 When scarce two fleeting years had shed 
 Their seasons o'er my infant's head, 
 Where plaj'ed he on the ground one day 
 It chanced a wild steer made his wa}', 
 And him caught up upon his horn. 
 Right fearful was his shoulder torn ; 
 Deep to the bone the sharp horn gored, 
 And left a wound, grim, long and broad. 
 And even when the wound was healed 
 A fearful seam was there revealed, 
 Which no art of leach-craft could displace, 
 Nor fleeting time shall e'er eff"ace. 
 And if your shoulder on the right 
 Reveals to mortal such a sight, 
 Then I will take it as a sign 
 You are the child ; that 3'ou are mine ! " 
 
 XV. 
 
 Swift from his tall and comel^^ form 
 That young man doff'ed his garments 
 
 warm, 
 Laid all his brawny shoulders bare — 
 The ghastly seam of 3'ore was there ! 
 Smote with the sign, his doubts amain 
 Disperse like mirky clouds of rain 
 When Sol in all his splendor reigns 
 And pours his warmth o'er hills and plains. 
 His soul within him melts. No more 
 •His knees and joints his frame upbore ; 
 His feeble form his arms alone 
 Support, around his oflspring thrown ! 
 But these, too, to sustain him failed ; 
 He swoons, with whelming joy assailed; 
 
264 BETRAYED. 
 
 And sinks upon that loved one's breast, 
 Who to his heart that form caress'd. 
 Soon as returning life regains 
 Control, the blood sweeps through his 
 
 veins, 
 " Yes," he whispers low, " Yes, I believe 
 God pities all who mourn and grieve I 
 By mortals He's not understood. 
 But Pie is just and He is good! 
 Yes, yes ! j^ou are my long lost son. 
 O'er whose dread loss my life has run 
 One ceaseless stream of lasting woe. 
 Which day nor night would respite know ! 
 Yes, all your mien and bearing shows 
 It is my blood that in you floAvs ! 
 Thank God, He did my child restore ! 
 And may we ne'er be parted more 
 Till my career on earth is run ! 
 When we've immortal life begun, 
 May we two meet upon some shore, 
 I Be never, never parted more ! 
 
 Oh! through what sorrows have I run, 
 In seeking you, my son ! my son ! 
 Thank God ! those pangs and woes are 
 
 o'er ! 
 That Heaven decreed we'd meet once 
 
 more ! " 
 So o'er his offspring spake that man. 
 While fast his tears of rapture ran ; 
 While he clasp'd and kiss'd his stately boy, 
 And wept with overflowing joy ; 
 Their tears of joy commingling flow 
 And rapture doth commingling glow. 
 While fall the old man's locks of snow 
 On those that fewer winters know, 
 
BETRAYED. 265 
 
 And murmurs flow, " My son ! " my son I " 
 And " Father ! " mingling with them run. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 When their first pangs of joy were past, 
 
 Or into milder mood were cast, 
 
 " Oh ! tell me all ! " the old man cried. 
 
 As he his tears of rapture dried, 
 
 " Within what regions you've been thrown, 
 
 What life and trials have you known ? 
 
 Tell, tell it all to me, and how 
 
 It chances 3^ou are with me now ? 
 
 For this all seems to me-a dream, 
 
 Where no reality doth gleam ! 
 
 Where only wildest fiction burns ! " 
 
 He said, and straight the son returns ; 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " ' 'Twere long, and needless, now, I rreen, 
 
 To tell 3'ou all the sights I've seen. 
 
 Though all the time we've parted been^ 
 
 So many seasons intervene, 
 
 Enough of time I back will go 
 
 To suit the present, just to show 
 
 How, who I am I came to know, 
 
 Who on my mind that knowledge threw ! 
 
 The rest some other time will do : 
 
 A week ago Guy Etheldred, 
 
 Whose note to j^ou but now j'ou read, 
 
 Was quailing with the pangs of death ; 
 
 But ere from him had past his breath 
 
 He called me to his dying bed. 
 
 And thus in feeble accents said : 
 
 " My boy, m}^ life is nearly done, 
 
 My fleeting sands have almost run 1 
 
266 BETRAYED. 
 
 So when my breathing shall be o'er 
 
 And life in me you see no more, 
 
 Take 3'ou, my boy, these letters twain, 
 
 And forward with them speed amain 
 
 To those they are address 'd ; and mind, 
 
 You fail not both of them to find : 
 
 One is j^our sire 1 Years I Ve made 
 
 You fancy I was him. Betrayed 
 
 You into such belief — deceived 
 
 And blinded 3'ou 1 Yes, you believed 
 
 From me your source of being drew. 
 
 Think so no more I It's all untrue ! 
 
 John Logan is your father's name ! 
 
 I stole and brought jon from the same 
 
 When you were but a little child, 
 
 For reasons all too strange ?nd wild 
 
 For me to breathe in mortal ear. 
 
 And none those reasons e'er shall hear 1 
 
 They shall in secret pass away 
 
 With me, where'er my spirit stra3\ 
 
 But boy, of all the j^ears j^ou've seen 
 
 In company with me, I Aveen,' 
 
 I never did to you a deed 
 
 By night or day, that you might heed 
 
 As any way at all unkind. 
 
 I ne'er did thwart nor cross your mind ; 
 
 All I've done was for j'our good ; 
 
 I aye your steadfast friend have stood, 
 
 And this to me 3-ou'll witness bear. 
 
 E'en when my voice no more you hear. 
 
 To you I leave all, all the hoard 
 
 That fortune did to me accord ; 
 
 You know where every mite is stored, 
 
 So take it hence with you abroad. 
 
BETRAYED. 267 
 
 But weep not when I've pass'd away, 
 
 No sorrow show, by night or clay, 
 
 I would not have my spirit see 
 
 A mortal ever grieve for me. 
 
 I loathe, detest and hate my kind. 
 
 Despise them, body, soul and mind I 
 
 I want no sympathy, no show — 
 
 Xo slightest signs of human woe 
 
 Ever bestowed upon my tomb. 
 
 No sorrow round my narrow room ! 
 
 And one more thing, take solemn heed 
 
 Ne'er night nor day in any deed 
 
 Long as on earth your life shall span, 
 
 Be you a partner with that man 
 
 Who sometimes journeys here, we call 
 
 Crawford Storm. Thyself wall 
 
 Securely 'gainst him every way, 
 
 And shun him ever, night and day ; 
 
 'Gainst him be ever on your guard, 
 
 For he is cursed and evil starr'd 1 
 
 Many a deed I know of him 
 
 Would send him to the gallows grim ! 
 
 Now, I have told you all, take heed. 
 
 And follow in the path I lead. 
 
 Farewell ! " With that the old man's 
 
 breath 
 Grew weak, and soon was hushed in death. 
 I followed him unto his tomb. 
 And left him in his narrow room. 
 Then forward from that land I sped 
 To do the bidding of the dead, 
 And journeyed here. And this is how 
 It chances we are meeting now. 
 
268 BETRAYED. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Soon were the tidings noised around 
 
 That Logan's long lost son was found ; 
 
 Swift as the falling of a star 
 
 That news was carried wide and far ; 
 
 O'er hill and dale, o'er forest, field, 
 
 Through stately mansion, lonely Meld, 
 
 From mouth to mouth the tidings flew, 
 
 Till all within that country knew 
 
 The lost was found I The much deplored 
 
 And sought-for stolen one restored ! 
 
 Who had mouth to speak, ears to hear. 
 
 All told and heard it far and near. 
 
 Like all such news, where'er it flew. 
 
 It e[uite some other version knew — • 
 
 On every tongue the story grew. 
 
 Not wholly false nor wholly true ; 
 
 Yov all mankind, nor age nor youth 
 
 "Will ever stick to solid truth. ; 
 
 Each has his own joeculiar style. 
 
 As well as gesture, frown or smile. 
 
 His tale to tell, he it a lie, 
 
 Or something true, as man must die ; 
 
 In private and in public place, 
 
 With wild amazement in each face, 
 
 The tidings gathered as they roll'd, 
 
 No sooner heard than sooner told. 
 
 An ember cast upon the waste 
 
 Midst leaves, to ruddy blaze will haste. 
 
 The flame the woody valley fills 
 
 And onward mounts the neighboring hills, 
 
 O'er peaks the spreading torrent goes 
 
 Till all the hills it overflows ; 
 
BETRAYED. 
 
 This way and that it flies and turns, 
 And over all in fury burns — ■ 
 With a roar o'er wold and field, 
 And where aught will to its fury yield. 
 So spread the news that country round, 
 That Logan's long lost child was found : 
 " Roderic's found I old Logan's child ! " 
 Spread o'er that country fast and wild. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Onward sped untiring time, 
 
 And dreary winter left that clime ; 
 
 No more across its sleet and snow 
 
 On breath of icy winds, the flow 
 
 Of music from the loud sleigh-bells 
 
 Upon the ear at midnight swells ; 
 
 Departed for a little time, 
 
 Is this loved pastime of that clime. 
 
 Sweet spring has come with all her robe 
 
 Of glory to enhance the globe ; 
 
 Rose and violet bloom o'er the field, 
 
 And to the air their sweetness yield ; 
 
 On lonely wold and hill and dell, 
 
 Sweet violets the peasants smell ; 
 
 Beside the stream the lily blooms. 
 
 And waving o'er the harebell looms. 
 
 The forests all alive are seen. 
 
 And waving with their glowing green. 
 
 And all around the air is stirr'd 
 
 With sweetest music of the bird. 
 
 Sweet is the scene o'er dale and hill, 
 
 By mossy rock and flowing rill ; 
 
 Sweet is the view o'er pastures green. 
 
 Where skipping lambs and sheep are seen ; 
 
 269 
 
270 BETRAYED. 
 
 Sweet is the view both far and near, 
 Each sight we see, each sound we liear 
 Shows spring in all her charms arraj'ed 
 As sweet as ever yet surveyed ; 
 As grand, as beautiful, sublime. 
 As ever j^et was known to time ; 
 Where cultivated fields are seen, 
 For these mongst pastures intervene. 
 Glows with dark green the waving grain, 
 Encumbering the fertile plain. 
 The owner's careful hand and toil 
 Is plainly stamped on all the soil, 
 On plant and tree his care is shown, 
 On all within that region grown ; 
 No empty spot escapes the care 
 Of the wise, thrifty owner there. 
 
 XX. 
 
 'Twas spring, I said, and flowers shed 
 
 Their sweets on air where'r it fled ; 
 
 That it seem'd all things glowed with mirth 
 
 That sprouted from the teeming earth, 
 
 And made her bosom throb with joy, 
 
 As had John Logan's for his bo}^ ; 
 
 Said every mute and living thing 
 
 Was gladdened with the glowing spring. 
 
 And on its rich and fertile lair 
 
 The grain waved to the wholesome air, 
 
 Gave promise when the harvest came 
 
 An ample ^delding of the same, 
 
 To prove within some future hour 
 
 Its mighty recreative power. 
 
 And so was man glad with the spring, 
 
 As birds that made their music ring 
 
BETRAYED. 271 
 
 Through forests waving green and tall, 
 And round the eves of mansion wall. 
 Yes, man and woman, j^oung and old, 
 Delighted did the spring behold ; 
 Graj' matrons with their ample brood 
 Were all of gay and happy mood ; 
 And old men sang and laughed with joy, 
 And wished themselves once more a boy ; 
 Bo3^s wished that they were only men, 
 And thought how free they could be then 
 To round the May-Pole skip and spring, 
 To dance, to frolic, and to sing. 
 The maiden eyed her chosen youth, 
 Thought him all manliness and truth ; 
 And he glanced on his blushing maid, 
 Saw her with every charm arrayed. 
 While round the May-Pole deck'd with 
 
 flowers 
 They danced away the fleeting hours. 
 And many a spinster well in years 
 Around the May-Pole too, appears ; 
 Though men have neglected her so long, 
 Yet, yet her hope is bright and strong ; 
 Though none as yet her hand has sought, 
 Xor loving homage to her brought. 
 Yet, round as gay she skips and springs 
 As do the younger, fairer things ; 
 On young and old she sweetly smiles. 
 But alas, alas, she none beguiles ! 
 Xow, Hope, thou heaven-born power I 
 Ne'er let despair within her lower, 
 Nor 'neath that grisly tyrant cower. 
 But fill her soul through every hour. 
 The one she seeks for may she meet, 
 And he make her happiness complete. 
 
272 BETRAYED, 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Bright was the day, the balmy breeze 
 Was stirring midst the leafy trees, 
 The clover blossoms filPd the air 
 With sweetness all beyond compare, 
 And the countless flowers that bloom'd. 
 With richness rare the breeze perfumed. 
 The sun shone warm o'er dale and hill, 
 Laughed bright on stream and glowing 
 
 rill, 
 While floods of song and music's thrill 
 Did echoing plain and forest fill ; 
 And round a Ma^^-Pole richly clad 
 With all the flowers jSTature had, 
 With all she ever brought to glad 
 Poor earth, with deserts lone and sad, 
 A mighty throng of gay and young. 
 Both maids and youths, danced, skipped 
 
 and sung ; 
 So merrily the time employed, 
 It seem'd all woe had been destroyed — 
 Sent from the world, with all its pain. 
 And ne'er would visit earth again. 
 And to the scene so bright and gay, 
 Came with his daughter. Sheriff Fay. 
 '• Daughter," he said, while 3^et away 
 From that grand festival arra}^, 
 " If love for Ragan yet 3'ou feel, 
 Take my advice, that flame conceal ; 
 And let none know 'twas ever felt, 
 Just let it from your bosom melt. 
 As doth the flake of fleecy snow 
 When warm on it the spring suns glow. 
 
BETRAYED. 3*73 
 
 Your love v.nd his will never meet 
 Within comiTiingling union sweet ; 
 It won't, like wine and water blend, 
 Nor mingle as all love should wend. 
 As yoii broke the trust I in 3-ou laid, 
 Through it his flight from dungeon 
 
 made, 
 80, by him will 3'ou be yet betrayed. 
 You'll hear when you expect it least 
 That all his love for you has ceased ! 
 Yea, every mite and atom fled, 
 And that he's Logan's daughter wed. 
 And even should you be his Avife, 
 You'd lead a most infernal life ! 
 For all the love woidd be one side. 
 And that within his gentle bride. 
 He's after Logan's child, I know. 
 So on that journey let him go, 
 Nor to it slightest hindei^ance throw. 
 But see you after Roderick, now ; 
 He's better looking, that I'll vow ! 
 And has far more of ready cash — 
 And that cannot be reckon'd trash 
 By any maid who'd pave her way 
 Unto an easy life and gay. 
 Riches crown married lives with love. 
 Lifts them vip earth's dull cares above ; 
 But poverty sinks them below, 
 Where hustle toil and care and woe. 
 It is the most annoying life. 
 To be a poor mail's slaving wife, 
 That any mortal woman led 
 Since first the race to man were wed. 
 It's all quite nice for bards to tell 
 
214 BETRAYED. 
 
 Of vinc-wrGathed cot in shady dell, 
 
 Where lovhig vv'cdded couples dwell ! 
 
 How both the hu-band and his wife 
 
 Toil on through rdl their earthly life, 
 
 In perfect happiness and love, 
 
 Keeping their minds all cares above 5 
 
 I tell 3'ou, child it's all a lie ! 
 
 And hope 3-ou'll ne'er such nonsense try. 
 
 You'll find when want treads on the nooy, 
 
 All love will straight fl}' out the door ' 
 
 And fly so very far away 
 
 She back will scarceh^ ever stray. 
 
 If you would act discreet and wise, 
 
 Look to Pioderick, as I advise ; 
 
 He's of that throng the only prize ! 
 
 I've watched him oft when 3-ou were near, 
 
 And in manner he did so appear, 
 
 That were I on my oath I'd swear 
 
 Your charms had all besieged his soul — 
 
 Thrall'd him with love complete and whole, 
 
 I'm old in jears, and I have seen 
 
 Of love and wooing, lots, I Aveen, 
 
 And am not easily deceived ; 
 
 That he loves 3-ou I've long believed. 
 
 Now, daughter, you are 3'oung and fair 
 
 As an}' of those maidens there. 
 
 With voice more sweet than any bird 
 
 Whose notes the breeze of morning heard, 
 
 Or 3^et the air of nature stirr'd ! 
 
 Whate'er 3'ou speak, in ever}- word 
 
 A soft and sub':ile music lives. 
 
 Such, methinks, as God to seraph gives ! 
 
 And from your lips a glory breathes. 
 
 Such as might come from rainbow wreathes. 
 
BETRAYED. 275 
 
 So go, my cliild, midst 3'ondGr tlironjx 
 Witli hope and courage bright and strong, 
 In glowing pride of maidenhood, 
 As yet on earth has ever stood, 
 And v:m and bring with 3"0u awa}', 
 Completely bowed beneath 3'our swa}', 
 The only prize that can be found, 
 Howe'er 3'on search them round and round, 
 Midst all that throng of smiling 3'outh ; 
 And this I swear to be the truth I 
 Now, go, m3' child, upon 3-our way ; 
 Your sweetest smiles to him displa3'. 
 And keep 3^011 out of Ragan's path ; 
 Though should 3-011 meet, no sign of wrath 
 For him, nor least displeasure show ; 
 But let 3'our smiles for Roderick glow. 
 Now go, I've nothing else to say." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Light as air she sped upon her way. 
 
 How well that bright and lovel3^ maid 
 
 The bidding of that voice obe3-ed 
 
 Was shortl3^ unto him revealed. 
 
 Nor was it from that throng concealed ; 
 
 Where'er the maiden moved that day. 
 
 Beside her Roderick made his way ; 
 
 And long before the evening mist 
 
 Had either hill or valle3' kiss'd, 
 
 Or ere those sounds of frolic died. 
 
 That maid was Roderick's promised bride. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The spring was gone, and summer flown, 
 The autumn all his leaves had strown, 
 
2Y6 BETRAYED. 
 
 And gathered on his lap sublime 
 The glories of a 3'eur of time. 
 And winter, icy, drear and lone, 
 Was mounting fast his hoary throne, 
 And over realms of sleet and snow 
 Did music from the sleigh-hells flow ; 
 By night and day their sound was heard, 
 Tlirough ic}' air their music stirr'd, 
 As in the spring the song of bird ; 
 Far over snowy heath and holt 
 Noisy sleighs and fleet chargers volt, 
 And song and laughter floats around. 
 With mirth in everj^ sight and sound. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 'Twas niglit, and calm the fi-osty air 
 Lay sleeping on its icy lair ; 
 Through lofty -forests clad with snow 
 No noisy breath of breezes blow, 
 Thi'ough them no sounds of wind is heard, 
 By it no single branch is stirr'd, 
 For all the breeze has hushed its breath, 
 And sleeps as still and cold as death. 
 No simi of cloud is seen on hio-h 
 Through all the regions of the sk}^ ; 
 The full, round moon in all her glow 
 Serenely casts her light below 
 On streams and mountains' ic}^ heads, 
 Sparkling, silver}^ light she sheds ; 
 With quivering sheen the glowing rills 
 Like flowing silver, line the hills, 
 And icy leaves resplendent gleam 
 Beneath the all-enlivening beam, 
 
BETRAYED. 
 
 217 
 
 And 'neath her rays like silver glow 
 The never-ending piles of snow. 
 Unnumbered stars in glory shine 
 And cast o'er earth their light divine, 
 Steady they blaze, or twinkling glow. 
 From pole to pole their glories show 
 Fair was the night as ever yet 
 Has beam'd on earth or mortal met. 
 Since first from out Creation's plan 
 Sprung forth that animal called man. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 I said all nature lay at rest. 
 As sleeping babe on mother's breast, 
 And so it did, all save that part 
 Controlled by human hand and heart, 
 And this w^as just as full of din 
 As waters of a roaring linn. 
 By maid and youth, the snow-clad earth 
 Resounded with the sounds of mirth. 
 The young, the old, the brave, the fair, 
 With mirth and laughter shook the air ; 
 Danced many a rosy maiden's eye 
 With joy, like twinkling stars on high. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Behold the stately edifice 
 At base of yon tall precipice. 
 With lofty steeple reared on high 
 As if it sought to reach the sky ! 
 Its glowing point beneath the light 
 The moonbeams cast on it so bright, 
 ' Glitters on its tall throne afar 
 As brilliant as the sheenest star. 
 
2'? 8 BETRAYED. 
 
 Of dark gray stone is rear'cl the wall 
 Of yonder building broad and tall; 
 Of slate is built its lofty roof, 
 And is to flame and tempest proof; 
 Taking tliat building joint b}" joint, 
 From base to topmost steeple point, 
 It is as grand Cathedral pile 
 On which as 3'et did moonbeams smile. 
 Within the place is light as da}-, 
 As lit by Sol's all-piercing ray 
 When not a cloud obscures his beam 
 And warm he smiles on hill and stream. 
 And in that wide and spacious door 
 A constant stream of people pour, 
 As waters that are onward drawn 
 To where doth spacious chasm 3'awn, 
 Still onward sweep in steady' flow 
 Till all the space is fdl'd beloAv ; 
 So in that church the people pour, 
 Until the place Avill hold no more. 
 Both young and old, the brave and fair 
 That country- round, are gathered there. 
 Their eyes are bright, their faces smile, 
 For rapture reigns in them the while, 
 Nor is there a care-worn brow nor face 
 Seen mongst them all within that place ; 
 Seated, or standing 'long the aisles, 
 With joy each face serenel}' smiles. 
 With stirring notes the organs chime 
 With sacred tones of hymns sublime, 
 Airs sweet as music in her prime 
 Will e'er conceive till ceases time ; 
 Nor is mongst all the organs sound. 
 The hj'ums from human voices drown 'd ; 
 
BETRAYED. 279 
 
 These, like a liolj^ anthem pour 
 Above a distant torrent's roar. 
 
 xxYir. 
 
 The organs ceased their hoi}' sound 
 And all the h} mns were hushed around, 
 And all within that sacred place 
 No sound is heard a little space, 
 Save breathing of the human breath. 
 All, all, a space, is still as death. 
 With parted lips and straining eyes, 
 All look to where a group arise — 
 A little group of scarce a score, 
 Who halt the altar rail before. 
 Among them Sheriff Fay is seen, 
 And hoary Logan's comely mien, 
 But who are those that on them lean, 
 Each blushing sweet as Beaut3"'s Queen ? 
 Whos^e f:iccs tell that feelings dull 
 Within their souls are void and null, 
 Whose flowing I'obes of snowj^ mull 
 Fall around necks and arms as fair 
 As yet were fann'd by vital air, 
 Whose floating, snowy veils stream o'er 
 Faces sweet as ever veiled before, 
 Whose brows are deckxl with bridal 
 
 wreathes, 
 Choice as those 'neath which Flora 
 
 breathes ; 
 Each blushes like the Queen of Flowers, 
 When smiling midst her choicest bowers, 
 And mirth and joy her features don. 
 Who are they ? Answer comes anon : 
 Mary Logan, and Ellen Fay! 
 Their lovers close beside are thcv : 
 
280 BETRAYED. 
 
 By Mail's arm is Tlagan seen, 
 By Ellen's, Roderick's comely mein. 
 Each kneel'd a space, and o'er each head 
 The sacred rite and praj^er was said ; 
 To maidens' hands they qiiickl}^ hring 
 The round, the never-ending ring. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The prayer was said, the rite Avas done, 
 
 Each happy couple stood as one. 
 
 Then did the merry organs chime 
 
 Their tones of prayer and praise sublime. 
 
 In glory of that happy time. 
 
 From nave to aisle, from aisle to nave. 
 
 Did whelming floods of music wave — 
 
 From steeple to foundation stone 
 
 The place was shook with music's tone. 
 
 As by a tempest strong and grim; 
 
 Voice after voice joined in the hymn. 
 
 Until the sound of music rose 
 
 Far louder than the noise that goes 
 
 Before the tempest o'er the deep, 
 
 And wakes the ocean from its sleep. 
 
 Voice after voice joined in the song, 
 
 Till it rose an anthem deep and strong — 
 
 Till all that sacred place within 
 
 Seem'd bursting with its holy din ! 
 
 Still swell'd it on and shook the nr, 
 
 Till left each bright and happy pair. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Forward the stream of time has drawn, 
 To gulfs that never cease to yawn — 
 To pits that drink the flood of years. 
 As caves down which the torrent tears, 
 
BETRAYED. 281 
 
 Which never, never, never fill. 
 But jirc forever empty still ! 
 And which shall never fill till time 
 Shall startle at the tones suLlime — • 
 That knell on earth, her funeral lay. 
 And she with earth shall pass away. 
 And through the fleeting flight of time 
 Has Logan lived to hear the chime 
 Of meny voices round his knee. 
 And there his children's children see. 
 Long 3'ears of peace on earth he found, 
 A life with every blessing croAvn'd, 
 His mind at ease, his body sound, 
 With wealth and plenty scattered round ; 
 The rich reward and glowing spoil 
 Of all his years of thrift and toil. 
 Sublime in faith with God he stood, 
 And strove to do his fellows good ; 
 If they had faults, he'd mildly chide. 
 And ever seek their f-xults to hide, 
 Though far from virtue's path they slid ; 
 And when he praj-ed — which oft he did — • 
 Full one-half his prayer was given 
 For others' weal. If men are riven 
 Of their sins on earth by the prayers 
 Of other men as well as theirs. 
 Then man}" a human creature's soul 
 Y/hcn death brought it to its final goal, 
 Placed it before the Judgment Bar, 
 Where sins be known, whate'er they are, 
 The}' learned before that Awful Throne 
 His prayers had saved them, his alone. 
 Gra}-- with years raid hoar}^ weight of age, 
 He past from off this earthly stage, 
 
282 BETRAYED. 
 
 Wept, mourned for, honored and revered, 
 To ever^^ human heart endeared. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Long lived the jolly Sheriff Fay, 
 And kept all grief and care at bay ; 
 He sang his song and quaft his vine, 
 And ever on the best vrould dine ; 
 Eiclies he had, so choicest food 
 Alone, did soothe his hungry mood. 
 He loved his grog, perhaps, too v/cll. 
 And none Avithin that land did dwell 
 Could fill his glass unto the brim 
 And drain it down as oft as him! 
 Many a man he drunk has made. 
 And him beneath the table laid, 
 And •while he there in stupor snored, 
 "Would Fa}^ sit up beside the board ; 
 And with some other mortal drank, 
 Who also 'neatli the table sank. 
 And when the sky with morn grew gi'a}^, 
 Though drunk around his comrades la}'^, 
 He could arise and march along, 
 His breakfast eat and sing a song ; 
 Could dance a jig or run a mile, 
 Or with his grand-sons pla}' awhile. 
 Next to his food and whiskc}' bowl. 
 Loved games at cards with all his soul — • 
 And there he never lost his vole. 
 He lived to be a hoary man, 
 And all his da3'S in pleasure ran 
 Long as on earth his being stood. 
 And if no harm, j-et little good 
 He did unto his felloAV man. 
 Through all that life so broad of span. 
 
BETRAYED. . 283 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Long, liapp3^ lived tlic ■\vecTdecT pairs, 
 Time gathered round tlicni many heirs, 
 Both rosy girls and ruddy hoys, 
 Which crowned their lives "with countless 
 
 joys. 
 
 And ma}' the}' all as fruitful be 
 As is the fair and health}^ tree, 
 Whose roots are deep in fertile ground 
 With cr3-stal waters flowing round, 
 Which never fails to bloom in spring 
 And ample fruit in season bring. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 All trace of Down was soon forgot — 
 
 And even o'er the very spot 
 
 His statel}^ mansion once was seen — 
 
 That l)uilding of such comely mien — ■ 
 
 A highway of that town was made. 
 
 And it in dark oblivion laid ; 
 
 His memory sank in deepest shade ; 
 
 At last it did from mortals fade ; 
 
 He left no slightest trace behind 
 
 To tell his fame to human kind. 
 
 And shortly, Wallace, too, was cast. 
 
 Midst things of the forgotten past ; 
 
 From men his memory deca3'ed. 
 
 Did from their minds completely fade, 
 
 As watered valleys reck no more 
 
 Of droughts of years forever o'er. 
 
 And on that ver}' spot of ground 
 
 Where once his inn and barns were found 
 
 With their tall, massive walls of stone, 
 
 Now is the paupers' graveyard known ; 
 
284 BETRAYED 
 
 The stone that formed each building's wall 
 Make round the spot enclosure tall. 
 
 Long was that country searched around, 
 In hopes that Crawford might he found ; 
 Full thirty j-ears had past, and more, 
 Ere all that search was given o'er. 
 They all believed that he had fled — 
 Unto some unknown region sped ; 
 And that the da}' would yet appear 
 That they Avould see him mongst them 
 
 there — 
 That he would surely mongst them come, 
 His hate and vengeance deal on some. 
 And armed were men for combat grim, 
 Lest they should ever meet with him. 
 Whene'er a barn at night was burn'd 
 Their thoughts were straight on Crawford 
 
 turn'd, 
 No matter what the deed of crime 
 That there was done at an}- time, 
 If he Avho did it was not known 
 The crime was straight on Crawford 
 
 thrown. 
 Yes, either him or some all}' 
 "When it was done was surel}^ i^ig^i? 
 Was there the universal cr}^ 
 Mongst rich and poor, the low and high. 
 If at night a charger shied. 
 They deem'd that steed had Crawford 
 
 ej'ed ; 
 That he was mongst the bushes there, 
 And straight to meet him they'd prepare. 
 
BETRAYED 285 
 
 And when tit night a noise Tfas heard, 
 'Twas thought that somewhere Crawford 
 
 stirr'd ; 
 They swore they heard his voice of doom 
 Whispering through the midnight gloom. 
 Thus till man}'- 3-ears had sped 
 He was their terror and their dread. 
 Whene'er was seen the track of horse 
 On lonely, unfrequented course, 
 In byways, over glen or hill. 
 By grassy mound or flowing rill. 
 Through field or marsh, or forest vast, 
 'Twas thought that there had Crawford 
 
 past ; 
 And straight for him keen search was 
 
 made. 
 No matter where those horse-tracks 
 
 strayed. 
 So long they searched that realm for him, 
 Wherever man could climb or swim. 
 Thenceaftcr never robber band 
 Found resting place within that land. 
 No hill so wild, no glen so lone, 
 It was not to those Grangers known ; 
 If hole or cave there met their view 
 They stayed not till they searched it 
 
 through. 
 A common danger linked and bound 
 In close ally those Grangers round. 
 No stranger there they could discern , 
 But him at once they questioned stern — 
 From whence he came and whither bound, 
 What manner he his living found 
 And if his answers were not clear. 
 Soon forced to quit that country there, 
 
286 BETRAYED. 
 
 And never tread that land again, 
 Or he should don a ball and chain. 
 The Devil's Rift those Grangers sought, 
 And quite a change in it was wrought. 
 Its granite walls were pierced and drill'd, 
 Its chasms deep with rocks were fill'd ; 
 A safe and solid road was drawn 
 O'er pi'^s that once did frightful 3'awn, 
 Made it another aspect don ; 
 And as fleetfooted time sped on, 
 And round her wheel of changes spun, 
 A railroad through that pass was run. 
 And there it stands unto this da^', 
 In that once feared and hated yvay. 
 Through it the roaring engines fl}^. 
 With them I'll prove I do not lie. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Long o'er those forests dark and drear 
 From morn till night those old one's peer, 
 For still bright hope their souls beguiled, 
 That the}^ v.'ould someday see their child. 
 And soon as morn the skies would span 
 Their watch for him thc}^ straight began ; 
 And not till after set of sun. 
 And allthose woods grew dark and dun. 
 Black night had wrapp'd the world in peace , 
 Did their sad, fruitless vigils cease. 
 Through wearj^daj'S and months andj^ears, 
 Amidst alternate smiles and tears. 
 They watched those forests lone and drear. 
 For him who never did appear. 
 Still whiter grew each hoary head. 
 Still sloAver, feebler, grew their tread, 
 
BETRAYED, 287 
 
 Till ciclier form -was bent nucl worn, 
 And sccm'cl almost of being shorn. 
 They lived to see a vast old age 
 Ere ta'en from off this mortal stage ; 
 But on one bright and earl3- morn 
 While snoTTS did all those woods adorn, 
 And sleet lay thick on all the groinid, 
 Dead on their couch those Wo were founds 
 Still hand in hand and side b}^ side, 
 As they had lived so they had died ; 
 Together, left this dismal sphere, 
 As was their wont to journey here. 
 Yes, side hy side, and hand in hand. 
 Together trod that nnknown land. 
 Upon whose solemn, silent shore, 
 'Tis said, we meet and part no more ; 
 And feel no pangs of doubt and pain, 
 Where fleeting time shall cease to reign. 
 
 And may they there their Crawford find, 
 
 A soul in purity enshrined, 
 
 A S[)irit cleaned of every crime 
 
 It did while midst the realms of time ; 
 
 A spirit beautiful and bright, 
 
 Of all its sins made clean and white. 
 
 By some strange, wondrous, process known 
 
 To God, and unto God alone, 
 
 Which sin shall into goodness turn 
 
 As wood doth into ashes burn, 
 
 Or solid ice to liquid run 
 
 Beneath the glowing of the sun ; 
 
 Or hardest rocks in nature found 
 
 Are into finest powder ground 
 
 Through time and storm, then scattered 
 wide. 
 
 And never more on earth espied ; 
 
288 BETRAYED. 
 
 Or the unsightly, rusty ore, 
 Doth from the blazing furnace pour 
 A liquid mass of glowing steel. 
 Which cloth to metal strong congeal, 
 And forms at last the gleaming svrord 
 That rules and awes a nation broad. 
 God made all evil and all good, 
 By him alone they're understood. 
 Through Him sin in purity shall end 
 And all in holiness shall blend, 
 But how, finite minds can't comprehend. 
 And if their prayers on earth availed, 
 With which they daily God assailed, 
 They'll surely meet in realms above. 
 Where all is holiness and love, 
 That son of theirs for whom the}' grieved, 
 Till God their wi'etchedness relieved. 
 My task is done, my tale is told; 
 Now critics, howll fret, rave, and scold ! 
 Like hungry wolves on frozen wold. 
 O'er which the clouds of night are roll'd, 
 Who scent afar the noisy fold ; 
 But fear too vrcll the shepherd bold, 
 Who there doth nightly vigil hold, 
 For them to venture through the cold. 
 Yet critics, great, both 3'oung and old. 
 Who ne'er a sentence kind could mold 
 Save unto ye w^as shown some gold, 
 , Farewell ; I care not how is doled 
 To me the praise by ye controll'd, 
 For it is cheaply bought or sold ; 
 And when o'er this your eyes have stroll'd 
 You'll see this craft is strongly poled. 
 
JUL 24 1901