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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/35411-8.txt b/35411-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..95b3533 --- /dev/null +++ b/35411-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1035 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Myra's Well, by George Francis Dawson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Myra's Well + A Tale of All-Hallow-E'en + +Author: George Francis Dawson + +Release Date: February 26, 2011 [EBook #35411] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYRA'S WELL *** + + + + +Produced by Heather Clark, Carla Foust, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + MYRA'S WELL. + + A TALE + + OF + + ALL-HALLOW-E'EN, + + BY + + GEORGE FRANCIS DAWSON. + + + WASHINGTON: + GIBSON BROS., PRINTERS + 1883. + + + + + Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, + + BY GEORGE FRANCIS DAWSON, + + in the office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. + + + + +MYRA'S WELL. + +A Tale of All-Hallow-E'en. + + + It is the night of all nights of the year, + When ghosts and warlocks haunt the troubled earth, + And disembodied spirits visit us-- + Spirits of good and evil from the dead, + Fresh from the angel hosts and from the damned, + And from the vast profound betwixt the two; + Spirits from living bodies, disenthralled + By blesséd sleep, or yearnings most intense, + Or by more subtle agencies beyond our ken-- + Bearing portentious messages to those + Who in full faith the future would behold. + + The clear-cut radiance of a frosty moon + Lights up, and darkens, all the growth around. + The great trees stand out black against the stars. + The wind in gusts bestirs the Autumn leaves, + Whose late October tints are lost in gloom, + Or are grown pallid with their shivering; + Whose fitful rustlings are the only sounds + Which break the dead cold silence of the night. + Yet hist! faint eerie tones are sometimes heard-- + Which blanch the cheek and palsy all the limbs-- + Like to the moaning of departed souls! + + Within the farm-house is a large high room + Unceiled, but studded thick with rafters old, + Grown black with age or smoke; around its walls + Stiff hams and bacon-flitches dimly seen; + And here and there the dim uncertain forms + Of kitchen-ware and chairs and metal mugs; + From the low windows, half across the floor, + Stretch bands of moonlight flecked with shadowed leaves + Which tremble till the moonlight seems to dance; + Beside the fireplace stands some piled-up wood, + But the great hearthstone opens cold and black; + Beneath the inner door, a chink of light + Seems but to make the dimness darker yet; + The only sound the tick-tack of the clock, + Which serves to make the silence audible. + + High on the hill a lordly pile looks down + From its proud eminence and grand domain + Upon the farm-house in the vale below. + Builded of marble, lofty, turretted, + It looms beneath the moonlight o'er the trees + Like some etherial castle in the skies, + Limned in white alabaster, glistening, grand, + Unreal, weird, not made by mortal hands. + But sudden, as one's wrapt gaze takes it in, + It turns to gray, then vanishes! + Yet, no! + 'Tis but a sudden cloud athwart the moon. + + Within the castle, in a sumptuous room, + Sits young Sir Bertram Morven, all alone. + He had been reading that sweet Persian tale + Of him who knocked at the beloved one's door + And cried: "'Tis I, who loveth thee!" To whom + She, answering, said: "Thou canst not enter here!" + And how, a twelvemonth past, he knocked again, + And the beloved one asking: "Who art thou?" + Replied: "It is thyself," and entered in. + The dull flames at his feet leap fitfully, + And lights and shadows sweep across his brow, + Like thoughts of heaven and hell across the soul. + + Back in Holt's farm-house what a change is there! + The raftered room is filled with light and sound! + From blackened hearth the joyful flames leap up, + And roar and crackle through the piled-up logs! + On either side the old Holts sit and smile; + Betwixt them, circled, sit the younger ones, + Who laugh and chat, until the old man cries: + "Be silent, children! Let us not forget + The ancient usage of our family: + The feast of Sah'm has come! The sacred fire-- + The Fire of Peace--is kindled on the hearth! + All Hallowed One, whose warmth is like this fire, + Which giveth joy and comfort to us all, + Be present with us in the coming storms, + Bless us and keep us in the coming year!" + Whereat the others, joining in: "O Thou, + And all Thy Saints, protect us all the year!" + While the flames leap and crackle all the more, + And roar a joyous answer to the prayer. + + After a silence of a little space, + When thoughts are busy with the by-gone days, + The farmer speaks again: "Good wife," says he, + "We know the Past, with all its ills and joys, + We need not rake its ashes o'er again. + The Present finds us hale and hearty yet, + Blest in our children and our steadfast love. + He who would solve the Future in advance + Hath yet to learn the lessons of content. + But feasting on contentment is poor fare, + What say you to some bread and cheese and beer? + And, Ada, daughter, bring my long-stemmed pipe; + And, Hettie, niece, the apples and the nuts; + And, John, my son, pile up more blazing logs! + A chilly tremor through my bones just ran, + As if some enemy walked o'er my grave." + A shadowy form, shrouded and hooded, bent + With weight of years, and wickedness perchance, + Creeps slowly towards the glowing window-panes, + And peers within. She sees the emptied mugs + And pipes; the scattered hazel-husks, which tell + A tale of love-divining; in their chairs + The old folks dozing. John and Hettie sit + Most strangely near together! On the floor + Stands Ada, beauteous maiden, all alone, + Swaying most gracefully from side to side + With uplift hand and circling apple rind, + Which sudden drops and forms a doubtful B. + With blushing face and close-claspt hands, her eyes, + Softened with yearning hope, are raised to where + The moonlight strives to enter. + Holy saints! + What is it ails the terror-stricken maid? + + She "saw a face glued to the window-pane-- + A hideous face," she said, "which gibed, and seemed + To mock, and threaten dire calamity-- + And waving crutch, which beckoned her outside!" + "Tush, tush! my girl," the 'wakened farmer cries; + "Twas but a fancy. Ho, John, go outside, + And, but to satisfy her, look around!" + John goes, and soon returns; he has "well searched + Yet searched in vain; no mortal is in sight." + So, reassured, the old man's mug is filled; + His pipe re-lit; more wood piled on the fire; + And, as he craves it, Ada sings a song: + + + ADA'S SONG. + + A noble knight 'mid lordly halls + Dreams all his life away; + A lowly maid in cottage walls, + Hard-by the rippling waterfalls, + Permits her heart to stray. + + His image mirrored in her heart-- + Heaven help thee, lowly maid, + So near and yet so far apart!-- + He tells his love. She doth not start, + Nor move, nor seem afraid! + + "A gruesome gulf's between us spread"-- + She cries--"Sir Knight, beware! + Fate spans that gulf with mystic thread + So frail that only souls may tread-- + Impalpable as air!" + + "Like ancient Roc I'll wing my flight"-- + He whispers--"O, be mine! + I'll wing thee to my castle height + And wed thee, sweet!" She answers bright: + "Then I, dear love, am thine!" + + The while she sang with more than human art-- + Her voice full-throbbing like a bird's-- + She seemed to see a vision of the knight, + And seemed to be the maiden of the song, + And half her heart expressed its love in words, + While all her soul beamed from her glorious eyes, + And, at the last, her rounded arms, outstretched, + Seemed to embrace the hero of her song. + + While Ada sings, what happens at the hall? + Sir Bertram still sits gazing at the fire, + Seeing strange shapes and embered phantasies + Come and depart and come again more strange, + While his set gaze grows painful, and his mind + Whirls with conflicting conscience and desire; + For he hath seen the beauteous, lovely maid-- + And loved her from the moment that he saw-- + Loved her, yet dared not wed, nor whisper love; + And now he seems to see her in her home, + Her golden tresses rippling o'er her brow, + Her violet eyes, lit up with love's own light, + Turned full upon himself, O ravishment! + While her full-throated song enthralls his soul. + "O love!" he cries, "Sweet love, be mine indeed-- + Thou pearl of beauty! goddess of my heart!" + Her outstretched arms appear to welcome him! + He raises his, to clasp her to his breast-- + When lo, the vision vanishes! and loud + The hoarse tower-bell clangs out the hour of ten! + + He rises hastily and treads the floor. + "What was it Elpsie croaked, as home he rode + That very evening?--Elpsie, that old hag! + What devil had inspired her?--'Bertram, lad, + Ere cock-crow this All-Hallow-E'en I see + Thy loved one swoon in thine enamored arms!' + And then she laughed uncannily and struck + Her crutch against the lightning-blasted ash, + And mumbled, 'My revenge is come at last!' + What could she mean? Impossible, to-night! + Yet when hath Elpsie prophesied in vain?" + His heart beats fast, his blood begins to surge, + His head to swim. "More air!" he cries; "more air! + A long brisk walk will shake these fancies off!" + + Meanwhile, the song grown silent at the farm; + The egg-charm ended, and the molten-lead + And apple-bobbing done with; now they sit: + The old man snoring while the old dame nods-- + The young ones telling stories of the Eve: + How Janet Smith last Hallow-E'en did see + O'er her left shoulder, after certain rites, + The face of John Smith, who soon married her; + And how the mirror-test was good, no doubt; + And how the colewort's prophecies were sure; + And how the hemp-seed test was surer still; + But best of all, the image in the well!-- + Stories which creep, and breed a shallow laugh + Perchance, with inward shuddering and fear-- + Until a sharp gust shakes the window-panes, + As in the grip of some strong shiv'ring hand, + And, with a start, the old folks wake again! + "Good man, 'tis long past ten!" the old dame cries. + "Well, well, good wife, the hours creep on apace-- + The sacred fire doth need replenishment-- + And we grow older, feebler, with the years; + And soon must leave to younger, stronger hands, + The toils and troubles, and the joys, of life, + As now we yield to them this vigil strict; + Another mug and pipe, and then, to bed!" + + The "image in the well!" What well? and where? + From farm and castle full a mile away, + Near to an ancient tree--a Druid oak-- + The old well stands--its waters deep and pure-- + Its moss-grown stones much worn by age and use. + In olden days--so runs the legend--when + The good King Arthur and his chosen knights + Upheld the right, and lifted womanhood + By force of arms to heights almost divine-- + A recreant knight betrayed a gentle maid, + And she, ashamed to let the thing be known, + Fled from her home, into the forest wild, + And grieved and wept her very soul away. + And when she died--the tale is often told + And all the people there believe it true-- + From the hard earth, beside her, gushed a spring, + Fed, as they say, by all the tears she shed-- + Which, on a day when Arthur passed that way, + And heard the story sad, he bade be walled + With masonry, "As monument," he said, + "To teach all coming time that Mother Earth + Hath more of heart and faith than recreant knight"-- + And named it "Myra's Well"--and passed along. + And later, when the false knight rode that way, + He was beset, dismounted, beaten, stripped, + And sorely wounded in a fray, and crawled + To Myra's Well--not knowing of the tale-- + And kneeled to slake his thirst, and bending low, + Saw her reproachful face, and seeing, died! + + Scarcely a bow-shot from poor Myra's Well, + Sheltered and hid by woods and undergrowth, + A low hut leans against gray-lichened rocks-- + Old Elpsie's home--beshunned by humankind-- + Of which strange stories had been gossiped 'round: + How fifty years ago, on Hallow-E'en, + At midnight, in a storm, a wayward youth + Losing his way had stumbled on the hut + And found it tenanted, and peeping in, + Beheld a sad-eyed maiden all alone + Reclining on a couch hard-by the fire! + How he had prayed admittance from the storm; + How pity beat the wall of prudence down; + And how he took advantage of her state; + And how she cursed him in her crazy shame, + And prayed God blast all issue of his loins + Until the wrong should be atoned in kind; + And how, as years ran by, though rarely seen, + The sad-eyed maid became a withered hag + And practised witchcraft and foul sorcery. + But whence she came, or who she was, or why + She was called Elpsie, none could say. They knew + Alone, for sure, that Farmer Holt had once, + Near to the graveyard, in the dead of night, + Seen by the moonlight, riding on a broom-- + Straight from the castle to the hut beyond-- + A form and face like Elpsie's, in the air-- + Scattering on all sides curses as she flew! + And people fearful were of meeting her, + And even feared to pass by Myra's Well. + + From the low thatch of Elpsie's hut upcurls + A smoke-wraith, dimly seen; beneath the eaves + Black shadows fall, save where a yellow gleam, + Dull and uncertain, from a crevice pours. + Low-pendant from a crane, within the hut, + A great black pot is simmering o'er a fire, + Whose flickering light bewrays a couch, a stool, + And, crouching by the fire, the tattered form + The matted hair, the parchment-wrinkled skin, + Of Elpsie--elbowing her knees, her jowl + Supported like a wedge between her palms-- + Crouching and swaying feebly back and forth-- + Her gaze intent upon the shifting scum + Or on the greenish vapor it exudes-- + The while her cracked voice croons uncannily: + + ELPSIE'S CROON. + + In the Halls of the Morvens the race-curse shall fail + When the Great Mountain heaves and comes down to the vale, + And the last of his race the Sin shall bewail. + + Black toad's liver, + Green snake's slime, + Hazel sliver, + Witches grime, + White-tipt tail of coal-black cat, + Rotted wing of vampire bat, + Were-wolf's tooth, and claw of rat, + Simmer! simmer! simmer! + + For the curse of the Morvens shall utterly die + When a Raven, at midnight, by moonlight, hard-by, + With the weight of a Forest shall easily fly. + + Maiden's fears and + Suitor's moans, + Dead girl's tears and + Warlock's groans, + Spirits' dust from witches' broom, + Drop of froth from madman's spume, + Ivy leaf from crack of doom, + Simmer! simmer! simmer! + + When the Tempter is weak beside Goodness and Grace, + And the Wrong is atoned in the very same place, + Then shall Happiness fall upon Morven's dark race. + + How comes Sir Bertram here at such a time? + And has his walk dispelled his phantasies? + Through the crisp night-air faintly booms a bell; + "'Tis from the castle. There is Myra's well! + Eleven o'clock--and still a mile from home! + And there is Elpsie's hut! What did she mean?" + And as he notes the dull outpouring light + The cranny grows more bright, and larger seems! + "What could that mean? A moment more would tell." + And then he hears the warlock's prophecy! + He peers within and sees, or seems to see, + A sweet and sad-eyed maiden all alone, + Reclining on a couch hard-by the fire! + He rubs his eyes, as dreaming, looks again-- + And sees an empty couch, dull flickering flames, + And toothless Elpsie rocking to and fro! + Then he remembers, with a start, that once-- + O, long ago!--he knows not when nor where-- + He had a dream, distinct and plain as this, + In which he saw this self-same sad-eyed maid + Upon the couch--and then the toothless hag! + And after that, beside a moss-grown well-- + Could that be Myra's?--kneeling on the curb, + Her golden hair half-silvered by the moon, + And violet eyes lit up by love divine, + His Ada--his! And then there came a mist + Which blotted from his mem'ry all the rest. + "Ten thousand limping devils! Could it be + The well had magic power?--That SHE had heard? + That SHE this night would test it?" Thus thought he; + "And then Old Elpsie's words--ne'er known to fail! + By all the Saints and Souls I'll wait and see!" + + From out the rear-door of the Farmer's house-- + The old folks long since gone, and fast asleep-- + Goes pretty Hettie. Once before this Eve + She went a short space hand-in-hand with John, + Both blindfold, to pull kail; but now alone: + Under her arm a bag half full of seed-- + Hemp-seed--the which at midnight she must sow, + And, looking back, will see the reaper come-- + Gathering the growing crop--her future spouse! + Scarce is she hid from view, when after her, + Steps forth sly John, a sickle in his hand! + Then, from the front, steals Ada, trembling one-- + Half startled at the shadows on the lawn-- + And takes the bridle-path t'ward Myra's well! + The wind sighs softly through the falling leaves, + And she sighs half responsively. The bark + Of distant hound sounds strangely near! The low + Of far-off cattle seems like near-by groan, + And sends strange shudders through her hurrying frame; + The rustle of the leaves, or snapping twig, + Makes her heart beat more quickly than a clock! + An hundred times before she sees the well + She clasps her rosary and says a prayer + And wishes she were home again once more-- + Yet hurries all the faster on her way! + And once a frightened hare dashed swift across + Her ghostly path, and shook with terror all + Her comely limbs! And once she saw two eyes-- + Two piercing eyes that sparkled, 'neath a bush, + And made her giddy till she signed the cross-- + And saw a great black cat flit fast away! + Strange shapes on either hand she seemed to see + Which gibed and waved long shadowy arms, and shook + Long threat'ning fingers at her! Once she thought + She saw, betwixt a tree-top and the moon, + A witches form with Elpsie's face, and heard, + Or thought she heard, harsh maledictions fall! + And once she slipt, and nearly fell with fright, + Upon a slimy, moving thing, that crawled! + And thrice she heard the dreaded were-wolf's howl! + And thrice a flame-eyed snake did hiss at her! + And thrice she heard the hooting of an owl! + Below, above, on all sides, sharp beset + With horrid shapes and phantasies and threats, + Which grew more numerous and portentious still + As she came nearer to the sacred well, + Until her limbs could scarcely bear her form, + And all her Faith seemed vanishing in fear, + And courage almost failed expectancy. + + At last, thank God, the sacred well in sight, + She kneels some minutes more, to tell her beads + And gather breath and strength and that repose + And fixity of purpose needed for + The coming test. Then rising, looking not + To right or left, she comes unto the well-- + An open space near by the sacred oak-- + And kneeling at the curb, with eyes uplift, + She addeth to her other prayers these words: + "O Sainted Myra, sanctified by death + And sorrows such as moved both Earth and Heaven; + O Sainted Myra, purified through tears + Of which this well bears witness night and day; + And thou, O Holy Mother, in whose heart + The erring find a wide-souled sympathy + And mediate help--O help me now I pray! + If this be sin, to wish to know the Truth-- + That Truth which fond hearts find within this well-- + Forgive the sin, and save me of thy grace!" + + Her pensive pose, her small claspt-hands, her hair + Like golden threads in silvery air bestirred, + The beauty of her angel face, her eyes + Lit with divine effulgence like twin stars, + Her trustful innocence and faith, would melt + A heart of stone to worship at her feet! + With outstretched arms and timid touch of curb-- + Thinking the time has come--she forward bends, + Looks down upon the glassy surface then-- + And as she looks, the startled air resounds + With clanging bell, which strikes the hour of twelve! + Now, Holy Mary, spare that lovely maid! + + What sees she there? At first the pool seems dark-- + A cloud perchance swift coursing o'er the moon-- + And, only dimly visible, A SHAPE! + But, as she looks, the shape grows clearer, till + She sees the image of Sir Bertram's face! + "O Bertram! dear Sir Bertram! God be thanked," + She cries, "that Bertram will be lord of me!" + And then she sees TWO faces in the well! + Her own, and his! An arm steals 'round her waist! + Startled, she turns, and swoons in Bertram's arms! + + He holds her close to his impassioned breast, + Kissing her hair and eyes and cheeks and mouth; + Then feels the beating of her fluttering heart, + And prays her to come back to life and him. + He chafes her small white hands and dainty limbs, + And, from the well, drops water on her brow; + But all in vain--so cold and still she lies, + Like living beauty sudden smit with death! + + "Fool that I was!" the anxious lover cries-- + "I have worked harm indeed by coming forth. + Thus oft we hurt the one we love most dear + And learn too late the folly of an hour!" + He lifts her gently in his loving arms, + And bears her easily to Elpsie's hut-- + No Elpsie there--the door wide open stands!-- + And lays her on the couch, renews the fire, + And on his bended knee by Ada's side + Regards her sadly and adoringly. + + Soon he perceives a tremor o'er her steal, + Swift fluttering of her breath, a sudden gasp, + A deep-drawn sigh, and then her eyes unclose-- + Her violet eyes so tender and so true, + Yet with a far-off-look between the lids-- + And gaze half mournfully at him. Then soft + And musical her low voice sounds again: + "My Bertram, mine, methought I had a dream, + And in that dream I lost thee--thou, my life! + And yet through all that dream, another dream, + In which thou madest me all thine own--thy wife-- + And rained soft kisses on my lips and brow, + And guarded me like Christ and all His Saints, + And held me safely to thy noble breast + Through all of good or ill-- + But thou art pale! + And on thy face swift shadows come and go! + Come, kiss me love! The night is cold, not thou! + For warm thy brown cheek is, as flesh and blood; + And now I feel thy sweet breath on my brow! + Are spirits all as palpable as thou?"-- + And then--half startled by the sudden doubt-- + "Where am I, Bertram?" + "Here upon my heart, + Thou best-beloved, secure and safe with him + Who is thyself from henceforth and for aye, + Whether for good or ill--but surely good; + Here, in old Elpsie's hut, near-by the well, + At which I found thee, and didst bring thee here + Frightened by sudden seeing of a face + That looked the love it owns!"-- + "O holy Saints! + O shame! what have I done?" poor Ada cries: + "It all comes back with harrowing circumstance, + Alas! to curse my mem'ry; woe is me!" + And here broke down with sudden storm of tears-- + Of tears and sighs! + "Nay, nay, dear heart"--he chides, + And clasps her close--"The churchmen hold it true + That all which rightly ends is justified. + I always loved thee, sweet, from the first day-- + But dared not wed--nor even woo a bride. + A curse is on our house. When yet a child + Old Elpsie told me how ancestral sin + Had brought it down from father unto son, + And thence to me. My grandsire died, unshriven, + By his own hand, 'tis said, beside this well; + And all his children died quite suddenly + By deaths almost as strange; and I alone + Am left--the last one of the line! Dare I + Bring misery and death to her I love-- + As I love thee?" + "Thou lovest me, Sir Knight, + A lowly maiden, in a forest lone? + Ah! honest love would make no chaffer thus! + Thou hintest what thy proud lips dare not say-- + Dallying like wanton bee about a flower! + Hath honor fled from man?" + "Nay, nay, mine own-- + Banish distrust and fear! The hand of fate + Is in our meeting--none, save she, to blame. + There is a moment in each being's life + On which that being's destiny doth hang-- + A moment fateful and all-pivotal; + For both of us that moment now has come! + Around the head of God a nimbus floats-- + 'Tis the divine effulgence of His Truth!-- + And all His Saints do borrow of that light; + And even men do share its guiding beams. + I ask thy hand in wedlock, lovely maid, + If thou wilt brave the curse with me." + "The curse! + Ten thousand curses would I risk with thee + As thy leal wife! To such a Knight as thou + My Bertram--my true Knight--no ill shall fall, + But, should it come, then let it fall on me! + Yet Heaven is kind, and Mary merciful-- + O Holy one, most merciful to me!" + + Sir Bertram saw sweet Ada safely home; + And, as he left her, from the near-by woods-- + His heart a-tremble with his happiness-- + He saw a light; 'twas Elpsie's hut in flames! + + * * * * * + + Beside the well now stands a cosy lodge + Sir Bertram built for Elpsie, and the hut, + Which heard their vows that night, exists no more. + Sir Bertram built a chapel on its site; + And thence, that coming Christmas, took his bride, + His lovely Ada, to her Castle-Home-- + The home of Morven the "Great Mountain," who + Had gone "down to the vale" to meet his love-- + Of Bertram, the "bright raven" who, with ease, + "By moonlight," in "mid-watches of the night," + Had carried Ada's form--a full-sized Holt-- + And "Holt" means "Forest" in our Saxon tongue. + + And when old Elpsie died, she left a will + Which told the wrong that Bertram's grandsire did + To her, the grand-aunt of his winsome bride-- + And left her dying blessing on the twain. + And she was buried in the chapel vault, + And prayers were said to save her soul from hell; + And often in the after-days they came: + Sir Bertram and his Lady with their sons + And daughters--and the Holts at times, with theirs-- + For John and Hettie now were parents too-- + And decked the tomb with sweet forget-me-nots; + And often lingered by poor Myra's Well. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Myra's Well, by George Francis Dawson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYRA'S WELL *** + +***** This file should be named 35411-8.txt or 35411-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/4/1/35411/ + +Produced by Heather Clark, Carla Foust, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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A Tale of All-Hallow-E'en, by George Francis Dawson. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + + +.fm2 {font-size: 125%; + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold; +} + +.fm3 {font-size: 100%; + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold; +} + +.fm4 {font-size: 90%; + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:30%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i11 {display: block; margin-left: 11em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i13 {display: block; margin-left: 13em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Myra's Well, by George Francis Dawson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Myra's Well + A Tale of All-Hallow-E'en + +Author: George Francis Dawson + +Release Date: February 26, 2011 [EBook #35411] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYRA'S WELL *** + + + + +Produced by Heather Clark, Carla Foust, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<h1>MYRA'S WELL.<br /> + +A TALE<br /> + +OF<br /> + +ALL-HALLOW-E'EN,</h1> + +<p><br /></p> +<p class="fm4">BY</p> + +<p class="fm2">GEORGE FRANCIS DAWSON.</p> + +<p><br /></p> +<p class="fm3">WASHINGTON:</p> +<p class="fm4">GIBSON BROS., PRINTERS</p> +<p class="fm3">1883.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="fm4">Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883,<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">By George Francis Dawson</span>,<br /> +<br /> +in the office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is the night of all nights of the year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When ghosts and warlocks haunt the troubled earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And disembodied spirits visit us—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spirits of good and evil from the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh from the angel hosts and from the damned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the vast profound betwixt the two;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spirits from living bodies, disenthralled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By blesséd sleep, or yearnings most intense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or by more subtle agencies beyond our ken—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bearing portentious messages to those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who in full faith the future would behold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The clear-cut radiance of a frosty moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lights up, and darkens, all the growth around.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The great trees stand out black against the stars.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wind in gusts bestirs the Autumn leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose late October tints are lost in gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or are grown pallid with their shivering;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose fitful rustlings are the only sounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which break the dead cold silence of the night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet hist! faint eerie tones are sometimes heard—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which blanch the cheek and palsy all the limbs—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like to the moaning of departed souls!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within the farm-house is a large high room<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unceiled, but studded thick with rafters old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grown black with age or smoke; around its walls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stiff hams and bacon-flitches dimly seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here and there the dim uncertain forms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of kitchen-ware and chairs and metal mugs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the low windows, half across the floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretch bands of moonlight flecked with shadowed leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which tremble till the moonlight seems to dance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside the fireplace stands some piled-up wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the great hearthstone opens cold and black;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the inner door, a chink of light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems but to make the dimness darker yet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The only sound the tick-tack of the clock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which serves to make the silence audible.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">High on the hill a lordly pile looks down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From its proud eminence and grand domain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the farm-house in the vale below.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Builded of marble, lofty, turretted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It looms beneath the moonlight o'er the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like some etherial castle in the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Limned in white alabaster, glistening, grand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unreal, weird, not made by mortal hands.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sudden, as one's wrapt gaze takes it in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It turns to gray, then vanishes!<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Yet, no!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis but a sudden cloud athwart the moon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within the castle, in a sumptuous room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sits young Sir Bertram Morven, all alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had been reading that sweet Persian tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of him who knocked at the beloved one's door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cried: "'Tis I, who loveth thee!" To whom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She, answering, said: "Thou canst not enter here!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how, a twelvemonth past, he knocked again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the beloved one asking: "Who art thou?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Replied: "It is thyself," and entered in.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dull flames at his feet leap fitfully,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lights and shadows sweep across his brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like thoughts of heaven and hell across the soul.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Back in Holt's farm-house what a change is there!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The raftered room is filled with light and sound!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From blackened hearth the joyful flames leap up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And roar and crackle through the piled-up logs!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On either side the old Holts sit and smile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betwixt them, circled, sit the younger ones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who laugh and chat, until the old man cries:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Be silent, children! Let us not forget<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ancient usage of our family:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The feast of Sah'm has come! The sacred fire—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Fire of Peace—is kindled on the hearth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All Hallowed One, whose warmth is like this fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which giveth joy and comfort to us all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be present with us in the coming storms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless us and keep us in the coming year!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereat the others, joining in: "O Thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all Thy Saints, protect us all the year!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the flames leap and crackle all the more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And roar a joyous answer to the prayer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">After a silence of a little space,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thoughts are busy with the by-gone days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The farmer speaks again: "Good wife," says he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"We know the Past, with all its ills and joys,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We need not rake its ashes o'er again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Present finds us hale and hearty yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blest in our children and our steadfast love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who would solve the Future in advance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath yet to learn the lessons of content.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But feasting on contentment is poor fare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What say you to some bread and cheese and beer?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, Ada, daughter, bring my long-stemmed pipe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, Hettie, niece, the apples and the nuts;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, John, my son, pile up more blazing logs!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A chilly tremor through my bones just ran,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if some enemy walked o'er my grave."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shadowy form, shrouded and hooded, bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With weight of years, and wickedness perchance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creeps slowly towards the glowing window-panes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And peers within. She sees the emptied mugs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pipes; the scattered hazel-husks, which tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tale of love-divining; in their chairs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old folks dozing. John and Hettie sit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most strangely near together! On the floor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stands Ada, beauteous maiden, all alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swaying most gracefully from side to side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With uplift hand and circling apple rind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which sudden drops and forms a doubtful B.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With blushing face and close-claspt hands, her eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Softened with yearning hope, are raised to where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moonlight strives to enter.<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Holy saints!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What is it ails the terror-stricken maid?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She "saw a face glued to the window-pane—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hideous face," she said, "which gibed, and seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mock, and threaten dire calamity—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And waving crutch, which beckoned her outside!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Tush, tush! my girl," the 'wakened farmer cries;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Twas but a fancy. Ho, John, go outside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, but to satisfy her, look around!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">John goes, and soon returns; he has "well searched<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet searched in vain; no mortal is in sight."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, reassured, the old man's mug is filled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His pipe re-lit; more wood piled on the fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as he craves it, Ada sings a song:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">ADA'S SONG.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">A noble knight 'mid lordly halls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dreams all his life away;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A lowly maid in cottage walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hard-by the rippling waterfalls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Permits her heart to stray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">His image mirrored in her heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heaven help thee, lowly maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So near and yet so far apart!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He tells his love. She doth not start,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor move, nor seem afraid!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"A gruesome gulf's between us spread"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She cries—"Sir Knight, beware!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fate spans that gulf with mystic thread<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So frail that only souls may tread—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Impalpable as air!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Like ancient Roc I'll wing my flight"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He whispers—"O, be mine!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll wing thee to my castle height<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wed thee, sweet!" She answers bright:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Then I, dear love, am thine!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The while she sang with more than human art—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her voice full-throbbing like a bird's—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She seemed to see a vision of the knight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seemed to be the maiden of the song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And half her heart expressed its love in words,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While all her soul beamed from her glorious eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, at the last, her rounded arms, outstretched,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed to embrace the hero of her song.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While Ada sings, what happens at the hall?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sir Bertram still sits gazing at the fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeing strange shapes and embered phantasies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come and depart and come again more strange,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While his set gaze grows painful, and his mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whirls with conflicting conscience and desire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he hath seen the beauteous, lovely maid—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loved her from the moment that he saw—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loved her, yet dared not wed, nor whisper love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now he seems to see her in her home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her golden tresses rippling o'er her brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her violet eyes, lit up with love's own light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turned full upon himself, O ravishment!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While her full-throated song enthralls his soul.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O love!" he cries, "Sweet love, be mine indeed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou pearl of beauty! goddess of my heart!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her outstretched arms appear to welcome him!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He raises his, to clasp her to his breast—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When lo, the vision vanishes! and loud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hoarse tower-bell clangs out the hour of ten!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He rises hastily and treads the floor.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What was it Elpsie croaked, as home he rode<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That very evening?—Elpsie, that old hag!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What devil had inspired her?—'Bertram, lad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere cock-crow this All-Hallow-E'en I see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy loved one swoon in thine enamored arms!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then she laughed uncannily and struck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her crutch against the lightning-blasted ash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mumbled, 'My revenge is come at last!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What could she mean? Impossible, to-night!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet when hath Elpsie prophesied in vain?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His heart beats fast, his blood begins to surge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His head to swim. "More air!" he cries; "more air!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A long brisk walk will shake these fancies off!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Meanwhile, the song grown silent at the farm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The egg-charm ended, and the molten-lead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And apple-bobbing done with; now they sit:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man snoring while the old dame nods—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The young ones telling stories of the Eve:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How Janet Smith last Hallow-E'en did see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er her left shoulder, after certain rites,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The face of John Smith, who soon married her;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how the mirror-test was good, no doubt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how the colewort's prophecies were sure;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how the hemp-seed test was surer still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But best of all, the image in the well!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stories which creep, and breed a shallow laugh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance, with inward shuddering and fear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until a sharp gust shakes the window-panes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in the grip of some strong shiv'ring hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with a start, the old folks wake again!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Good man, 'tis long past ten!" the old dame cries.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Well, well, good wife, the hours creep on apace—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sacred fire doth need replenishment—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we grow older, feebler, with the years;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soon must leave to younger, stronger hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The toils and troubles, and the joys, of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As now we yield to them this vigil strict;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another mug and pipe, and then, to bed!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The "image in the well!" What well? and where?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From farm and castle full a mile away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Near to an ancient tree—a Druid oak—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old well stands—its waters deep and pure—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its moss-grown stones much worn by age and use.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In olden days—so runs the legend—when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The good King Arthur and his chosen knights<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upheld the right, and lifted womanhood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By force of arms to heights almost divine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A recreant knight betrayed a gentle maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she, ashamed to let the thing be known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fled from her home, into the forest wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grieved and wept her very soul away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when she died—the tale is often told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the people there believe it true—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the hard earth, beside her, gushed a spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fed, as they say, by all the tears she shed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, on a day when Arthur passed that way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heard the story sad, he bade be walled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With masonry, "As monument," he said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"To teach all coming time that Mother Earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath more of heart and faith than recreant knight"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And named it "Myra's Well"—and passed along.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And later, when the false knight rode that way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was beset, dismounted, beaten, stripped,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sorely wounded in a fray, and crawled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Myra's Well—not knowing of the tale—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kneeled to slake his thirst, and bending low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw her reproachful face, and seeing, died!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Scarcely a bow-shot from poor Myra's Well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sheltered and hid by woods and undergrowth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A low hut leans against gray-lichened rocks—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Elpsie's home—beshunned by humankind—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of which strange stories had been gossiped 'round:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How fifty years ago, on Hallow-E'en,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At midnight, in a storm, a wayward youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Losing his way had stumbled on the hut<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And found it tenanted, and peeping in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beheld a sad-eyed maiden all alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reclining on a couch hard-by the fire!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How he had prayed admittance from the storm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How pity beat the wall of prudence down;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how he took advantage of her state;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how she cursed him in her crazy shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And prayed God blast all issue of his loins<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until the wrong should be atoned in kind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how, as years ran by, though rarely seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sad-eyed maid became a withered hag<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And practised witchcraft and foul sorcery.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But whence she came, or who she was, or why<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was called Elpsie, none could say. They knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone, for sure, that Farmer Holt had once,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Near to the graveyard, in the dead of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seen by the moonlight, riding on a broom—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Straight from the castle to the hut beyond—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A form and face like Elpsie's, in the air—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scattering on all sides curses as she flew!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And people fearful were of meeting her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And even feared to pass by Myra's Well.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From the low thatch of Elpsie's hut upcurls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A smoke-wraith, dimly seen; beneath the eaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Black shadows fall, save where a yellow gleam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dull and uncertain, from a crevice pours.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low-pendant from a crane, within the hut,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A great black pot is simmering o'er a fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose flickering light bewrays a couch, a stool,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, crouching by the fire, the tattered form<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The matted hair, the parchment-wrinkled skin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Elpsie—elbowing her knees, her jowl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Supported like a wedge between her palms—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crouching and swaying feebly back and forth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her gaze intent upon the shifting scum<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or on the greenish vapor it exudes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The while her cracked voice croons uncannily:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i6">ELPSIE'S CROON.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">In the Halls of the Morvens the race-curse shall fail<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the Great Mountain heaves and comes down to the vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the last of his race the Sin shall bewail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Black toad's liver,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Green snake's slime,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Hazel sliver,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Witches grime,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">White-tipt tail of coal-black cat,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rotted wing of vampire bat,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Were-wolf's tooth, and claw of rat,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Simmer! simmer! simmer!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">For the curse of the Morvens shall utterly die<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When a Raven, at midnight, by moonlight, hard-by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the weight of a Forest shall easily fly.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Maiden's fears and<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Suitor's moans,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Dead girl's tears and<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Warlock's groans,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Spirits' dust from witches' broom,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Drop of froth from madman's spume,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ivy leaf from crack of doom,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Simmer! simmer! simmer!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">When the Tempter is weak beside Goodness and Grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the Wrong is atoned in the very same place,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then shall Happiness fall upon Morven's dark race.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How comes Sir Bertram here at such a time?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And has his walk dispelled his phantasies?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the crisp night-air faintly booms a bell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis from the castle. There is Myra's well!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eleven o'clock—and still a mile from home!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there is Elpsie's hut! What did she mean?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as he notes the dull outpouring light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cranny grows more bright, and larger seems!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What could that mean? A moment more would tell."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then he hears the warlock's prophecy!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He peers within and sees, or seems to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sweet and sad-eyed maiden all alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reclining on a couch hard-by the fire!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He rubs his eyes, as dreaming, looks again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sees an empty couch, dull flickering flames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And toothless Elpsie rocking to and fro!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then he remembers, with a start, that once—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, long ago!—he knows not when nor where—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had a dream, distinct and plain as this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In which he saw this self-same sad-eyed maid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the couch—and then the toothless hag!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And after that, beside a moss-grown well—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could that be Myra's?—kneeling on the curb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her golden hair half-silvered by the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And violet eyes lit up by love divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Ada—his! And then there came a mist<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which blotted from his mem'ry all the rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Ten thousand limping devils! Could it be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The well had magic power?—That <span class="smcap">She</span> had heard?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That <span class="smcap">She</span> this night would test it?" Thus thought he;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"And then Old Elpsie's words—ne'er known to fail!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By all the Saints and Souls I'll wait and see!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From out the rear-door of the Farmer's house—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old folks long since gone, and fast asleep—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes pretty Hettie. Once before this Eve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She went a short space hand-in-hand with John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both blindfold, to pull kail; but now alone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under her arm a bag half full of seed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hemp-seed—the which at midnight she must sow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, looking back, will see the reaper come—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gathering the growing crop—her future spouse!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce is she hid from view, when after her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steps forth sly John, a sickle in his hand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, from the front, steals Ada, trembling one—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half startled at the shadows on the lawn—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And takes the bridle-path t'ward Myra's well!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wind sighs softly through the falling leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she sighs half responsively. The bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of distant hound sounds strangely near! The low<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of far-off cattle seems like near-by groan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sends strange shudders through her hurrying frame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rustle of the leaves, or snapping twig,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes her heart beat more quickly than a clock!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An hundred times before she sees the well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She clasps her rosary and says a prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wishes she were home again once more—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet hurries all the faster on her way!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And once a frightened hare dashed swift across<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her ghostly path, and shook with terror all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her comely limbs! And once she saw two eyes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two piercing eyes that sparkled, 'neath a bush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made her giddy till she signed the cross—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And saw a great black cat flit fast away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange shapes on either hand she seemed to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which gibed and waved long shadowy arms, and shook<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long threat'ning fingers at her! Once she thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She saw, betwixt a tree-top and the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A witches form with Elpsie's face, and heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or thought she heard, harsh maledictions fall!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And once she slipt, and nearly fell with fright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a slimy, moving thing, that crawled!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thrice she heard the dreaded were-wolf's howl!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thrice a flame-eyed snake did hiss at her!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thrice she heard the hooting of an owl!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Below, above, on all sides, sharp beset<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With horrid shapes and phantasies and threats,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which grew more numerous and portentious still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As she came nearer to the sacred well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until her limbs could scarcely bear her form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all her Faith seemed vanishing in fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And courage almost failed expectancy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At last, thank God, the sacred well in sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She kneels some minutes more, to tell her beads<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gather breath and strength and that repose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fixity of purpose needed for<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The coming test. Then rising, looking not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To right or left, she comes unto the well—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An open space near by the sacred oak—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kneeling at the curb, with eyes uplift,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She addeth to her other prayers these words:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O Sainted Myra, sanctified by death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sorrows such as moved both Earth and Heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Sainted Myra, purified through tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of which this well bears witness night and day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou, O Holy Mother, in whose heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The erring find a wide-souled sympathy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mediate help—O help me now I pray!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If this be sin, to wish to know the Truth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Truth which fond hearts find within this well—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgive the sin, and save me of thy grace!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her pensive pose, her small claspt-hands, her hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like golden threads in silvery air bestirred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beauty of her angel face, her eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lit with divine effulgence like twin stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her trustful innocence and faith, would melt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heart of stone to worship at her feet!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With outstretched arms and timid touch of curb—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thinking the time has come—she forward bends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks down upon the glassy surface then—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as she looks, the startled air resounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With clanging bell, which strikes the hour of twelve!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, Holy Mary, spare that lovely maid!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What sees she there? At first the pool seems dark—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cloud perchance swift coursing o'er the moon—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, only dimly visible, <span class="smcap">A SHAPE</span>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, as she looks, the shape grows clearer, till<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She sees the image of Sir Bertram's face!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O Bertram! dear Sir Bertram! God be thanked,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She cries, "that Bertram will be lord of me!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then she sees TWO faces in the well!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her own, and his! An arm steals 'round her waist!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Startled, she turns, and swoons in Bertram's arms!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He holds her close to his impassioned breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kissing her hair and eyes and cheeks and mouth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then feels the beating of her fluttering heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And prays her to come back to life and him.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He chafes her small white hands and dainty limbs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, from the well, drops water on her brow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all in vain—so cold and still she lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like living beauty sudden smit with death!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Fool that I was!" the anxious lover cries—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I have worked harm indeed by coming forth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus oft we hurt the one we love most dear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And learn too late the folly of an hour!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lifts her gently in his loving arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bears her easily to Elpsie's hut—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No Elpsie there—the door wide open stands!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lays her on the couch, renews the fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on his bended knee by Ada's side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Regards her sadly and adoringly.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soon he perceives a tremor o'er her steal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swift fluttering of her breath, a sudden gasp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A deep-drawn sigh, and then her eyes unclose—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her violet eyes so tender and so true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet with a far-off-look between the lids—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gaze half mournfully at him. Then soft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And musical her low voice sounds again:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"My Bertram, mine, methought I had a dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in that dream I lost thee—thou, my life!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet through all that dream, another dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In which thou madest me all thine own—thy wife—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rained soft kisses on my lips and brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And guarded me like Christ and all His Saints,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And held me safely to thy noble breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through all of good or ill—<br /></span> +<span class="i10">But thou art pale!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on thy face swift shadows come and go!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, kiss me love! The night is cold, not thou!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For warm thy brown cheek is, as flesh and blood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now I feel thy sweet breath on my brow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are spirits all as palpable as thou?"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then—half startled by the sudden doubt—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Where am I, Bertram?"<br /></span> +<span class="i8">"Here upon my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou best-beloved, secure and safe with him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who is thyself from henceforth and for aye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether for good or ill—but surely good;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, in old Elpsie's hut, near-by the well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At which I found thee, and didst bring thee here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frightened by sudden seeing of a face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That looked the love it owns!"—<br /></span> +<span class="i11">"O holy Saints!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O shame! what have I done?" poor Ada cries:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"It all comes back with harrowing circumstance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! to curse my mem'ry; woe is me!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here broke down with sudden storm of tears—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of tears and sighs!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Nay, nay, dear heart"—he chides,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clasps her close—"The churchmen hold it true<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That all which rightly ends is justified.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I always loved thee, sweet, from the first day—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But dared not wed—nor even woo a bride.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A curse is on our house. When yet a child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Elpsie told me how ancestral sin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had brought it down from father unto son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thence to me. My grandsire died, unshriven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By his own hand, 'tis said, beside this well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all his children died quite suddenly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By deaths almost as strange; and I alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Am left—the last one of the line! Dare I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bring misery and death to her I love—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I love thee?"<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Thou lovest me, Sir Knight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lowly maiden, in a forest lone?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! honest love would make no chaffer thus!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hintest what thy proud lips dare not say—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dallying like wanton bee about a flower!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath honor fled from man?"<br /></span> +<span class="i8">"Nay, nay, mine own—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Banish distrust and fear! The hand of fate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is in our meeting—none, save she, to blame.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a moment in each being's life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On which that being's destiny doth hang—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment fateful and all-pivotal;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For both of us that moment now has come!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around the head of God a nimbus floats—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis the divine effulgence of His Truth!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all His Saints do borrow of that light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And even men do share its guiding beams.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I ask thy hand in wedlock, lovely maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If thou wilt brave the curse with me."<br /></span> +<span class="i13">"The curse!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten thousand curses would I risk with thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As thy leal wife! To such a Knight as thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Bertram—my true Knight—no ill shall fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, should it come, then let it fall on me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet Heaven is kind, and Mary merciful—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Holy one, most merciful to me!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sir Bertram saw sweet Ada safely home;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as he left her, from the near-by woods—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His heart a-tremble with his happiness—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw a light; 'twas Elpsie's hut in flames!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beside the well now stands a cosy lodge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sir Bertram built for Elpsie, and the hut,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which heard their vows that night, exists no more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sir Bertram built a chapel on its site;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thence, that coming Christmas, took his bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lovely Ada, to her Castle-Home—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The home of Morven the "Great Mountain," who<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had gone "down to the vale" to meet his love—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Bertram, the "bright raven" who, with ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"By moonlight," in "mid-watches of the night,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had carried Ada's form—a full-sized Holt—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And "Holt" means "Forest" in our Saxon tongue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when old Elpsie died, she left a will<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which told the wrong that Bertram's grandsire did<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To her, the grand-aunt of his winsome bride—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And left her dying blessing on the twain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she was buried in the chapel vault,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And prayers were said to save her soul from hell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And often in the after-days they came:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sir Bertram and his Lady with their sons<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And daughters—and the Holts at times, with theirs—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For John and Hettie now were parents too—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And decked the tomb with sweet forget-me-nots;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And often lingered by poor Myra's Well.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Myra's Well, by George Francis Dawson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYRA'S WELL *** + +***** This file should be named 35411-h.htm or 35411-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/4/1/35411/ + +Produced by Heather Clark, Carla Foust, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Myra's Well + A Tale of All-Hallow-E'en + +Author: George Francis Dawson + +Release Date: February 26, 2011 [EBook #35411] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYRA'S WELL *** + + + + +Produced by Heather Clark, Carla Foust, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + MYRA'S WELL. + + A TALE + + OF + + ALL-HALLOW-E'EN, + + BY + + GEORGE FRANCIS DAWSON. + + + WASHINGTON: + GIBSON BROS., PRINTERS + 1883. + + + + + Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, + + BY GEORGE FRANCIS DAWSON, + + in the office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. + + + + +MYRA'S WELL. + +A Tale of All-Hallow-E'en. + + + It is the night of all nights of the year, + When ghosts and warlocks haunt the troubled earth, + And disembodied spirits visit us-- + Spirits of good and evil from the dead, + Fresh from the angel hosts and from the damned, + And from the vast profound betwixt the two; + Spirits from living bodies, disenthralled + By blessed sleep, or yearnings most intense, + Or by more subtle agencies beyond our ken-- + Bearing portentious messages to those + Who in full faith the future would behold. + + The clear-cut radiance of a frosty moon + Lights up, and darkens, all the growth around. + The great trees stand out black against the stars. + The wind in gusts bestirs the Autumn leaves, + Whose late October tints are lost in gloom, + Or are grown pallid with their shivering; + Whose fitful rustlings are the only sounds + Which break the dead cold silence of the night. + Yet hist! faint eerie tones are sometimes heard-- + Which blanch the cheek and palsy all the limbs-- + Like to the moaning of departed souls! + + Within the farm-house is a large high room + Unceiled, but studded thick with rafters old, + Grown black with age or smoke; around its walls + Stiff hams and bacon-flitches dimly seen; + And here and there the dim uncertain forms + Of kitchen-ware and chairs and metal mugs; + From the low windows, half across the floor, + Stretch bands of moonlight flecked with shadowed leaves + Which tremble till the moonlight seems to dance; + Beside the fireplace stands some piled-up wood, + But the great hearthstone opens cold and black; + Beneath the inner door, a chink of light + Seems but to make the dimness darker yet; + The only sound the tick-tack of the clock, + Which serves to make the silence audible. + + High on the hill a lordly pile looks down + From its proud eminence and grand domain + Upon the farm-house in the vale below. + Builded of marble, lofty, turretted, + It looms beneath the moonlight o'er the trees + Like some etherial castle in the skies, + Limned in white alabaster, glistening, grand, + Unreal, weird, not made by mortal hands. + But sudden, as one's wrapt gaze takes it in, + It turns to gray, then vanishes! + Yet, no! + 'Tis but a sudden cloud athwart the moon. + + Within the castle, in a sumptuous room, + Sits young Sir Bertram Morven, all alone. + He had been reading that sweet Persian tale + Of him who knocked at the beloved one's door + And cried: "'Tis I, who loveth thee!" To whom + She, answering, said: "Thou canst not enter here!" + And how, a twelvemonth past, he knocked again, + And the beloved one asking: "Who art thou?" + Replied: "It is thyself," and entered in. + The dull flames at his feet leap fitfully, + And lights and shadows sweep across his brow, + Like thoughts of heaven and hell across the soul. + + Back in Holt's farm-house what a change is there! + The raftered room is filled with light and sound! + From blackened hearth the joyful flames leap up, + And roar and crackle through the piled-up logs! + On either side the old Holts sit and smile; + Betwixt them, circled, sit the younger ones, + Who laugh and chat, until the old man cries: + "Be silent, children! Let us not forget + The ancient usage of our family: + The feast of Sah'm has come! The sacred fire-- + The Fire of Peace--is kindled on the hearth! + All Hallowed One, whose warmth is like this fire, + Which giveth joy and comfort to us all, + Be present with us in the coming storms, + Bless us and keep us in the coming year!" + Whereat the others, joining in: "O Thou, + And all Thy Saints, protect us all the year!" + While the flames leap and crackle all the more, + And roar a joyous answer to the prayer. + + After a silence of a little space, + When thoughts are busy with the by-gone days, + The farmer speaks again: "Good wife," says he, + "We know the Past, with all its ills and joys, + We need not rake its ashes o'er again. + The Present finds us hale and hearty yet, + Blest in our children and our steadfast love. + He who would solve the Future in advance + Hath yet to learn the lessons of content. + But feasting on contentment is poor fare, + What say you to some bread and cheese and beer? + And, Ada, daughter, bring my long-stemmed pipe; + And, Hettie, niece, the apples and the nuts; + And, John, my son, pile up more blazing logs! + A chilly tremor through my bones just ran, + As if some enemy walked o'er my grave." + A shadowy form, shrouded and hooded, bent + With weight of years, and wickedness perchance, + Creeps slowly towards the glowing window-panes, + And peers within. She sees the emptied mugs + And pipes; the scattered hazel-husks, which tell + A tale of love-divining; in their chairs + The old folks dozing. John and Hettie sit + Most strangely near together! On the floor + Stands Ada, beauteous maiden, all alone, + Swaying most gracefully from side to side + With uplift hand and circling apple rind, + Which sudden drops and forms a doubtful B. + With blushing face and close-claspt hands, her eyes, + Softened with yearning hope, are raised to where + The moonlight strives to enter. + Holy saints! + What is it ails the terror-stricken maid? + + She "saw a face glued to the window-pane-- + A hideous face," she said, "which gibed, and seemed + To mock, and threaten dire calamity-- + And waving crutch, which beckoned her outside!" + "Tush, tush! my girl," the 'wakened farmer cries; + "Twas but a fancy. Ho, John, go outside, + And, but to satisfy her, look around!" + John goes, and soon returns; he has "well searched + Yet searched in vain; no mortal is in sight." + So, reassured, the old man's mug is filled; + His pipe re-lit; more wood piled on the fire; + And, as he craves it, Ada sings a song: + + + ADA'S SONG. + + A noble knight 'mid lordly halls + Dreams all his life away; + A lowly maid in cottage walls, + Hard-by the rippling waterfalls, + Permits her heart to stray. + + His image mirrored in her heart-- + Heaven help thee, lowly maid, + So near and yet so far apart!-- + He tells his love. She doth not start, + Nor move, nor seem afraid! + + "A gruesome gulf's between us spread"-- + She cries--"Sir Knight, beware! + Fate spans that gulf with mystic thread + So frail that only souls may tread-- + Impalpable as air!" + + "Like ancient Roc I'll wing my flight"-- + He whispers--"O, be mine! + I'll wing thee to my castle height + And wed thee, sweet!" She answers bright: + "Then I, dear love, am thine!" + + The while she sang with more than human art-- + Her voice full-throbbing like a bird's-- + She seemed to see a vision of the knight, + And seemed to be the maiden of the song, + And half her heart expressed its love in words, + While all her soul beamed from her glorious eyes, + And, at the last, her rounded arms, outstretched, + Seemed to embrace the hero of her song. + + While Ada sings, what happens at the hall? + Sir Bertram still sits gazing at the fire, + Seeing strange shapes and embered phantasies + Come and depart and come again more strange, + While his set gaze grows painful, and his mind + Whirls with conflicting conscience and desire; + For he hath seen the beauteous, lovely maid-- + And loved her from the moment that he saw-- + Loved her, yet dared not wed, nor whisper love; + And now he seems to see her in her home, + Her golden tresses rippling o'er her brow, + Her violet eyes, lit up with love's own light, + Turned full upon himself, O ravishment! + While her full-throated song enthralls his soul. + "O love!" he cries, "Sweet love, be mine indeed-- + Thou pearl of beauty! goddess of my heart!" + Her outstretched arms appear to welcome him! + He raises his, to clasp her to his breast-- + When lo, the vision vanishes! and loud + The hoarse tower-bell clangs out the hour of ten! + + He rises hastily and treads the floor. + "What was it Elpsie croaked, as home he rode + That very evening?--Elpsie, that old hag! + What devil had inspired her?--'Bertram, lad, + Ere cock-crow this All-Hallow-E'en I see + Thy loved one swoon in thine enamored arms!' + And then she laughed uncannily and struck + Her crutch against the lightning-blasted ash, + And mumbled, 'My revenge is come at last!' + What could she mean? Impossible, to-night! + Yet when hath Elpsie prophesied in vain?" + His heart beats fast, his blood begins to surge, + His head to swim. "More air!" he cries; "more air! + A long brisk walk will shake these fancies off!" + + Meanwhile, the song grown silent at the farm; + The egg-charm ended, and the molten-lead + And apple-bobbing done with; now they sit: + The old man snoring while the old dame nods-- + The young ones telling stories of the Eve: + How Janet Smith last Hallow-E'en did see + O'er her left shoulder, after certain rites, + The face of John Smith, who soon married her; + And how the mirror-test was good, no doubt; + And how the colewort's prophecies were sure; + And how the hemp-seed test was surer still; + But best of all, the image in the well!-- + Stories which creep, and breed a shallow laugh + Perchance, with inward shuddering and fear-- + Until a sharp gust shakes the window-panes, + As in the grip of some strong shiv'ring hand, + And, with a start, the old folks wake again! + "Good man, 'tis long past ten!" the old dame cries. + "Well, well, good wife, the hours creep on apace-- + The sacred fire doth need replenishment-- + And we grow older, feebler, with the years; + And soon must leave to younger, stronger hands, + The toils and troubles, and the joys, of life, + As now we yield to them this vigil strict; + Another mug and pipe, and then, to bed!" + + The "image in the well!" What well? and where? + From farm and castle full a mile away, + Near to an ancient tree--a Druid oak-- + The old well stands--its waters deep and pure-- + Its moss-grown stones much worn by age and use. + In olden days--so runs the legend--when + The good King Arthur and his chosen knights + Upheld the right, and lifted womanhood + By force of arms to heights almost divine-- + A recreant knight betrayed a gentle maid, + And she, ashamed to let the thing be known, + Fled from her home, into the forest wild, + And grieved and wept her very soul away. + And when she died--the tale is often told + And all the people there believe it true-- + From the hard earth, beside her, gushed a spring, + Fed, as they say, by all the tears she shed-- + Which, on a day when Arthur passed that way, + And heard the story sad, he bade be walled + With masonry, "As monument," he said, + "To teach all coming time that Mother Earth + Hath more of heart and faith than recreant knight"-- + And named it "Myra's Well"--and passed along. + And later, when the false knight rode that way, + He was beset, dismounted, beaten, stripped, + And sorely wounded in a fray, and crawled + To Myra's Well--not knowing of the tale-- + And kneeled to slake his thirst, and bending low, + Saw her reproachful face, and seeing, died! + + Scarcely a bow-shot from poor Myra's Well, + Sheltered and hid by woods and undergrowth, + A low hut leans against gray-lichened rocks-- + Old Elpsie's home--beshunned by humankind-- + Of which strange stories had been gossiped 'round: + How fifty years ago, on Hallow-E'en, + At midnight, in a storm, a wayward youth + Losing his way had stumbled on the hut + And found it tenanted, and peeping in, + Beheld a sad-eyed maiden all alone + Reclining on a couch hard-by the fire! + How he had prayed admittance from the storm; + How pity beat the wall of prudence down; + And how he took advantage of her state; + And how she cursed him in her crazy shame, + And prayed God blast all issue of his loins + Until the wrong should be atoned in kind; + And how, as years ran by, though rarely seen, + The sad-eyed maid became a withered hag + And practised witchcraft and foul sorcery. + But whence she came, or who she was, or why + She was called Elpsie, none could say. They knew + Alone, for sure, that Farmer Holt had once, + Near to the graveyard, in the dead of night, + Seen by the moonlight, riding on a broom-- + Straight from the castle to the hut beyond-- + A form and face like Elpsie's, in the air-- + Scattering on all sides curses as she flew! + And people fearful were of meeting her, + And even feared to pass by Myra's Well. + + From the low thatch of Elpsie's hut upcurls + A smoke-wraith, dimly seen; beneath the eaves + Black shadows fall, save where a yellow gleam, + Dull and uncertain, from a crevice pours. + Low-pendant from a crane, within the hut, + A great black pot is simmering o'er a fire, + Whose flickering light bewrays a couch, a stool, + And, crouching by the fire, the tattered form + The matted hair, the parchment-wrinkled skin, + Of Elpsie--elbowing her knees, her jowl + Supported like a wedge between her palms-- + Crouching and swaying feebly back and forth-- + Her gaze intent upon the shifting scum + Or on the greenish vapor it exudes-- + The while her cracked voice croons uncannily: + + ELPSIE'S CROON. + + In the Halls of the Morvens the race-curse shall fail + When the Great Mountain heaves and comes down to the vale, + And the last of his race the Sin shall bewail. + + Black toad's liver, + Green snake's slime, + Hazel sliver, + Witches grime, + White-tipt tail of coal-black cat, + Rotted wing of vampire bat, + Were-wolf's tooth, and claw of rat, + Simmer! simmer! simmer! + + For the curse of the Morvens shall utterly die + When a Raven, at midnight, by moonlight, hard-by, + With the weight of a Forest shall easily fly. + + Maiden's fears and + Suitor's moans, + Dead girl's tears and + Warlock's groans, + Spirits' dust from witches' broom, + Drop of froth from madman's spume, + Ivy leaf from crack of doom, + Simmer! simmer! simmer! + + When the Tempter is weak beside Goodness and Grace, + And the Wrong is atoned in the very same place, + Then shall Happiness fall upon Morven's dark race. + + How comes Sir Bertram here at such a time? + And has his walk dispelled his phantasies? + Through the crisp night-air faintly booms a bell; + "'Tis from the castle. There is Myra's well! + Eleven o'clock--and still a mile from home! + And there is Elpsie's hut! What did she mean?" + And as he notes the dull outpouring light + The cranny grows more bright, and larger seems! + "What could that mean? A moment more would tell." + And then he hears the warlock's prophecy! + He peers within and sees, or seems to see, + A sweet and sad-eyed maiden all alone, + Reclining on a couch hard-by the fire! + He rubs his eyes, as dreaming, looks again-- + And sees an empty couch, dull flickering flames, + And toothless Elpsie rocking to and fro! + Then he remembers, with a start, that once-- + O, long ago!--he knows not when nor where-- + He had a dream, distinct and plain as this, + In which he saw this self-same sad-eyed maid + Upon the couch--and then the toothless hag! + And after that, beside a moss-grown well-- + Could that be Myra's?--kneeling on the curb, + Her golden hair half-silvered by the moon, + And violet eyes lit up by love divine, + His Ada--his! And then there came a mist + Which blotted from his mem'ry all the rest. + "Ten thousand limping devils! Could it be + The well had magic power?--That SHE had heard? + That SHE this night would test it?" Thus thought he; + "And then Old Elpsie's words--ne'er known to fail! + By all the Saints and Souls I'll wait and see!" + + From out the rear-door of the Farmer's house-- + The old folks long since gone, and fast asleep-- + Goes pretty Hettie. Once before this Eve + She went a short space hand-in-hand with John, + Both blindfold, to pull kail; but now alone: + Under her arm a bag half full of seed-- + Hemp-seed--the which at midnight she must sow, + And, looking back, will see the reaper come-- + Gathering the growing crop--her future spouse! + Scarce is she hid from view, when after her, + Steps forth sly John, a sickle in his hand! + Then, from the front, steals Ada, trembling one-- + Half startled at the shadows on the lawn-- + And takes the bridle-path t'ward Myra's well! + The wind sighs softly through the falling leaves, + And she sighs half responsively. The bark + Of distant hound sounds strangely near! The low + Of far-off cattle seems like near-by groan, + And sends strange shudders through her hurrying frame; + The rustle of the leaves, or snapping twig, + Makes her heart beat more quickly than a clock! + An hundred times before she sees the well + She clasps her rosary and says a prayer + And wishes she were home again once more-- + Yet hurries all the faster on her way! + And once a frightened hare dashed swift across + Her ghostly path, and shook with terror all + Her comely limbs! And once she saw two eyes-- + Two piercing eyes that sparkled, 'neath a bush, + And made her giddy till she signed the cross-- + And saw a great black cat flit fast away! + Strange shapes on either hand she seemed to see + Which gibed and waved long shadowy arms, and shook + Long threat'ning fingers at her! Once she thought + She saw, betwixt a tree-top and the moon, + A witches form with Elpsie's face, and heard, + Or thought she heard, harsh maledictions fall! + And once she slipt, and nearly fell with fright, + Upon a slimy, moving thing, that crawled! + And thrice she heard the dreaded were-wolf's howl! + And thrice a flame-eyed snake did hiss at her! + And thrice she heard the hooting of an owl! + Below, above, on all sides, sharp beset + With horrid shapes and phantasies and threats, + Which grew more numerous and portentious still + As she came nearer to the sacred well, + Until her limbs could scarcely bear her form, + And all her Faith seemed vanishing in fear, + And courage almost failed expectancy. + + At last, thank God, the sacred well in sight, + She kneels some minutes more, to tell her beads + And gather breath and strength and that repose + And fixity of purpose needed for + The coming test. Then rising, looking not + To right or left, she comes unto the well-- + An open space near by the sacred oak-- + And kneeling at the curb, with eyes uplift, + She addeth to her other prayers these words: + "O Sainted Myra, sanctified by death + And sorrows such as moved both Earth and Heaven; + O Sainted Myra, purified through tears + Of which this well bears witness night and day; + And thou, O Holy Mother, in whose heart + The erring find a wide-souled sympathy + And mediate help--O help me now I pray! + If this be sin, to wish to know the Truth-- + That Truth which fond hearts find within this well-- + Forgive the sin, and save me of thy grace!" + + Her pensive pose, her small claspt-hands, her hair + Like golden threads in silvery air bestirred, + The beauty of her angel face, her eyes + Lit with divine effulgence like twin stars, + Her trustful innocence and faith, would melt + A heart of stone to worship at her feet! + With outstretched arms and timid touch of curb-- + Thinking the time has come--she forward bends, + Looks down upon the glassy surface then-- + And as she looks, the startled air resounds + With clanging bell, which strikes the hour of twelve! + Now, Holy Mary, spare that lovely maid! + + What sees she there? At first the pool seems dark-- + A cloud perchance swift coursing o'er the moon-- + And, only dimly visible, A SHAPE! + But, as she looks, the shape grows clearer, till + She sees the image of Sir Bertram's face! + "O Bertram! dear Sir Bertram! God be thanked," + She cries, "that Bertram will be lord of me!" + And then she sees TWO faces in the well! + Her own, and his! An arm steals 'round her waist! + Startled, she turns, and swoons in Bertram's arms! + + He holds her close to his impassioned breast, + Kissing her hair and eyes and cheeks and mouth; + Then feels the beating of her fluttering heart, + And prays her to come back to life and him. + He chafes her small white hands and dainty limbs, + And, from the well, drops water on her brow; + But all in vain--so cold and still she lies, + Like living beauty sudden smit with death! + + "Fool that I was!" the anxious lover cries-- + "I have worked harm indeed by coming forth. + Thus oft we hurt the one we love most dear + And learn too late the folly of an hour!" + He lifts her gently in his loving arms, + And bears her easily to Elpsie's hut-- + No Elpsie there--the door wide open stands!-- + And lays her on the couch, renews the fire, + And on his bended knee by Ada's side + Regards her sadly and adoringly. + + Soon he perceives a tremor o'er her steal, + Swift fluttering of her breath, a sudden gasp, + A deep-drawn sigh, and then her eyes unclose-- + Her violet eyes so tender and so true, + Yet with a far-off-look between the lids-- + And gaze half mournfully at him. Then soft + And musical her low voice sounds again: + "My Bertram, mine, methought I had a dream, + And in that dream I lost thee--thou, my life! + And yet through all that dream, another dream, + In which thou madest me all thine own--thy wife-- + And rained soft kisses on my lips and brow, + And guarded me like Christ and all His Saints, + And held me safely to thy noble breast + Through all of good or ill-- + But thou art pale! + And on thy face swift shadows come and go! + Come, kiss me love! The night is cold, not thou! + For warm thy brown cheek is, as flesh and blood; + And now I feel thy sweet breath on my brow! + Are spirits all as palpable as thou?"-- + And then--half startled by the sudden doubt-- + "Where am I, Bertram?" + "Here upon my heart, + Thou best-beloved, secure and safe with him + Who is thyself from henceforth and for aye, + Whether for good or ill--but surely good; + Here, in old Elpsie's hut, near-by the well, + At which I found thee, and didst bring thee here + Frightened by sudden seeing of a face + That looked the love it owns!"-- + "O holy Saints! + O shame! what have I done?" poor Ada cries: + "It all comes back with harrowing circumstance, + Alas! to curse my mem'ry; woe is me!" + And here broke down with sudden storm of tears-- + Of tears and sighs! + "Nay, nay, dear heart"--he chides, + And clasps her close--"The churchmen hold it true + That all which rightly ends is justified. + I always loved thee, sweet, from the first day-- + But dared not wed--nor even woo a bride. + A curse is on our house. When yet a child + Old Elpsie told me how ancestral sin + Had brought it down from father unto son, + And thence to me. My grandsire died, unshriven, + By his own hand, 'tis said, beside this well; + And all his children died quite suddenly + By deaths almost as strange; and I alone + Am left--the last one of the line! Dare I + Bring misery and death to her I love-- + As I love thee?" + "Thou lovest me, Sir Knight, + A lowly maiden, in a forest lone? + Ah! honest love would make no chaffer thus! + Thou hintest what thy proud lips dare not say-- + Dallying like wanton bee about a flower! + Hath honor fled from man?" + "Nay, nay, mine own-- + Banish distrust and fear! The hand of fate + Is in our meeting--none, save she, to blame. + There is a moment in each being's life + On which that being's destiny doth hang-- + A moment fateful and all-pivotal; + For both of us that moment now has come! + Around the head of God a nimbus floats-- + 'Tis the divine effulgence of His Truth!-- + And all His Saints do borrow of that light; + And even men do share its guiding beams. + I ask thy hand in wedlock, lovely maid, + If thou wilt brave the curse with me." + "The curse! + Ten thousand curses would I risk with thee + As thy leal wife! To such a Knight as thou + My Bertram--my true Knight--no ill shall fall, + But, should it come, then let it fall on me! + Yet Heaven is kind, and Mary merciful-- + O Holy one, most merciful to me!" + + Sir Bertram saw sweet Ada safely home; + And, as he left her, from the near-by woods-- + His heart a-tremble with his happiness-- + He saw a light; 'twas Elpsie's hut in flames! + + * * * * * + + Beside the well now stands a cosy lodge + Sir Bertram built for Elpsie, and the hut, + Which heard their vows that night, exists no more. + Sir Bertram built a chapel on its site; + And thence, that coming Christmas, took his bride, + His lovely Ada, to her Castle-Home-- + The home of Morven the "Great Mountain," who + Had gone "down to the vale" to meet his love-- + Of Bertram, the "bright raven" who, with ease, + "By moonlight," in "mid-watches of the night," + Had carried Ada's form--a full-sized Holt-- + And "Holt" means "Forest" in our Saxon tongue. + + And when old Elpsie died, she left a will + Which told the wrong that Bertram's grandsire did + To her, the grand-aunt of his winsome bride-- + And left her dying blessing on the twain. + And she was buried in the chapel vault, + And prayers were said to save her soul from hell; + And often in the after-days they came: + Sir Bertram and his Lady with their sons + And daughters--and the Holts at times, with theirs-- + For John and Hettie now were parents too-- + And decked the tomb with sweet forget-me-nots; + And often lingered by poor Myra's Well. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Myra's Well, by George Francis Dawson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYRA'S WELL *** + +***** This file should be named 35411.txt or 35411.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/4/1/35411/ + +Produced by Heather Clark, Carla Foust, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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