spreads the fearsome fact, by rumour blown,
That the doom’d cottage is the bailiff’s own!
Round and around the howling daemons glide,
Whilst the fierce leader scales the vine-clad side;
The frantic wind its horrid wail renews,
And mutters madly through the lifeless yews.
In the frail house the bailiff calmly waits
The rav’ning horde, and trusts th’ impartial Fates,
But the wan wife revives with curious mien
Another monster and an older scene;
Amidst th’ increasing wind that rocks the walls,
The dame to him the serpent’s deed recalls:
Then as a nameless thought fills both their minds,
The bare-fang’d leader crashes through the blinds.
Across the room, with murd’rous fury rife,
Leaps the mad wolf, and seizes on the wife;
With strange intent he drags his shrieking prey
Close to the spot where once the coffin lay.
Wilder and wilder roars the mounting gale
That sweeps the hills and hurtles through the vale;
The ill-made cottage shakes, the pack without
Dance with new fury in demoniac rout.
Quick as his thought, the valiant bailiff stands
Above the wolf, a weapon in his hands;
The ready ax that served a year before,
Now serves as well to slay one monster more.
The creature drops inert, with shatter’d head,
Full on the floor, and silent as the dead;
The rescu’d wife recalls the dire alarms,
And faints from terror in her husband’s arms.
But as he holds her, all the cottage quakes,
And with full force the titan tempest breaks:
Down crash the walls, and o’er their shrinking forms
Burst the mad revels of the storm of storms.
Th’ encircling wolves advance with ghastly pace,
Hunger and murder in each gleaming face,
But as they close, from out the hideous night
Flashes a bolt of unexpected light:
The vivid scene to ev’ry eye appears,
And peasants shiver with returning fears.
Above the wreck the scatheless chimney stays,
Its outline glimm’ring in the fitful rays,
Whilst o’er the hearth still hangs the household shrine,
The Saviour’s image and the Cross divine!
Round the blest spot a lambent radiance glows,
And shields the cotters from their stealthy foes:
Each monstrous creature marks the wondrous glare,
Drops, fades, and vanishes in empty air!
The village train with startled eyes adore,
And count their beads in rev’rence o’er and o’er.
Now fades the light, and dies the raging blast,
The hour of dread and reign of horror past.
Pallid and bruis’d, from out his toppled walls
The panting bailiff with his good wife crawls:
Kind hands attend them, whilst o’er all the town
A strange sweet peace of spirit settles down.
Wonder and fear are still’d in soothing sleep,
As through the breaking clouds the moon rays peep.
Here paus’d the prattling grandam in her speech,
Confus’d with age, the tale half out of reach;
The list’ning guest, impatient for a clue,
Fears ’tis not one tale, but a blend of two;
He fain would know how far’d the widow’d lord
Whose eerie ways th’ initial theme afford,
And marvels that the crone so quick should slight
His fate, to babble of the wolf-rack’d night.
The old wife, press’d, for greater clearness strives,
Nods wisely, and her scatter’d wits revives;
Yet strangely lingers on her latter tale
Of wolf and bailiff, miracle and gale.
When (quoth the crone) the dawn’s bright radiance bath’d
Th’ eventful scene, so late in terror swath’d,
The chatt’ring churls that sought the ruin’d cot
Found a new marvel in the gruesome spot.
From fallen walls a trail of gory red,
As of the stricken wolf, erratic led;
O’er road and mead the new-dript crimson wound,
Till lost amidst the neighb’ring swampy ground:
With wonder unappeas’d the peasants burn’d,
For what the quicksand takes is ne’er return’d.
Once more the grandam, with a knowing eye,
Stops in her tale, to watch a hawk soar by;
The weary list’ner, baffled, seeks anew
For some plain statement, or enlight’ning
That the doom’d cottage is the bailiff’s own!
Round and around the howling daemons glide,
Whilst the fierce leader scales the vine-clad side;
The frantic wind its horrid wail renews,
And mutters madly through the lifeless yews.
In the frail house the bailiff calmly waits
The rav’ning horde, and trusts th’ impartial Fates,
But the wan wife revives with curious mien
Another monster and an older scene;
Amidst th’ increasing wind that rocks the walls,
The dame to him the serpent’s deed recalls:
Then as a nameless thought fills both their minds,
The bare-fang’d leader crashes through the blinds.
Across the room, with murd’rous fury rife,
Leaps the mad wolf, and seizes on the wife;
With strange intent he drags his shrieking prey
Close to the spot where once the coffin lay.
Wilder and wilder roars the mounting gale
That sweeps the hills and hurtles through the vale;
The ill-made cottage shakes, the pack without
Dance with new fury in demoniac rout.
Quick as his thought, the valiant bailiff stands
Above the wolf, a weapon in his hands;
The ready ax that served a year before,
Now serves as well to slay one monster more.
The creature drops inert, with shatter’d head,
Full on the floor, and silent as the dead;
The rescu’d wife recalls the dire alarms,
And faints from terror in her husband’s arms.
But as he holds her, all the cottage quakes,
And with full force the titan tempest breaks:
Down crash the walls, and o’er their shrinking forms
Burst the mad revels of the storm of storms.
Th’ encircling wolves advance with ghastly pace,
Hunger and murder in each gleaming face,
But as they close, from out the hideous night
Flashes a bolt of unexpected light:
The vivid scene to ev’ry eye appears,
And peasants shiver with returning fears.
Above the wreck the scatheless chimney stays,
Its outline glimm’ring in the fitful rays,
Whilst o’er the hearth still hangs the household shrine,
The Saviour’s image and the Cross divine!
Round the blest spot a lambent radiance glows,
And shields the cotters from their stealthy foes:
Each monstrous creature marks the wondrous glare,
Drops, fades, and vanishes in empty air!
The village train with startled eyes adore,
And count their beads in rev’rence o’er and o’er.
Now fades the light, and dies the raging blast,
The hour of dread and reign of horror past.
Pallid and bruis’d, from out his toppled walls
The panting bailiff with his good wife crawls:
Kind hands attend them, whilst o’er all the town
A strange sweet peace of spirit settles down.
Wonder and fear are still’d in soothing sleep,
As through the breaking clouds the moon rays peep.
Here paus’d the prattling grandam in her speech,
Confus’d with age, the tale half out of reach;
The list’ning guest, impatient for a clue,
Fears ’tis not one tale, but a blend of two;
He fain would know how far’d the widow’d lord
Whose eerie ways th’ initial theme afford,
And marvels that the crone so quick should slight
His fate, to babble of the wolf-rack’d night.
The old wife, press’d, for greater clearness strives,
Nods wisely, and her scatter’d wits revives;
Yet strangely lingers on her latter tale
Of wolf and bailiff, miracle and gale.
When (quoth the crone) the dawn’s bright radiance bath’d
Th’ eventful scene, so late in terror swath’d,
The chatt’ring churls that sought the ruin’d cot
Found a new marvel in the gruesome spot.
From fallen walls a trail of gory red,
As of the stricken wolf, erratic led;
O’er road and mead the new-dript crimson wound,
Till lost amidst the neighb’ring swampy ground:
With wonder unappeas’d the peasants burn’d,
For what the quicksand takes is ne’er return’d.
Once more the grandam, with a knowing eye,
Stops in her tale, to watch a hawk soar by;
The weary list’ner, baffled, seeks anew
For some plain statement, or enlight’ning
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