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قراءة كتاب Myra's Well: A Tale of All-Hallow-E'en
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 2
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:
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.
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!
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!"
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!"
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.
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!
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!"
"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 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?