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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"
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!
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.
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:
When the Great Mountain heaves and comes down to the vale,
And the last of his race the Sin shall bewail.
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!
When a Raven, at midnight, by moonlight, hard-by,
With the weight of a Forest shall easily fly.
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!
And the Wrong is atoned in the very same place,
Then shall Happiness fall upon Morven's dark race.
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