But Jeannie said, “John, thou shall
do no murder.”
To which he answer’d,
“I will not do so;”
Then bounded off as though he had not
heard her,
And reached a fording-place,
but not so low
As where Groze cross’d, and who
had now got further
Than John would have thought
possible, although
He’d a good-horse, and nearly half
an hour
In start—but now the clouds
began to lower.
Now Fitzadree’s good charger was
all mettle,
And soon won to the middle
of the stream—
But then the sky grew black as a tea kettle;
It rained, too, quite as fast
as ever steam
Rose. But the thing which did at
last unsettle
The balance of John’s
steed, was what you’ll deem
A being that was nearly supernatural—
But here the waves John’s clothes
began to spatter all.
A form rose up from out the waves’
abyss—
A monstrous little man with
a black hide,
Scarce four feet high, yet he was not
remiss,
But dash’d the waves
about—and then he cried,
With a demoniac laugh, or rather hiss,
“Die, mortal, die!”
and John sank down and died,
The which, when Jeannie saw, she only
sigh’d,
“I come, my John, I come, to be
thy bride.”
The figure was the Kelpie—that
she knew,
And madly she rush’d
on towards the shore;
The Kelpie roar’d, “Come,
mortal, come thou too.”
Ere he’d done speaking,
Jeannie was no more;
She’d dash’d into the waves,
and left no clue,
More than a steamer leaves
just left the Nore,
By which you might discover where she
lay,
And drag her upwards to the realms of
day.
But what befel the cause of all these
woes?
That’s what I never
heard, so cannot tell;
But this I know, that this same Richard
Groze
Return’d no more to
bonnie Scotland. Well,
I only hope he may in bed repose,
And that he may at last escape
from hell.
And this I know, that if you do not smother
This poem, when I choose I’ll write
another.
J.S.
* * * * *
SUGAR AND WATER CRITICISM.
In one of the critiques on the last Monthly Magazine, some verses by Mrs. Hemans are said to be “elegant and lady-like.”
* * * * *
THE SKETCH BOOK
A DAY AT ST. CLOUD.
September 24, 1826.
I walked up gravely to the
window in my dusty black coat, and
looking through the glass,
saw all the world in yellow, blue,
and green, running at the
ring of pleasure.—STERNE.