The warrior was O’Donoghue; he was followed by numberless youths and maidens, who moved lightly and unconstrained over the watery plain, as the moonlight fairies glide through the fields of air; they were linked together by garlands of delicious spring flowers, and they timed their movements to strains of enchanting melody.  When O’Donoghue had nearly reached the western side of the lake, he suddenly turned his steed, and directed his course along the wood-fringed shore of Glenaa, preceded by the huge wave that curled and foamed up as high as the horse’s neck, whose fiery nostrils snorted above it.  The long train of attendants followed with playful deviations the track of their leader, and moved on with unabated fleetness to their celestial music, till gradually, as they entered the narrow strait between Glenaa and Dinis, they became involved in the mists which still partially floated over the lake, and faded from the view of the wondering beholders:  but the sound of their music still fell upon the ear, and echo, catching up the harmonious strains, fondly repeated and prolonged them in soft and softer tones, till the last faint repetition died away, and the hearers awoke as from a dream of bliss.

LVI

SARAH POLGRAIN

By WILLIAM HUNT

A woman, who had lived in Ludgvan, was executed at Bodmin for the murder of her husband.  There was but little doubt that she had been urged on to the diabolical deed by a horse-dealer, known as Yorkshire Jack, with whom, for a long period, she was generally supposed to have been criminally acquainted.

Now, it will be remembered that this really happened within the present century.  One morning, during my residence in Penzance, an old woman from Ludgvan called on me with some trifling message.  While she was waiting for my answer, I made some ordinary remark about the weather.

“It’s all owing to Sarah Polgrain,” said she.

“Sarah Polgrain,” said I; “and who is Sarah Polgrain?”

Then the voluble old lady told me the whole story of the poisoning with which we need not, at present, concern ourselves.  By and by the tale grew especially interesting, and there I resume it.

Sarah had begged that Yorkshire Jack might accompany her to the scaffold when she was led forth to execution.  This was granted; and on the dreadful morning there stood this unholy pair, the fatal beam on which the woman’s body was in a few minutes to swing, before them.

They kissed each other, and whispered words passed between them.

The executioner intimated that the moment of execution had arrived, and that they must part.  Sarah Polgrain, looking earnestly into the man’s eyes, said: 

“You will?”

Yorkshire Jack replied, “I will!” and they separated.  The man retired amongst the crowd, the woman was soon a dead corpse, pendulating in the wind.