ld,
My locks are frore, and my bones ice cold.
The wolf will howl as I pass his lair,
The ban-dog moan, and the screech-owl stare.
For breath, at my coming, the sleeper strains,
And the freezing current forsakes his veins!
Vainly for pity the wretch may sue--
Merciless Mara no prayers subdue!
_To his couch I flit--
On his breast I sit!
Astride! astride! astride!
And one charm alone
--A hollow stone!--[23]
Can scare me from his side!_

A thousand antic shapes I take;
The stoutest heart at my touch will quake.
The miser dreams of a bag of gold,
Or a ponderous chest on his bosom rolled.
The drunkard groans 'neath a cask of wine;
The reveller swelts 'neath a weighty chine.
The recreant turns, by his foes assailed,
To flee!--but his feet to the ground are nailed.
The goatherd dreams of his mountain-tops,
And, dizzily reeling, downward drops.

The murderer feels at his throat a knife,
And gasps, as his victim gasped, for life!
The thief recoils from the scorching brand;
The mariner drowns in sight of land!
Thus sinful man have I power to fray,
Torture, and rack, but not to slay!
But ever the couch of purity,
With shuddering glance, I hurry by.
_Then mount! away!
To horse! I say,
To horse! astride! astride!
The fire-drake shoots--
The screech-owl hoots--
As through the air I glide!_

_CHAPTER III_

_THE CHURCHYARD_

Methought I walked, about the mid of night,
Into a churchyard.

WEBSTER: _The White Devil_.

Lights streamed through the chancel window as the sexton entered the
churchyard, darkly defining all the ramified tracery of the noble Gothic
arch, and illumining the gorgeous dyes of its richly-stained glass,
profusely decorated with the armorial bearings of the founder of the
fane, and the many alliances of his descendants. The sheen of their
blazonry gleamed bright in the darkness, as if to herald to his last
home another of the line whose achievements it displayed. Glowing
colorings, checkered like rainbow tints, were shed upon the broken
leaves