y cunning Dogs indeed!

Back thro' the hall she bent her way;
All, all was solitude around!
The candle shed a feeble ray,----
Tho' a large mould of four to th' pound.

Full closely to the fire she drew;
Adown her cheek a salt tear stole;
When, lo! a coffin out there flew,
And in her apron burnt a hole!

Spiders their busy death-watch tick'd;
A certain sign that Fate will frown;
The clumsy kitchen clock, too, click'd,
A certain sign it was not down.

More strong and strong her terrors rose;--
Her shadow did the maid appal;--
She tremble'd at her lovely nose,--
It look'd so long against the wall.

Up to her chamber, damp and cold,
She climb'd Lord Hoppergollop's stair;--
Three stories high--long, dull, and old,--
As great Lords' stories often are.

All Nature now appear'd to pause:
And "o'er the one half world seem'd dead;"
No "curtain'd sleep" had she;----because
She had no curtains to her bed.

List'ning she lay;--with iron din,
The clock struck _Twelve_; the door flew wide;
When Thomas, grimly, glided in,
With little Bobtail by his side.

Tall, like the poplar, was his size,
Green, green his waistcoat was, as leeks;
Red, red as beet-root, were his eyes;
Pale, pale as turnips, were his cheeks!

Soon as the Spectre she espied,
The fear-struck damsel faintly said,
"What wou'd my Thomas?"--he replied,
"Oh! Molly Dumpling! I am dead.

"All in the flower of youth I fell,
Cut off with health's full blossom crown'd;
I was not ill--but in a well
I tumble'd backwards, and was drown'd.

"Four fathom deep thy love doth lie:
His faithful dog his fate doth share;
We're Fiends;--this is not he and I;
We are not _here_,--for we are _there_.

"Yes;--two foul Water-Fiends are we;
Maid of the Moor!--attend us now!
Thy hour's at hand;--we come for thee!"
The little Fiend-Cur said "bow wow!"

"To wind her in her cold, cold grave,
A Holland sheet a maiden likes;
A sheet of water thou shalt have;
Such sheets there are in Holland Dykes."

The Fiends approach; the Maid did shrink;
Swift thro' the night's foul air they spin;
They took her to the green well's brink,
And, with a souse, they plump'd her in.

So true the fair, so true the youth,
Maids, to this day, their story tell:
And hence the proverb rose, that Truth
Lies in the b