MARY-ANN was the darling of Aix-la-Chapelle ;
She bore through its province, unenvied, the belle;
The joy of her fellows, her parents' delight;
So kind was her soul, and her beauty so bright:
No maiden surpass'd, or perhaps ever can,
Of Aix-la-Chapelle the beloved Mary-Ann.

Her form it was faultless, unaided by art;
And frank her demeanour, as guileless her heart;
Her soft melting eyes a sweet langour bedeck'd,
And youth's gawdy bloom was by love lightly check'd;
On her mien had pure nature bestow'd her best grace,
And her mind stood confess'd in the charms of her face.

I

Though with suitors beset, yet her Leopold knew,
As her beauty was matchless, her heart it was true,
So fearless he went to the wars; while the maid,
Her fears for brave Leopold often betray'd:
Full oft, in the gloom of the churchyard reclined,
Would she pour
forth her sorrows and vows to the wind.

—“ Ah me!”—would she sigh, in a tone that would melt The heart that one spark of true love ever felt;

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—“ Ah me!”—would she sigh-" past and gone is the day,

-

"When my father was plighted to give me away!

My fancy, what sad gloomy presage appalls? "Ah! sure on the Danube my Leopold falls !".

One evening so gloomy, when only the owl
(A tempest impending) would venture to prowl;
Mary-Ann, whose delight was in sadness and gloom,
By a newly-made grave sat her down on a tomb;
But ere she to number her sorrows began,

Lo! out of the grave jump'd a Little Grey Man!

His hue it was deadly, his eyes they were ghast;
Long and pale were his fingers, that held her arm fast;—
She shriek'd a loud shriek, so affrighted was she;

And grimly he scowl'd, as he jump'd on her knee.
With a voice that dismay'd her—" The Danube!"—he cried;
"There Leopold bleeds! Mary-Ann is my bride!"-

She shrunk, all appall'd, and she gazed all around; She closed her sad eyes, and she sunk on the ground: The Little Grey Man he resumed his discourse-"Tomorrow I take thee, for better, for worse:"At midnight my arms shall thy body entwine, "Or this newly-made grave, Mary Ann, shall be thine!'

With fear and with fright did the maid look around,
When she first dared to raise her sad eyes from the ground;
With fear and with fright gazed the poor Mary-Ann,
Though lost to her sight was the Little Grey Man:
With fear and with fright from the churchyard she fled;
Reach'd her home, now so welcome, and sunk on her bed.

-"Woe is me!"-did she cry-" that I ever was born! "Was ever poor maiden so lost and forlorn!

"Must that Little Grey Man, then, my body entwine, "Or the grave newly dug for another be mine? "Shall I wait for to-morrow's dread midnight?—ah no! "To my Leopold's arms-to the Danube I go!".

Then up rose the maiden, so sore woe-begone,
'And her Sunday's apparel in haste she put on;
Her close studded boddice of velvet so new;
Her coat of fine scarlet, and kirtle of blue;
Her ear-rings of jet; all so costly; and last,
Her long cloak of linsey, to guard from the blast.

A cross

of

pure gold, her fond mother's bequest,

By a still dearer riband she hung at her breast;

Round a bodkin of silver she bound her long hair,
In plaits and in tresses so comely and fair,

'Twould have gladden'd your heart, ere her journey began,
To have gazed on the tidy and trim Mary-Ann.

But, oh! her sad bosom such sorrows oppress'd,

Such fears and forebodings, as robb'd her of rest;
Forlorn as she felt, so forlorn must she go,

And brave the rough tempest, the hail, and the snow!
Yet still she set forth, all so pale and so wan-
Let a tear drop of pity for poor Mary-Ann!

Dark, dark was the night, and the

way it was rude

While the Little Grey Man on her thoughts would obtrude;
She wept as she thought on her long gloomy way;
She turn'd, and she yet saw the lights all so gay:

She kiss'd now her cross, as she heard the last bell;
And a long, long adieu bade to Aix-la-Chapelle.

Through the brown wood of Limbourg with caution she paced; Ere the noon of the morrow she traversed the waste;

She mounted the hills of St. Bertrand so high;

And the day it declined, as the heath she drew nigh;
And she rested a wide-waving alder beneath,

And paused on the horrors of Sombermond's heath:

For there, in black groups (by the law 'tis imposed),.
Are the bodies of fell malefactors exposed,

On wheels and on gibbets, on crosses and poles,

With a charge to the passing, to pray for their souls:
But a spot of such terror no robbers infest,

And there the faint pilgrim securely may rest,

prayer;

Sore fatigued, the sad maid knelt, and said a short
She bound up her tresses, that flow'd in the air:
Again she set forth, and sped slowly along ;
And her steps tried to cheer, but in vain, with a song:
In her thoughts all so gloomy, sad presages ran,
Of Leopold now, now the Little Grey Man.

The moon dimly gleam'd as she enter❜d the plain;
The winds swept the clouds rolling on to the main;
For a hut e'er so wretched in vain she look'd round ;
No tree promised shelter, no bed the cold ground:
Her limbs they now faulter'd, her courage all fled,
As a faint beam display'd the black groups of the dead,

Shrill whistled the wind through the skulls, and the blast
Scared the yet greedy bird from its glutting repast;
From the new-rack'd assassin the raven withdrew,
But croak'd round the wheel still, and heavily flew;
While vultures, more daring, intent on their prey,
Tore the flesh from the sinews, yet reeking away.