THE RING.1 A TALE. Annulus ille viri,—Ovid. Amor. lib. ii. eleg. 15. THE happy day at length arrived And take her to his bed. As soon as morn was in the sky, In many a sweet device of mirth Disported through the bowers, head With motley bridal flowers. And fearing he might break the gem, 1 I should be sorry to think that my friend had any serious intentions of frightening the nursery by this story: I rather hope-though the manner of it leads me to doubt-that his design was to ridicule that di-tempered taste which prefers those monsters of the fancy to the speciosa miracula' of true poetic imagination. Upon its marble finger then And now the tennis sports went Young Rupert for his wedding-ring The hand was closed upon the ring How sore surprised was Rupert's As well his mind might be ; When none are here to see.' He went unto the feast, and much mean So very strange a thing! The feast was o'er, and to the court But mark a stranger wonder still- He searched the base, and all the court, I find, by a note in the manuscript, that he met with this story in a German author, Fromman upon Fascination, book iii. part vi. chap. 18. On consulting the work, I perceive that Fromman quotes it from Beluacensis, among many other stories equally diabolical and inte resting. And now the priest has joined their And all the night the demon lay hands, The hours of love advance ! Rupert almost forgets to think Upon the morn's mischance. Within the bed fair Isabel In blushing sweetness lay, Cold-chilling by his side, And strained him with such deadly grasp, He thought he should have died! But when the dawn of day was near, The horrid phantom fled, Like flowers half-opened by the dawn, And left the affrighted youth to weep And waiting for the day. And Rupert, by her lovely side, Like Phoebus, when he bends to cast And here my song should leave them both, Nor let the rest be told, Soon Rupert, 'twixt his bride and him, He started up, and then returned, But found the phantom still; In vain he shrunk, it clipped him round, With damp and deadly chill! And when he bent, the earthy lips A kiss of horror gave; 'Twas like the smell from charnel vaults, Or from the mouldering grave! Ill-fated Rupert, wild and loud Thou criedst to thy wife, 'Oh! save me from this horrid fiend, My Isabel! my life!' But Isabel had nothing seen, She looked around in vain ; And much she mourned the mad conceit That racked her Rupert's brain. At length from this invisible These words to Rupert came; (Oh God! while he did hear the words, What terrors shook his frame !) 'Husband! husband! I've the ring By Isabel in bed. All, all that day a gloomy cloud But strove to cheer her spouse. And, as the day advanced, he thought At length the second night arrived Again their couch they pressed; But oh! when midnight came, again In agony of wild despair, He started from the bed; 'Oh Isabel! dost thou not see 'No, no, my love! my Rupert, I No shape of horrors see; That keeps my dear from me!' This night, just like the night before, When your lip has met mine, in abandonment sweet, Have we felt as if virtue forbid it ? Have we felt as if Heaven denied them to meet ? No, rather 'twas Heaven that did it! So innocent, love! is the pleasure we sip, So little of guilt is there in it, That I wish all my errors were lodged on your lip, And I'd kiss them away in a minute! Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed, And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven, I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of Heaven, And, oh! when we lie on our death-bed, my love! A sigh from my Bessy shall plead them above, |