"Hence, old fanatic, from my sight!
What means this senseless whine?
I pray thee mind thine own affairs,
Let me attend to mine."

"Alas, my son! the generous spark
That warm'd thy tender mind
Is now extinct, and malice keen
Is only left behind.

"How canst thou rend that aged heart

That yearns thy woes to share? Thou still hast been my only grief, My only hope and care.

"Ere I had been one month a bride,
Of joy I took farewell;

With Craigie, on the banks of Sark,
Thy valiant father fell.

"I nurs'd thee on my tender breast, With mickle care and pain;

And saw, with pride, thy heart expand, Without one sordid stain.

"With joy, each night, I saw thee kneel Before the throne of grace;

And on thy Saviour's blessed day
Frequent his holy place.

"But all is gone! the vespers sweet

Which from our castle rose Are silent now, and sullen pride In hand with envy goes!

"Thy wedded wife has sway'd thy hear
To pride and passion fell;
O! for thy pretty children's sake,
Renounce that path of hell.

"Then stay at home, my only son!
O with thy mother stay!
Or tell me what thou goest about,
That for thee I may pray."

He turn'd about, and hasted out,
And for his horse did call;
"An hundred fiends my patience rend
But thou excell'st them all."

She slipt beneath his saddle lap
A book of psalms and pray'rs,
And hasten'd to yon ancient fane,
To listen what was there.

And when she came to yon kirk-yard, Where graves are green and low, She saw full thirty coal-black steeds All standing in a row.

Her Willie's was the tallest steed,
"Twixt Dee and Annan whole;
But plac'd beside that mighty rank,
He kyth'd but like a foal.

She laid her hand upon his side;
Her heart grew cold as stone!
The cold sweat ran from every hair,
He trembled every bone!

She laid her hand upon the next,
His bulky side to stroke,

An' ay she reach'd, and ay she stretch'd-
Was nothing all but smoke.

It was a mere delusive form

Of films and sulphry wind;

And every wave she gave her hand
A gap was left behind.

She pass'd through all those stately steeds,
Yet nothing marr'd her way,
And left her shape in every shade,
For all their proud array

But whiles she felt a glowing heat,
Though mutt'ring holy prayer;
And filmy veils assail'd her face,
And stifling brimstone air.

Then for her darling desperate grown,
Straight to the aisle she flew;

But what she saw, and what she heard,
No mortal ever knew.

But yells, and moans, and heavy groans,
And blackest blasphemye,

Did fast abound; for every hound

Of hell seem'd there to be.

And after many a horrid rite,
And sacrifice profane,

"A book! a book!" they loudly howl'd; "Our spells are all in vain.

"Hu! tear him, tear him limb from limb," Resounded through the pile,

"Hu! tear him, tear him straight, for he Has mocked us all this while."

The tender matron, desperate grown,
Then shriek'd most bitterlye:
"O spare my son, and take my life,
The book was lodged by me."

"Ha! that's my frantic mother's voice! My life or peace must end:

O take her! take her !" loud he cried, "Take her, and spare thy friend!"

The riot rout then sallied out,
Like hounds upon their prey;
And gathered round her in the aisle
With many a hellish bray.

Each angry shade endeavours made
Their fangs in blood to stain,
But all their efforts to be felt
Were impotent and vain

Whether the wretched mortal there

His filial hands imbrued,

Or if the ruler of the sky

The scene with pity view'd

And sent the streaming bolt of heaven,
Ordained to interpose,

To take her life, and save her soul,
From these infernal foes,

No man can tell, how it befell;
Inquiry all was vain;

But thence she never more returned,
She there that night was slain.

And Willie Wilkin's noble steed
Lay stiff upon the green.
A night so dire in Annandale
Before had never been!