Page:Lancashire Legends, Traditions, Pageants, Sports, Etc., with an Appendix Containing a Rare Tract.djvu/68

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"'O mother dear! what bodes that speech
From yonder iron tongue?'
''Tis but the rude, rude blast, my love,
That idle bell hath swung.'

"Upon the rattling casement still
The beating rain fell fast,
"When creeping fingers, wandering thrice,
Across that window passed.

"'O mother dear! what means that sound
Upon the lattice nigh?'
''Tis but the cold, cold arrowy sleet,
That hurtles in the sky.'

"The blast was still—a pause more dread
Ne'er terror felt—when, lo!
An armed footstep on the stair
Clanked heavily and slow.
 
"Up flew the latch and tirling pin;
Wide swung the grated door;
Then came a solemn, stately tread
Upon the quaking floor!

"A shudder through the building ran,
A chill and icy blast;
A moan, as tho' in agony
Some viewless spirit passed.
 
"'O mother dear, my heart is froze,
My limbs are stark and cold:'
Her mother spake not, for again
That turret-bell hath tolled.
 
"Three days passed by; at eventide
There came an aged man;
He bent him low before the dame,
His wrinkled cheek was wan,
 
"'Now speak, thou evil messenger,
Thy biddings show to me.'
That aged man nor look vouchsafed,
Nor ever a word spake he.