[THE
DARK LADYE,
INTENDED AS A SEQUEL TO MR. COLERIDGE'S
FRAGMENTARY TALE, ENTITLED
LOVE.]

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[Introduction]

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It was one stormy evening in April, 1813, that this Fragment was written, though it has never before been published; I thought it a pity that so interesting a tale as the one which suggested these Stanzas should remain unfinished and as Mr COLERIDGE would not conclude it himself, I presumed to do so for him. Had it been an idea of my own, I should rather have told a tale of Man's constancy, than of his perfidy; but the Knight was to be perfidious, and, of course I adhered to my text.

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THE
DARK LADYE,
INTENDED AS A SEQUEL TO MR. COLERIDGE'S
FRAGMENTARY TALE, ENTITLED
LOVE.

---

	THE night is dark! the wind is high!
	The rain now falls in torrents fast—
	And swiftly through the clouded sky
	The Spirits ride upon the blast!

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	But, though without the wild winds rage,
	I yet enjoy this stormy eve,
	For thou dost all my soul engage,
	My wife! my love! my Genevieve!

	Attend, attend, thou lovely fair,
	While I pursue the promised theme,
	For I will now to thee declare
	The fate of the maid of Morven's stream.

	Though loud the wind, yet shall my song
	High o'er the whistling gusts prevail,
	For thee I will the strain prolong,
	Now listen to the rueful tale.

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	Fair as the snow on Andes' height,
	Was Margaret's lovely bosom seen,
	Her tresses shone like morning light,
	And Grace attended on her mien.

	Oh! what with Margaret's smile could vie,
	When Joy rehearsed the tale of Mirth?
	How genuine was the maiden's sigh
	For every sorrowing child of earth!

	Blessing, and blest, stole on her days,
	Until there came to the maiden's bower
	A Knight, who had heard the fair-one's praise,
	Sir Edwin, of the Highland Tower:

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	He saw, he loved, as all had done,
	Whoe'er fair Margaret had viewed,
	But none the fair-one's love had won,
	Her youthful heart had none subdued!

	Alas! this Knight of the Highland Tower
	Was deeply versed in guileful art,
	He wooed the maiden in her bower,
	And, oh! he won the maiden's heart.

	She loved him, how she loved him! Heaven,
	Pure as thy light was Margaret's soul,
	Unmixed with Guilt's destroying leaven,
	Love ruled her heart without control.

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	Radiant with beauty was her face,
	Her mind of Virtue was the throne,
	Nor could she think her love was base,
	Or that a vice his heart could own;

	But, ah! Sir Edwin's perjured mind
	Thirsted for gold, as well as love,
	To av'rice was he so inclined,
	He riches prized, all worth above.

	It chanced, that near fair Margaret's bower
	There dwelt a lovely high-born dame,
	She saw Sir Edwin of the Tower,
	Her bosom felt Love's potent flame:

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	She lured him to her castle-hall,
	Then kindly said, with witching smile,
	"Now rest thy steed within his stall,
	Sir Knight, thou'lt here abide awhile."

	Before him spread was costly cheer,
	New wishes in his bosom stole,
	The minstrels' music pleased his ear,
	And Beauty's glance inflamed his soul.

	"Come, now, Sir Knight," the Lady cried,
	"I'll shew thee a scene if thou'lt follow me,"
	(And the Lady's cheek then glowed with pride)
	"As shall delight thine eye to see!"

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	She led him to a turret's height,
	"See'st thou, Sir Knight, yon waving wood,
	The boundary of the aching sight,
	That may be thine, for aye and good."

	"That bounds my lands, so fair and wide,—
	If thou to possess them dost incline,
	But take me for thy willing bride,
	And all, without delay, are thine."

	Forgot was the Maid of Morven's stream,
	Or he stifled, at least, Reflection's sigh,
	Ere sunk in the main was the Sun's last beam,
	He wedded the heiress of Glenfinlie!

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	Sweet Margaret heard! her cheek grew pale,
	No tear bedew'd her azure eye,
	Nor told she her griefs to the passing gale,
	Yet heaved she then the heartfelt sigh:

	And never the maiden smiled again,
	Her mien was clouded o'er with woe,
	Her heart felt all dire Misery's pain,
	She sank beneath the cruel blow.

	No more the snood, of gayest hue,
	Confined her radiant locks of gold,
	The sombre robes that to Grief are due,
	Alone her graceful form infold.

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	She wandered oft to the rugged rock,
	'Gainst which the streams of Morven beat,
	She loved to feel the billowy shock
	That shook her craggy seat.

	One eve, as in the glowing west,
	The orb of day was sinking fast,
	An agile footstep near her prest,
	And, lo! Sir Edwin by her past;

	She shrieked—that shriek recalled the Knight,
	He gazed on his forsaken maid,
	He felt Remorse his conscience smite,
	And on his heart deep sorrow weighed.

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	He clasped her to his beating heart—
	A last embrace the fair-one gave,
	Then, swifter than a feathery dart,
	She flew to Morven's flowing wave;

	Then, plunging in the foamy tide,
	Her mortal sorrows soon were o'er,
	Thus, thus, it was the victim died,
	Of the false Knight of the Highland Tower;

	And oft, upon her rocky seat,
	In her dark robes the maid they see,
	And when her shadowy form they greet,
	They cry, Behold the "Dark Ladye!"