The Lancaster Herald, and Town and County Advertiser. — 1832-05-05 (Lancaster, Lancashire, England)

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL, Q. •Zditat of a Minatecisy Ancient and Mom."  PA $T 111.  It is merry in hall when beards wag all,  The ancient carol cloth say; And when the can clinks, 'tis then, methinks, ThMsnismereauflo merriest play : And 'blythelisiil loudly each gleeman carped IntbM undertide jr.olifely, IPor thewine wcs good, and, by the Rood, They smacked it right lustily. !fight wanes apace, and it is the hour  Which divideth night from der, 'Ti. the dreary hour, when the Dead have power • On this earth again to stray. It is the hour when in forest brown,  In'gleu, or en hillock green, The Fairy power, in a goodly shower Of moonlight, is trooping seen. Slow solemn, and clear, that hour so drear The bell in the tower hath rung, Witls a znournful knell the deep accents fell Of its ponderous iron tongue: And soddenly then two stalworth men Stood that merry rout among.  Two knights they seem, as the tapers' gleam Falls broad on their armour dim, And the Cron of Christ on the breast is displayed Of their sureoats soiled and grim; No glance they threw on the yawl crew, No wand from their lips did come, But they Tooled toward Sir Guy on the dais so high. Altniotiouless, sad, and dumb.  And proudly Sir Guy, on the dais so high, Sits lording it over his train, And he earpeth full oft on his seat aloft, Of tho perilous wrath of the main; lie eatpeth fall oft to his beautiful bride, Of shipwrecks and storms at sea, Asti he muttered full low, in feigned woe, rhuir fearful and sad they be.  'Would to Heaven at this tide, he whispered his bride, That Sir Fulco and Roland wore here, They only are wanting to Rladden our feast, To aroma our brave bridal cheer. " Have then thy wish !" said a deep strong voice— It rang through the echoing hall, Lite a hollow toned bell as it doth knell To some passing funeral. " Have then thy wish !" said a second voice— It sounded fall sad and low,  _ And the twain Knights tall, from the midst of the hall, To the lofty dais did go.  To the lofty dais they proudly pace, Like Knights of a high degree. And still as the grove waxed the minstrelsy brave, Of that jubilant companye, To the lofty dais, they proudly pace, Thotiugh that thick-peopled ball, With a martial stride they onward glide, Bet noiseless their footsteps fall.  Ho, whence come ye? cried the proud Sir Guy, To the foremost and tallest guest ; But horror murmured from his pale lips When he kythed that dark Knight's crest. He shrunk up in himself and groaned aloud, He turned his head fast away; To Heaven he would have cried for grace, But he had no power to pray!  Yet bath he grasped his biting sword, But it cold hand grasps him eyrie, Al a shivering chill doth his marrow thrill, As the fingers about him twine. Noe lash nor skin dad the fingers thin, That kept this icy hold, And they crashed his wrist as about him twist These fingers damp and cold.  He felt the breath of that Dark Knight breathe, Damp on his lip and brow, And it tins like the air of the charnel pit the Isad are rotting slow; The set Weed clang to that tall dark one, It diminssi Jü. armours shine, Mil the sakarsillaw was rusting through The links of his mailed gaberdine.  That Dark Knight raised his close barred helm, Gramercy ! all eyes then saw The ghastly grin of his fast-clenched teeth. And is wasted and wormed jaw; And Owl lidless and hollow arched bone which held The big and the glittering eye, That //leveed with the fight of another life, Stern and sad on the false Sir Guy!  Ths Spectre Knight grasps the living man's band, He shakes it right frank and free, Then turping him to the Dian Knight by his aide, Thus mournfully speaketh he: Vplift thy right hand, now brays Roland, Olt thy knighthood the sooth declare, Say by whom we were east on the waters vast, sly by Whom we murdered were? Then Ai brave Roland raised kin-cold right hand, Alt! Marx, mother! said hi, 'Two,. the faiw Sir Guy that. took thy life. And his cross-bow murdered me !  _ %•—• -11ifirry• "If thostermdesen Poetry In atidAtilkeiLteg :SBS, ite bait; AM HMIS nem uftitft WM. ~A* eft far4lmy artier seem of life, I only lay, Os Ireklart7 earseit. , of the Poet's hi mils/ sometimes makes a _ _