“That brother in his mother’s right another name did bear: 
Twas him I slew—­all shrank from me in horror and in fear;
They seized me in my bridal dress—­my bride still senseless lay—­
I spoke not while they pinioned me and hurried me away.

“They lodged me in a criminal cell, by iron gratings barred,
And there the third day heavily a funeral bell I heard. 
A sable crowd my prison passed—­they gazed on it with gloom: 
It was my bride—­my beautiful—­they followed to the tomb!

“I was acquitted; but what more had I with life to do? 
I cursed my fate—­my heart—­the world—­and from its creatures flew. 
Intruder, thou hast heard my tale of wretchedness and guilt—­
Go, mingle with a viler world, and tell it if thou wilt.”

XIII.

THE BALLAD OF RUMBOLLOW.

The clouds are flying, the trees are sighing,
The birds are hopping from bough to bough;
The winds are blowing, the snowflakes throwing
O’er the green earth below, below;
The storm is coming while I am roaming
The thick dark forest all through, all through;
The air is nipping, my clothes are dripping,
All in the forest of Rumbollow.[A]

On a felled tree lying a woman sits sighing,
Rocking a child both to and fro;
Her gown it is torn, her shoes they are worn—­
She looks like a creature of woe, of woe;
Her eyes are glowing, her hair is flowing,
She’s all over white with the snow, the snow;
She rocks the child with a gesture wild,
All in the forest of Rumbollow.

The child is crying, and she is trying
To lull it asleep—­balow! balow! 
And while she is singing, the snowflakes are winging
And whirling in eddies all through, all through. 
I listed the rening and wondered the meaning: 
Was it the tale of her woe, her woe—­
A truthful crooning or a maniac mooning—­
All in the forest of Rumbollow?

[Footnote A:  The old song called “Rumbollow Fair” is said by Pinkerton to have been lost.  I have heard a refrain, “All in the Forest of Rumbollow,” but whether this has any relation to the old song I do not know.  I fear I am altogether responsible for this rhapsodical effusion.]

THE SONG OF THE BETRAYED.

“Balow! balow! my bonnie bairn—­
Nae father to care for you;
As your mother has sinned so shall she earn,
And to her the world is hard and stern,
Who has loved and lived to rue,
  Balow! 
Who has loved and lived to rue.

“On Rumbollow green my love lies slain,
As he cam’ frae Rumbollow Fair;
His bodie lies deep amang rushes green,
Where corbies pike at his bonnie blue een,
And taeds sleep in his hair,
  Balow! 
And taeds sleep in his hair.

“The grey owl sits on yon willow tree,
Whose branches o’er him weep,
And sends its scream far o’er the lea,
Where night winds whisper mournfullie,
And through the rashes sweep,
  Balow! 
And through the rashes sweep.