154
the last of the gascoignes.
And with the last breath she ever drew,
O'er our race a fearful spell she threw:
Prophesying too truthfully the coming fate
Of the last of the Gascoignes' fallen state.
'Thrice the raven shall be heard to call
Round the proud towers of Ashton Hall,
Thrice the screech owl shall spread her wing
And thrice her wild midnight warning sing,—
At that weird hour, with none near by,
Thou, Sir Knight, shalt foully die,—
The last of thy race shall pass away
In the full vigour of his early day!'"
O'er our race a fearful spell she threw:
Prophesying too truthfully the coming fate
Of the last of the Gascoignes' fallen state.
'Thrice the raven shall be heard to call
Round the proud towers of Ashton Hall,
Thrice the screech owl shall spread her wing
And thrice her wild midnight warning sing,—
At that weird hour, with none near by,
Thou, Sir Knight, shalt foully die,—
The last of thy race shall pass away
In the full vigour of his early day!'"
Days, weeks, and months, fly swiftly by;
Gascoigne was now under an alien sky,
Claiming but one true and faithful friend,
A brave and noble sailor, named Martin Brend.
No one knew his history, save that he
Was early pressed and sent to sea.
Yet so calm and gentle was his mien
That better days he must have seen,—
His looks and language were too refined
To be the index of a vulgar mind.
On a fine clear and moonlight night,
The stars were shining fair and bright;
The frigate lay at rest alone.—Becalm'd
Gascoigne was now under an alien sky,
Claiming but one true and faithful friend,
A brave and noble sailor, named Martin Brend.
No one knew his history, save that he
Was early pressed and sent to sea.
Yet so calm and gentle was his mien
That better days he must have seen,—
His looks and language were too refined
To be the index of a vulgar mind.
On a fine clear and moonlight night,
The stars were shining fair and bright;
The frigate lay at rest alone.—Becalm'd
