two noble families. The time of our Legend is six years after
their marriage, when their love had been pledged and crowned by
the birth of a boy. Sweet was their domestic bliss, but darkness
and death are prepared to enter upon the scene. The curse of
witchcraft is about to fall upon the holy beings, in all its
horrors and pollutions. The Chronicler shudders, as tradition
leads him to their tragic fate, and as it gleams upon the hellish
causes. The fair creatures have, in many a dream, for many a long
night, been cradled by his side, in beauty and love. Their voices
have whispered to him, their faces have smiled upon him, in the
mysteries of sleep. And yet he must now awake them to feel the
breath of unearthly enmity and power, withering their souls, while
serpents are even twined around their shroud!
On a calm evening, towards the beginning of summer, Emily was
seated in the old hall, expecting the arrival of her husband, who
had rode out early that day, to hunt, when he entered, with marks
of agitation on his countenance.
“William!” she exclaimed, as she arose to embrace him, “thou art
sad. It cannot be for want of success in the chase; you would not
dare”--and she gave him a playful blow on the cheek with her little
hand--“to appear before your wife so sorrowful, and with no better
excuse. But, love, you smile not. William, are you wounded? Have
you been thrown from your horse?”
“No, Emily,” was the reply, “I am safe, but my horse, in passing
the cave of which you are so much afraid, sunk down, as if
exhausted, though a moment before, he seemed capable of the
greatest exertion. Thus is it,” he continued, as he yielded to his
wife, who forced him down to a seat, whilst she leaned over him,
“our cattle have died, though green is the meadow on which they
grazed. And now, my favourite steed--aye, the very one, Emily,
whose neck arched so proudly beneath your gentle touch, after he
had borne me to your abode, where I wooed and won you as my bride,
is now, I fear, stiffening in death. My servant shook his head, as
I left Ranger to his care.”
“Poor Ranger,” interrupted the lady, “he was a proud animal, and
spurned acquaintance with others of his kind. Yet, William, dost
thou recollect how closely and fondly he trotted by the side of
my white pony, on the evening you brought me to your home, and
how the kind animals allowed me to be locked in your embrace,
although their bridles hung loose? Nay, more, did they not choose
a lonely path, with the moon shining all sweetly upon it, through
the hushed forest, as if there ought to be nothing known to us,
save each other; and that, orphans as we were, with the voices
of gone friends, as silent to us as the night, still, there was
hope shedding its rays over our common lot? Now both of them may
be lost. Still you could have visited me without your steed, and
I should, perhaps, have been less coy after your fatigues, and,”
she added, as her fair hands played among the curls which shaded
her husband’s brow, “I could have come hither without my palfrey,
leaning on your arm, William.”
The sorrowful man could not reject the consolation of his beautiful
wife. Though unforeseen calamities had gathered thickly upon him,
as if there was some direct cause, separate from the general course
of Providence, yet every chain of human affection was unbroken; and
though his fold was now almost forsaken, on his hearth still moved
the beings whom he loved, and not a household god had been thrown
down. His little Edward had entered, and was climbing his knee, and
hugging his neck,--and could he refuse to be happy? He had regained
a portion of his usual gaiety, when his servant entered.
“Master, Ranger is dead! I took the bridle from off his head, and
he could no more shew that he was at liberty. There was a strange
shriek after he fell down. He licked my hands, and his tongue was
black and swollen.”
“Shriek, dost thou say?” returned his master, “I have heard that
horses groan when in pain, but that they shriek, I cannot believe.”
“It could not be the horse,” was the reply, “no--no--nor was it a
human voice.”
They gazed upon the servant. His tones were low, as if from secret
terror, and his countenance was deadly pale. He continued, “I have
heard the shriek before, master, when old Margery, who nursed you
when a boy--died. She raised her hands, drew herself up on the
pillow--as if escaping from some invisible spirit--and sunk down
lifeless. The neighbours said, that at that moment the witch of the
cave passed the window, with hurried steps.”
Emily Morden looked upon her husband, and took their little boy,
and folded him closely in her bosom. Not a word was spoken, but
many, many thoughts were theirs. Their fears seemed to recognize in
the sweet blue eyes, the calm brow, and the golden locks, signs of
a dark fate. The little fellow, however, was unconscious of their
feelings, and darted forth to the lawn to pursue the shadows, which
were now fast settling, and to gambol with his favourite pet lamb.
Soon fatigued with his sports, he leaned upon the tame animal,
like a beautiful picture with a pure back ground. At that moment
an old woman stood before him. He saw not her dark and hideous
features, more frightful because she attempted to smile: he only
saw the tempting fruit which she held. He heard not the unearthly
tones of her voice, he only distinguished the words, “Shall I give
you it?” He felt not the touch of her withered, bony hands, as he
received it. He cared not, though these hands were placed upon his
brow, as he devoured the fruit. He clapped his hands, and shouted,
“Good,--good mamma! give little Edwy more,--more!” Oh! it was
horrible to see the beautiful boy playing with a foul hag, hand in
hand, cheek to cheek, and to hear him address her, as “kind mamma.”
The lamb had fled far over the glen, at her approach--but the boy
had even kissed her black and shrivelled lips! He was throwing his
arms around her neck, amidst the long locks of white hair, which
hung like serpents over it, when he was dragged away by his mother,
who had rushed forth with her husband, upon beholding the woman’s
familiarities. The hand of William Morden was raised, in fury, to
strike the hellish crone, whom he knew to be the witch of the cave,
when she disappeared to a short distance, where her form dilated
against the faint light of the sky, and then she glared with her
blood-red eyes, full upon him. She tossed her hands in the air,
then approached a little nearer, and pointed to Emily, while she
sung in awful notes--
Has early summer fruit for man?--
No, but for spirits:--yet the boy
Has tasted! and the mother ran
Too late!--too late, to shield her joy--
Embrace him! so have I!
Ere the sun sinks, from him you’ll fly,
Nor press a couch where he may die!
His mouth is sweet; beware his fangs!
Kiss him, he bites in maddest pangs!
The still calm all around, allowed every word and tone to be
distinctly heard. When she had ended, she gave a shriek of delight,
and slowly proceeded in the direction of the cave; at intervals
turning round, and raising her arms. All objects around her could
not be perceived, still those small malicious eyes sparkled in the
gathering twilight, and her voice could be heard muttering.
“Nay, William, follow her not!” exclaimed Emily, as her husband
prepared to pursue the witch. But he was now maddened by rage and
despair, and he started forward, fully resolved to enter the cave,
and brave its unseen and unknown terrors.
She anxiously gazed after him, until his form was altogether lost
in the distance. The many tales to which she had listened, of the
witch’s power and revenge, were unfolded again, and they seemed
scrolls of the future, written with the fate of herself, and all
that were dear. She led Edward into the hall, and soon perceived
a marvellous change in the boy. At first he was silent, and did
not acknowledge the attentions of his mother. He then shrieked in
terror, and laughed in joy, alternately. His features were, at
times, absolutely hideous, grinning, as if with malice, and then
they became more beautiful than a mother’s eye ever beheld.
“Mamma! mamma!” he would exclaim,--and he looked from his mother
upon vacancy--“give Edwy more--oh! it is sweet, sweet. Heed not the
man, wicked man, who drives you away;--come back to Edwy!”
At length she succeeded in hushing him to rest, and her thoughts
were of her husband. Darkness was now over the earth, and she
imagined that the hag’s face was gazing in upon her at the
casement, but she dared not rise to close it, lest she might
disturb the sleeper. Sometimes, too, another form, seen by the
moonlight, was there, and the witch dared to embrace the husband,
in sight of his trembling wife! Hour after hour passed, and the
next would be midnight, and William had not returned. In vain did
his faithful servant, whom she had summoned to bear her company,
suggest that his master might have refused to leave the cave, until
the woman had read the destiny of the family more distinctly.
“Nay, Roger,” she said, “something has befallen your master. Oh! if
he should return no more!” and her agony was too deep for tears.
“My lady, fear not. It is said that all those who are bewitched in
the cave, have first listened to the love confessions of the old
woman’s daughter, and drunk the cup of unearthly beauty. But I will
instantly go to the cave.”
Emily was about to urge him to make all possible haste, when he
shrieked out, and pointed to her breast; and there her boy was
gradually raising up his head, like a serpent, to her face, whilst
his eyes gleamed with the most fiendish expression, and his mouth
was grinning and distended. For a moment she was silent as the
dead, and gazed in horror; but she could not trace a touch of
kindness on the young features. All love and beauty, in a moment,
had been dashed from them. The boy’s eye never moved from hers, or
changed its emotion;--it was slowly meeting hers, in malice. His
breath was now close to her cheek!
“Kiss me, kiss me,” were the first words he uttered; but the tones
were unknown, and seemed those of a young fiend. With a loud
shriek he prepared to dart upon her face. She started from her
seat, and threw him on the floor, and there the little monster
rolled--gnashing his teeth, and tearing with his hands, in frantic
fury. His eyes were of a glassy brightness, and coldness; and foam
was on his little black lips. His struggles soon became fainter,
and he lay motionless, and apparently lifeless. He then regained
his own beauty, but was pale and trembling, as if from an infant
dream of evil. His eyes were raised to his mother, and again they
were affectionate, as of old.
“Mamma! mamma!” he cried, “take me to your arms, cover me up in
your bosom; you wont kill me, mamma? Oh! leave me not here to die!”
There was a mournful upbraiding in the boy’s accents, and his
mother burst into tears, and rushed forward to raise him, when, all
at once, he sprang from the ground. Again he was changed; his hair
stood erect, his mouth was stretched to an unnatural width, and he
ran to her, howling like a dog. In a moment the servant struck him
down. Bitterly did the mother weep to see her child bleeding on the
floor, and yet, she dared not touch him. “He is possessed!” she
exclaimed, “aye, that is the fate which the witch foretold!”
“My lady,” said Roger, “pardon me for what I am about to mention.
He has been bewitched into a disease which must be fatal to
himself, and to all whom he bites. Your security, and that of my
master, lies only in his destruction.”
“Never!” was the indignant, but sorrowful reply.
The boy once more regained his own appearance, and called piteously
for his mother. He put his little hands to his mouth, and when he
gazed upon them, they were all suffused with blood! He burst into
tears.
“Mamma, kiss the blood away from my lips. Wipe this love ringlet,
or papa wont play with it. Oh! cool my lips. Take the fire out of
them. Mamma, mamma! must I die? Who took me out of your bosom, to
lie here?”
Every word fell, like a child’s curse, upon the ear of Emily.
“Oh Roger! good Roger,” implored the lady,--“what can be done?”
The boy attempted to rise, but his strength seemed gone, and his
head dashed itself violently upon the floor. His mother fell down
senseless. Roger rushed from the room, to bring water to sprinkle
upon her face. In a moment he returned,--and there a scene was
presented to his eyes, which nothing in after-life could curtain
from his mind. Both lay lifeless. The countenance of the mother
was mangled and bloody, and her boy’s teeth were in her cheek. As
soon as she had fallen, the boy had crept to her, under the same
infernal influence as before, and, fortunately, she never awoke
from insensibility.
Meanwhile let us leave the dead, and follow the living. The reader
is not asked to dry his tears after the mournful spectacle, and put
off his sackcloth, and don singing robes and smiles, for soon the
curtain may be raised from the same scene, to exhibit on the same
stage, another victim.
William Morden, when out of the sight of his wife, came in view of
the object of his pursuit. Unlike the aged, the hag avoided not the
many elevations of sharp rock, on her path. After passing them, for
a moment she would linger, and looking back, and howling, motion
him, with a wild plunge of her arm, to follow. The scenery became
more bleak and desolate, as if nothing in animal or vegetable life
could flourish near her abode. Not a sound was heard; her steps
were hurried, but silent. They were approaching the cave, which
was formed in the old channel of the brook, and which was supposed
to be the outlet of a subterraneous passage leading from the abbey
into a deep wood, which skirted and concealed the bank. Amidst the
trees strange lights seemed to move, and the witch, by their flash,
was enabled to expose her malignant and hellish countenance to the
gaze of Morden. She stood still and he advanced. From the folds of
the cloak in which she was wrapped, she drew her hand, and pointed
to a deep ravine, at a short distance from the cave. She muttered
some incantations, raised her eyes, as if to invisible agents in
the air, and exclaimed, “Slaves! ye know my power! Shew him--shew
him what a word, escaping from my lips, has done. Now, fool!” and
she grasped his hands for a moment, “gaze there--and tremble.”
Morden started, as lurid lights gleamed in a mass, over him. He
stumbled down the declivity, and fell, his head striking against
his lifeless steed! Unearthly shrieks of laughter saluted him, and
as he sprung to his feet, the witch, surrounded by flames, was
waving her arms in fiendish joy. He once more found himself on the
path close beside her. All again was darkness, and now he heard
the witch enter the cave. He prepared to follow her. The entrance
was small, and could only admit him by crawling through. His face
came in contact with the jutting rocks, and he imagined that around
his neck the hag had placed her hands, to strangle him. He crept
in, but saw nothing. No object could be distinguished, until,
on a floor far below him, he beheld a few embers burning on the
hearth, and a form walking around, and by its shadow intercepting
the light. The ground was damp beneath his hands, and the very
worms were crawling over them, and thus early claiming connexion,
by twining around them the marriage ring of the grave. He knew
not how to let himself down into the interior. The light from
the embers, meanwhile, was gradually increasing; and at length he
recognized the witch rubbing her hands over them. Her head was
uncovered, and her long grey locks were flung back from a brow
black and wrinkled. He could not remove his eyes from her, and
every moment he expected that she would arise, and curse him with
her arts. She lighted a taper, and placed it upon a small coffin,
and sung a death dirge; at every interval, when she paused for
breath, making the most unnatural mirth. The lid of the coffin
slowly arose, as she removed the taper, and a beautiful boy raised
his face, so pale and deadly, over which golden locks curled,
like young spirits. His sweet blue eyes met those of Morden; his
little hands were pressed together, and his lisping voice said,
mournfully,--“Father!”
Morden sprang down, when, with a wild shriek, the witch turned
upon him, and attempted to mimic the tones in which the fond word
“father” had been breathed. He prepared to rush upon her, when
every limb was powerless. He could not move, and yet all his
senses were intensely active and awake. He beheld the coffin again
closed, and glad now would he have been, could he have returned
to his home, to assure himself of his child’s safety. The witch
began some awful and unholy rites, as she lowered the coffin into
a hole dug beside the embers, and then over the spot, after her
incantations had been muttered, sprung up a mossy tomb-stone, with
this inscription,--
Edward Morden,
AGED
FIVE YEARS.
1643.
She kindled another taper, when a larger coffin seemed to be placed
before her by invisible hands. The lid was raised; and there
Morden beheld his Emily, as beautiful now, amidst all the horrors
of witchery and death, as when that face was revealed in the
moonlight, on their nuptial night, slumbering so happily, to gaze
upon which he had kept himself awake. But soon the features became
clouded and black; aye, and blood--blood was seen upon them, and
horrible gashes.
“Embrace her!” exclaimed the witch, “embrace her. How beautiful!
What a sweet crimson! Fool! thy wife blushes! fly to her!”
He started forward, and fell upon the coffin, but the lid was
closed. A long fit of insensibility was over him. Dreams still more
revolting than the realities he had now beheld, kept him bound.
He awoke--but far different was the scene. A sigh which had been
nursed in the dream, now found expression, and instantly a movement
was heard, in a distant part of the cave; and a female bent over
him, and perfumed his burning brow. Wild was the beauty beaming
from her eyes; but soft and earthly was the hand which took his. He
gazed silently upon her. She seemed scarcely to have entered upon
girlhood, and yet Morden thought that she never could have been
younger, and never, for the future, could be older. She spoke not;
but her lips uttered strange sounds of the most thrilling music.
She gently raised and led him to a couch, as soft as dreams. The
air around breathed fragrance, and vibrated song. Invisible roses
seemed to fall upon his brow and hands. So brilliant, and yet
shadowy, was the light, that he could not gaze far around. Light
seemed to be a boundary to itself, and no walls intercepted the
vision.
“Who art thou?” was the exclamation of Morden, “and where am I?
How have I been brought here? This is not the cave to which I
came;--and where is the foul witch who so tormented me with her
dark spells?”
“There cometh light after darkness,” replied his beautiful
companion, “and joy after sorrow. What makes the love of one being
so pleasant? Because it is nursed amidst the storms of hate. Love
cares not for a palace; to sit, travel, and sleep, amidst gold and
diamonds. The tomb is the home where it is most beautiful; and were
two mortals, who cling to each other, to dwell there, it would be
love’s paradise. As they sat beneath the shade of the cypress, how
rapturous would their thoughts and words be; and oh! how true! At
eve, as they walked together over graves, how confiding would they
be! And at the midnight hour, when the wind howled, and ghosts
flitted around them, how sweet the sleep of the two lovers, with a
tomb-stone for their pillow!”
Each word thrilled through the soul of Morden.
“Mysterious angel!” he cried, “tell me thy name and abode!”
The young being dismissed the melancholy which, whilst she spoke,
had rested on her countenance, and smiled. Her deep blue eyes gazed
upon him, and, in the intoxication of the moment, he recollected
not his own inquiry. But soon, thoughts of home and Emily, came
into his mind, and checked others which were rising. He turned away
from her, when she asked,--
“Would’st thou see the past?”
“Yes,” eagerly returned Morden. “Oh! could I once more behold her
whom an untimely fate bore from me!”
She took from the table a golden cup, encircled with flowers, and
throwing a liquid drop, which she had poured out on her hand,
away in the distance; instantly, amidst music, with the bass of a
profound calm, there arose before his eyes a strange scene. There
were the haunts of his boyhood, the bower in the garden, and even
the ivy-covered seat, on which was the plumed cap his mother’s
hands had made; the gentle stream, with his book and fishing-rod
lying on the bank; and last of all was himself, smiling, the actor
in each. A pure mist arose before him, as in the bower he was
placing the cap over his shining curls; bright eyes gleamed in it,
and as it vanished, there stood his only sister! She appeared to be
the gentler type of himself, and sweet was her beauty, though it
was the beauty of Genius and Power. The mist descended, and hovered
over them, as they were singing the lays of their own happiness,
and shrouded both. It once more rolled away. There was seen a
mourner, near a rose-scattered grave! The mourner was known to
Morden long before he raised his features from the earth:--it was
himself, at the grave of his sister!
He started up from the couch, and fell at the feet of his
mysterious companion, exclaiming,--
“Perpetuate the scene! Give me boyhood again; give me the lost and
the beloved, and I’ll adore you,--aye, love you!”
He arose calmly, after her lips had been pressed to his.
“Drink,” was the reply. “Drink from this cup, Morden, and death
shall not separate the brother from the sister. Beautiful she
was a month before her sudden end, and that month shall never be
enrolled in your existence. Drink,--and the past is written over
with every drop of this liquid, on the tablet of your mind, and on
the objects of your external senses. Could inanimate things feel
its influence--and shall not the mind? Drink!” and the scene again
arose, in more thrilling beauty and truth. Sweet and long was the
draught, and he returned the cup, empty. Strange sensations shot
through his frame, and as strange feelings passed in his mind.
Emily, in a moment, was forgotten, and his arms were around his
companion, when a shriek was heard, and in place of the fading form
of his sister, stood the withered Weird of the Cave! Her daughter,
(for such the beautiful witch was,) now coldly repulsed him, and
shrunk from his embrace. As soon as he could move his eyes from the
hag, he turned round to chide his companion, when he found that
she had disappeared. A loud laugh was raised by the old witch, and
he pursued her. Darkness fell over the scene, and once more he was
near to the dying embers.
“Go home!” exclaimed the hag,--“go home, and die there along
with your dead wife and child! It is long past midnight. It is,
therefore, meet time that you should go to sleep with them.
Home--fool!”
Her words drove Morden almost to madness. He climbed up to the
entrance, and as he left the cave, he heard the laugh of the two
witches. He rushed along the path. He saw not the lurid lights that
flashed around him, from the dark abode which he had left. Terror,
shame, and despair, were driving their victim to what he considered
as a sanctuary from evil. He was heedless of his steps, and as he
stumbled, it but increased his fury; when he felt himself suddenly
grasped, and on looking up, recognized his servant Roger.
“Is all well,--is all well, Roger, with your mistress? Speak,
man,--speak!”
The servant hesitated, and then replied, “Yes, master!”
“Kind, dear Emily!” exclaimed Morden, “she has sent you to
search for me. Nay, Roger, I will outstrip you; and I can delay
no longer.--How anxious she will be! Death! no--no--it was but a
horrible dream! Yet, Roger,--am I agitated? would my looks frighten
Emily? Frighten--oh! no. Not a moment is to be lost,” and he darted
forward, and soon, all breathless, reached his abode. He trode up
the lawn with as heavy a pace as possible, in order that suspense
might be ended, and that she might know of his return, before he
appeared. A dim light was in the hall when he entered.
* * * * *