THE HAUNTED GLEN

An extract from (THE GHOST-STORY-TELLERS:

THE ELDER'S EXPERIENCE: THE HAUNTED GLEN.)

contained in the BALLADS OF DOWN by GEORGE

FRANCIS SAVAGE-ARMSTRONG.

THE ELDER'S EXPERIENCE: THE HAUNTED GLEN.

The Goodwife of the house had risen up

And cleared the liberal board of plate and cup,

And Maxwell to his press had turned about, .

To bring his best of gin and whiskey out.

When someone came a-knocking at the door,

And in, amid the night-wind's ocean-roar.

The Elder, Gordon, staggered, scared and cold,

And all at once his late experience told : —

I.

“ Thon Ha'nted Glen sae murk wi' trees,

Wi' win's an' waters plainin',

It male's the bluid wi' terror freeze

Its paths tae walk alane in ;

Whun evenin's glooms aroon it fa'

An' dismal night grows thicker,

Ugh, then the wailin' voices ca'.

An' then the derk shapes flicker.

2.

" It 's no that A believe the Deed

Can ha'nt an' scaur the leevin';

Tae Mon the Blessed Buik haes said

Tae dee but yince is given.

An', haevin' deed, anither Ian'

Becomes the sperrit's centre ;

It 's bad' this Airth far'weel, an' can

Nae mair this Airth reenter.

3.

" It 's nae the Deed A fear, fur they

Can wark nae herm tae mortal ;

But dear ! sich shapes an' soon's uv wae

The staniest heart wud startle !

They 're moanin' there, they 're jibberin' here,

Ahint, afore, they 're flittin'.

They 're getherin' far, they 're crowdin' near,

Or cloak'd an' dumb they 're sittin';

4.

" An' a' sae sudden ower my sight

The spectral forms come gl'amin',

A shiver ower wi' tinglin' fright.

My een wi' draps ir str'amin'.

It 's no that A believe the Deed,

Ye ken, can ha'nt the leevin';

But thon Glen's paths alane A '11 tread

Nae mair by night or even.

5.

" A jist wuz walkin' frae the Kirk,

An' tuk the beechwud loanin' . .

An' my ! the night is wild an' murk.

An' hoo the wuds ir groanin'! . .

A miss'd the turn, an', ugh, A stray'd

Adoon the way A dreadit,

An' as it wound through deeper shade

A scarce had stren'th tae tread it.

6.

"Ootstertit jist afore my fit

A rat, or weasel, slidin';

An' roon' aboot me seem'd tae flit

A grey owl frae his hidin';

An' then the Shapes begood tae talc'

Their sates on bank an' hollow ; —

An', ugh, A heerd ahint my back

A dismal futstep follow !

7.

" A turn'd aroon', an' there A seed —

Great Gude ! — a ghaistly figure

Wi' bluid-stain'd neck and mangled heed !

A summon'd a' my vigour,

A strud alang, an' nae luik'd roon',

But onward strain'd a-trem'lin',

And aye A heerd the futstep's soon'

Through a' the tempest's rem'lin'.

8.

" A gasp'd fur braith, my heart stud still,

My stren'th tae water meltit,

My fit, thrust doon tae climb the hill,

Scarce reach'd the road or felt it.

At last I spied the cheerfu' glame

Here shinin' frae yer wundee,

An', Gude be praised, ye 're a' at hame.

An' gie an' kin' A 've faund ye !

"It's no that A believe the Deed—

Ye min' — can ha'nt the Leevin';

But thon Glen's paths alane A '11 tread

Nae mair by night or even."

" Dear ! " said the Goodwife, " Mister Gurdon, Sir,

Thon wuz a fearfu' veesion ! . . Wully, stir

The greesugh. . . Sit ye. Mister Gurdon, doon,

An' Wully '11 mak' ye up a jorum soon,

An' thon 'ull scaur the spectres frae yer ee,

An' werm yer buzzom. Tak' thon erm-chair, see ! "

And Maxwell in his hand a tumbler set

And bade the Elder, cold and dazed and wet,

Sit in beside the hearth, and dry his feet
Before the glowing pile of logs and peat...