Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 3.pdf/62

Or. Merciful Heaven! and in my veins there runs
A murderer's blood. Said'st thou not, murder'd him?

Cath. Aye; as he lay asleep, at dead of night.

Or. A deed most horrible!

Cath. It was on Michael's eve; and since that time,
The neighb'ring hinds oft hear the midnight yell
Of spectre-hounds, and see the spectre shapes
Of huntsmen on their sable steeds, with still
A nobler hunter riding in their van
To cheer the chase, shewn by the moon's pale beams,
When wanes its horn in long October nights.

Or. This hath been often seen?

Cath.Aye, so they say.
But, as the story goes, on Michael's eve,
And on that night alone of all the year,
The hunter-knight himself, having a horn
Thrice sounded at the gate, the castle enters;
And, in the very chamber where he died,
Calls on his murd'rer, or in his default
Some true descendant of his house, to loose
His spirit from its torment; for his body
Is laid i'the earth unbless'd, and none can tell
The spot of its interment.

Or. Call on some true descendant of his race!
It were to such a fearful interview.
But in that chamber, on that night alone—