The friar haunted ever beside the dark stream;
The philosopher's stone was his thought and his dream:
And day after day, ever head under heels
He dived all the time he could spare from his meals.

He dived, and he dived, to the end of his days,
As the peasants oft witnessed with fear and amaze.
The mad friar's diving-place long was their theme,
And no plummet can fathom that pool of the stream.

And still, when light clouds on the midnight winds ride,
If by moonlight you stray on the lone river-side,
The ghost of the friar may be seen diving there,
With head in the water, and heels in the air.


CAPTAIN FITZCHROME. Well, your ballad is very pleasant: you shall
show me the scene, and I will sketch it; but just now I am more
interested about your love. What heroine of the twelfth century
has risen from the ruins of the old castle, and looked down on you
from the ivied battlements?

MR. CHAINMAIL. You are nearer the mark than you suppose. Even
from those battlements a heroine of the twelfth century has looked
down on me.

CAPTAIN FITZCHROME. Oh! some vision of an ideal beauty. I suppose
the whole will end in another tradition and a ballad.