The Legend of the Lime-Tree (and the fate of the Rookwoods)

In olden days, the legend says, as grim Sir Ranulph view'd
A wretched hag her footsteps drag beneath his lordly wood,
His bloodhounds twain he called amain, and straightway gave her chase;
Was never seen in forest green, so fierce, so fleet a race!



With eyes of flame to Ranulph came each red and ruthless hound,
While mangl'd, torn - a sight forlorn! - the hag lay on the ground;
E'en where she lay was turned the clay, and limb and reeking bone
Within the earth, with rabid mirth, by Ranulph grim were thrown.



And while as yet the soil was wet with that poor witch's gore,
A lime-tree stake did Ranulph take, and pierced her bosom's core;
And, strange to tell, what next befell! - that branch at once took root,
And richly fed, within its bed, strong suckers forth did shoot.



From year to year fresh boughs appear - it waxes huge in size;
And, with wild glee, this prodigy Sir Ranulph grim espies.
One day, when he, beneath that tree, reclined in joy and pride,
A branch was found upon the ground - the next, Sir Ranulph died!



And from that hour a fatal power has ruled that Wizard Tree,
To Ranulph's line a warning sign of doom and destiny:
For when a bough is found, I trow, beneath its shade to lie,
Ere suns shall rise thrice in the skies a Rookwood sure shall die!