Abraham "Bram" Stoker (November 8, 1847 – April 20, 1912) was an Irish novelist and short story writer, best known today for his 1897 Gothic novel Dracula. During his lifetime, he was better known as personal assistant of actor Henry Irving and business manager of the Lyceum Theatre in London, which Irving owned.

James Maxwell: The Vampyre

James Maxwell, Halloween poem, Vampire poetry, Vampire poems, Dark Poems, Dark Poetry, Gothic poetry, Goth poetry, Horror poetry, Horror poems

Thair is a knichte rydis through the wood,
And a doughty knichte is hee.
And sure hee is on a message sent,
He rydis sae hastily.
Hee passit the aik, and he passit the birk,
And he passit many a tre,
Bot pleasant to him was the saugh sae slim,
For beneath it hee sis see
The boniest ladye that ever hee saw,
Scho was sae schyn and fair.
And their scho sat, beneath the saugh,
Kaiming hir gowden hair.
And then the knichte – “Oh ladye brichte,
What chance has brought you here?
But saw the word, and ye schall gang
Back to your kndred dear.”
Then up and spok the ladye fair –
“I have nae friends or kin,
Bot in alittle boat I live,
Amidst the waves’ loud din.”
Then answered thus the douchty knichte—
“I’ll follow you through all,
For gin ye bee in a little boat,
The world to it seemis small.”
They goed through the wood, and through the wood,
To the end of the wood they came:
And when they came to the end of the wood
They saw the salt sea faem.
And then they saw the wee, wee boat,
That daunced on the top of the wave,
And first got in the ladye fair,
And then the knichte sae brave.
They got into the wee wee boat,
And rowed wi’ a’ their micht;
When the knichte dae brave, he turnit about,
And lookit at the ladye bricht:
He lookit at her bonnie cheik,
And hee lookit at hir twa bricht eyne,
Bot hir rosie cheik growe ghaistly pale,
And shoe seymit as scho deid had been.
The fause, fause, knichte growe pale wi’ frichte.
And his hair rose up on end,
For gane-by days cam to his mynde,
And his former luve he kenned,
Then spake the layde – “Thou fause knichte,
Hast done to me much ill,
Thou didst forsake me long ago,
Bot I am constant still;
For though I ligg in the woods sae cald,
At rest I canna bee
Until I sucks the gude lyfe blude
Of the man that gart me dee.”
Hee saw hir lipps were wet we’ blude,
And hee saw hir lufelesse eyne,
And loud hee cry’d, “Get frae my side,
Thou vampyr corps encleane!”
Bot no, hee is in hir magic boat,
And on the wyde, wyde sea;
And the vampyr suckis his gude lyfe blude,
Sho suckis hym till hee dee.
So now beware, whoe’er you are,
That walkis in this lone wood:
Beware of that deceitful spright,
That ghaist that suckis the blude.

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