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That's like an infant's

grave

in size, And that same Pond of which I spoke, A Woman in a scarlet cloak, And to herself she cries, “ Oh misery! oh misery! Oh woe is me! oh misery!"

VII.

At all times of the day and night
This wretched Woman thither goes ;
And she is known to every star,
And every wind that blows;
And there beside the Thorn she sits
When the blue day-light's in the skies,
And when the whirlwind's on the hill,
Or frosty air is keen and still,
And to herself she cries,
Oh misery! oh misery!
Oh woe is me! oh misery !"

go?

VIII. “ Now wherefore, thus, by day and night, In rain, in tempest, and in snow, Thus to the dreary mountain-top Does this

poor

Wonian
And why sits she beside the Thorn
When the blue day-light's in the sky,
Or when the whirlwind's on the hill,
Or frosty air is keen and still,
And wherefore does she cry

y ? Oh wherefore? wherefore ? tell me why Does she repeat that doleful cry?"

IX.

I cannot tell; I wish I could ;
For the true reason no one knows :

But if you'd gladly view the spot,
The spot to which she goes ;
The Heap that's like an infant's grave,

The Pond and Thorn, so old and gray;
Pass by her door—'tis seldom shut-
And, if you see her in her hut,
Then to the spot away !-
I never heard of such as dare
Approach the spot when she is there.

X.

“ But wherefore to the mountain-top
Can this unhappy Woman go,
Whatever star is in the skies,
Whatever wind may blow ?"
Nay, rack your brain-'tis all in vain,
I'll tell you every thing I know;
But to the Thorn, and to the Pond
Which is a little step beyond,
I wish that you would go :
Perhaps, when you are at the place,
You something of her tale may trace.

6

XI.

I'll give you the best help I can:
Before you up the mountain go,
Up to the dreary mountain-top,
I'll tell

you all I know.
'Tis now some two-and-twenty years
Since she (her name is Martha Ray)
Gave with a maiden's true good will
Her company to Stephen Hill;
And sh was blithe and

gay, And she was happy, happy still Whene'er she thought of Stephen Hill.

XII.

And they had fix'd the wedding-day,
The morning that must wed them both;
But Stephen to another Maid
Had sworn another oath ;
And with this other Maid to church

Unthinking Stephen went-
Poor Martha ! on that woeful day
A cruel, cruel fire, they say,
Into her bones was sent :
It dried her body like a cinder,
And almost turned her brain to tinder.

XIII.

They say, full six months after this,
While yet the summer leaves were green,
She to the mountain-top would go,
And there was often seen.
'Tis said, a child was in her womb,
As now to any eye was plain ;
She was with child, and she was mad;
Yet often she was sober sad
From her exceeding pain.
Oh me! ten thousand times I'd rather
That he had died, that cruel father!

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