Unthinking Stephen went— Poor Martha! on that woful day A cruel, cruel fire, they say, Into her bones was sent : It dried her body like a cinder, And almost turn'd 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! XIV. Sad case for such a brain to hold Communion with a stirring child! Sad case, as you may think, for one Last Christmas when we talked of this, And when at last her time drew near, Her looks were calm, her senses clear. XV. No more I know, I wish I did, And I would tell it all to you; For what became of this poor child There's none that ever knew: And if a child was born or no, There's no one that could ever tell; There's no one knows, as I have said, But some remember well, That Martha Ray about this time Would up the mountain often climb. XVI. And all that winter, when at night The wind blew from the mountain-peak, 'Twas worth your while, though in the dark, The church-yard path to seek : For many a time and oft were heard Cries coming from the mountain-head, Some plainly living voices were, I cannot think, whate'er they say, XVII. But that she goes to this old thorn, The thorn which I've described to you, And there sits in a scarlet cloak, I will be sworn is true. For one day with my telescope, XVIII. 'Twas mist and rain, and storm and rain, No screen, no fence could I discover, And then the wind! in faith, it was A wind full ten times over. I looked around, I thought I saw A jutting crag, and off I ran, The shelter of the crag to gain, And, as I am a man, Instead of jutting crag, I found XIX. I did not speak—I saw her face, I turned about and heard her cry, And there she sits, until the moon Through half the clear blue sky will go, And when the little breezes make The waters of the pond to shake, As all the country know, She shudders and you hear her cry, I |