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She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs;
of settled distress !
Cold and hunger awake not her care ; [bleak Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow On her poor wither'd bosom, half bare; and her cheek
Has the deadly pale hue of despair !
Poor Mary the maniac has been:
As Mary, the Maid of the Inn!
As she welcom’d them in with a smile ;
When the wind whistled down the dark aisle.
And she hop'd to be happy for life-
That she was too good for his wife. 'Twas in Autumn, and stormy and dark was the night,
And fast were the windows and doorTwo guests sat enjoying the fire that burn'd bright, And smoking in silence, with tranquil delight,
They listen’d to hear the wind roar. “ 'Tis pleasant,” cried one, « seated by the fire-side,
To hear the wind whistle without." “ A fine night for the Abbey !"* his comrade replied: “ Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried,
Who should wander the ruins about.
The hoarse ivy shake over my head ;
Some ugly old abbot's white spirit appearst: 94.3 17
For this wind might awaken the dead.l. *s035 “ I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried,
“ That Mary would venture there now?". ) sobre “Then wager, and lose,” with a sneer, he replied, “ I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side,
And faint if she saw a white cow !" « Will Mary this charge on her courage allow ?"
His companion exclaim'd with a smile; - I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, And earn a new bonnet, by bringing a bough
From the alder that grows in the aisle.” With fearless good humour did Mary comply,
And her way to the Abbey she bent The night it was gloomy, the wind it was high, And, as hollowly howling it swept through the sky,
She shiver'd with cold as she went. O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid,
Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight; Through the gateway she enter'd she felt not afraid Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade
Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast
Howl'd dişmally round the old pile;'; Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she pass'd, And arrived at the innermost ruin at last,
Where the alder-tree grew in the aisle. Well pleas'd did she reach it, and quickly drew near,
And hastily gather'd the bough
And her heart panted fearfully now!.:: 111
She listen’d ;-nought else could she hear:
For she heard in the ruins distinctly-the tread
Of footsteps approaching her near.
She crept, to conceal herself there;
And between them a corpse did they bear! Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold !
Again the rough wind hurried by
She fell-and expected to die ! • Curse the hat !” he exclaims" Nay come on,
and fast hide
And fast through the Abbey she flies !
She look'd horribly eager around : Her limbs could support their faint burden no more ; But, exhausted and breathless, she sunk on the floor,
Unable to utter a sound. Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, · For a moment the hat met her view Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For, ó heaven! what cold horror thrilld through
her heart, I When the name of her Richard she knew !
Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by,
His gibbet is now to be seen;
See the monster sternly sitting
In his fleet and nimble car,
Such a real despotic Czar!.
In their long and restless flight;
As they hasten out of sight!
With their strange conflicting motions ;
Like the war of meeting oceans !
Which the voice of nature feeds ;
primatge 10,097 pont
Since their moon is in its wane?
From thy sphere! Whatever star contain thy glory ;
In the eternal depths of heaven
Albeit thou watchest with the “seven," Though through space infinite and hoary
Before thy bright wings worlds be driven,
The archangels, said to be seven in number.
Yet hear !
And though she nothing is to thee,
The bitterness of tears.
Except in love, and there thou must
Acknowledge that more loving dust
The face of him who made thee great,
Yet, Seraph dear!
Until I know,'what I must dié in knowing,
Her whose heart death could not keep from o'erFor thee, immortal essence as thou art ! [flowing Great is their love, who love in sin and fear;
And such, I feel, are waging in my heart
The hour is near