The wind was wild; against the glass And then and there the mother knelt, "Oh! may a clinging curse consume O hear me, hear me, Lord in Heaven, By night and day, in bed and bower, So having prayed, steady and slow, I saw poor Ellen kneeling still, And when the prayers were done, we all Giddy she seemed, and sure, there was A trouble in her eye. But ere she from the church-door stepped She smiled and told us why: "It was a wicked woman's curse," Quoth she, "and what care I?" She smiled, and smiled, and passed it off And if her heart was not at ease, There was a hurry in her looks, "It was a wicked woman's curse, 66 And why should I be troubled?" These tears will come-I dandled her But Mary heard the tale: her arms Round Ellen's neck she threw ; "O Ellen, Ellen, she cursed me, And now she hath cursed you!" I saw young Edward by himself Stalk fast adown the lee, He snatched a stick from every A twig from every tree. fence, He snapped them still with hand or knee, And then away they flew! As if with his uneasy limbs He knew not what to do! You see, good sir! that single hill? He heard it there, he heard it all, Now Ellen was a darling love And in the moment of his prayers Yea, both sweet names with one sweet joy He reach'd his home, and by his looks And they clung round him with their arms, And Mary could not check her tears, Dear Ellen did not weep at all, And turned her face and looked as if THE THREE GRAVES. PART IV. To see a man tread over graves You see that grave? The Lord he gives, The Lord he takes away: O Sir! the child of my old age Lies there as cold as clay. Except that grave, you scarce see one That was not dug by me; I'd rather dance upon 'em all Than tread upon these three! "Ay, Sexton! 'tis a touching tale." You, Sir! are but a lad; This month I'm in my seventieth year, And Mary's sister told it me, For three good hours and more; Though I had heard it, in the main, From Edward's self before. Well! it passed off! the gentle Ellen To market she on market-days, To church on Sundays came; All seemed the same: all seemed so, Sir! But all was not the same! Had Ellen lost her mirth? Oh! no! That Ellen's mirth was fearful. When by herself, she to herself Must sing some merry rhyme; She could not now be glad for hours, Yet silent all the time. |