Her feet upon the mossy track The married maiden set: That moment-I have heard her say— The shade o'er-flushed her limbs with heat Beneath the foulest mother's curse So five months passed: the mother still “My sister may not visit us, "I'm dull and sad! indeed, indeed 'Twas a drizzly time-no ice, no snow! But Ellen, spite of miry ways And weather dark and dreary, Oh! Ellen was a faithful friend, And now Ash-Wednesday came—that day For on that day you know we read The Commination prayer. Our late old Vicar, a kind man, Once, Sir, he said to me, He wished that service was clean out The mother walked into the church— And gentle Ellen welcomed her With courteous looks and mild: The day was scarcely like a day- 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 But ere she from the church-door stepped "It was a wicked woman's curse," Quoth she, "and what care I?" She smiled, and smiled, and passed it off But all agree it would have been Much better had she wept. And if her heart was not at ease, There was a hurry in her looks, These tears will come- —I dandled her But Mary heard the tale: her arms I saw young Edward by himself He snatched a stick from every fence, He snapped them still with hand or knee, 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 Ellen's name and Mary's name And in the moment of his prayers He loved them both alike: Yea, both sweet names with one sweet joy Upon his heart did strike! He reach'd his home, and by his looks They saw his inward strife: And they clung round him with their arms, Both Ellen and his wife. And Mary could not check her tears, So on his breast she bowed; Then frenzy melted into grief, And Edward wept aloud. Dear Ellen did not weep at all, THE THREE GRAVES. PART IV. To see a man tread over graves 'Tis wicked in the sun and moon, You see that grave? The Lord he gives, The Lord he takes away: O Sir! the child of my old age Except that grave, you scarce see one I'd rather dance upon 'em all 66 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 still it makes me sad. And Mary's sister told it me. For three good hours and more; Well! it passed off! the gentle Ellen To market she on market-days, All seemed the same: all seemed so, Sir! Had Ellen lost her mirth? Oh! no! When by herself, she to herself And when she soothed her friend, through all Her soothing words 'twas plain She had a sore grief of her own, A haunting in her brain. And oft she said, I'm not grown thin! And once her both arms suddenly She felt them coming, but no power So gentle Ellen now no more Could make this sad house cheery; And Mary's melancholy ways Drove Edward wild and weary. Lingering he raised his latch at eve, One evening he took up a book, Then flung it down, and groaning cried, "Oh! Heaven! that I were dead." Mary looked up into his face, And nothing to him said; And he burst into tears, and fell "Her heart is broke! O God! my grief, It is too great to bear!" 'Twas such a foggy time as makes Old sextons, Sir! like me, Rest on their spades to cough; the spring |