11
The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head;
She listen’d nought else could she hear;
The wind ceased, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread
For she heard in the ruins, distinctly, the tread
Of footsteps approaching her near.
Behind a white column half breathless with fear.
She crept to conceal herself there;
That instant the moon o’er a dark cloud shone clear,
And she saw in the moondight two ruffians appear,
And between them a corpse did they bear.
Then Mary could feel her heart’s blood curdle cold :
Again the rough wind hurried by;—
It blew off the hat of the one, ami, behold;
Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll’d;
She fell—and expected to die.
Curse the hat, he exclaims, Nay come on, and first hide
The dead body,’ his comrade replied,
She beheld him in safety pass on by her side,
Then sezies the hat, fear her courage supplied,
And away through the abbey she flies.
She ran with wild speed, she rush’d in at the door.
She cast her eyes horribly round;
Her limbs could support her faint body no more.
But exhausted and breathless she sank 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 the object convulsively start—
F’or O God, what cold horror thrill’d through her heart
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;
Not far from the inn it engages the eye,
The traveller beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh,
Of poor Mary the Maid of the Inn.
