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"Now wherefore, thus, by day and night,
In rain, in tempest, and in snow,
Thus to the dreary mountain-top
Does this poor Woman go?
And why sits she beside the Thorn
When the blue daylight's in the sky,
Or when the whirlwind's on the hill,
Or frosty air is keen and still,
And wherefore does she cry?—
Oh wherefore? wherefore? tell me why
Does she repeat that doleful cry?"
"I cannot tell; I wish I could;
For the true reason no one knows:
But if you'd gladly view the spot,
The spot to which she goes;
The Heap that's like an infant's grave,
The Pond—and Thorn, so old and gray;
Pass by her door—'tis seldom shut—
And, if you see her in her hut,
Then to the spot away!—
I never heard of such as dare
Approach the spot when she is there."
