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And some had sworn an oath that she
Should be to public justice brought;
And for the little infant's bones
With spades they would have sought.
But then the beauteous Hill of moss
Before their eyes began to stir;
And for full fifty yards around,
The grass,—it shook upon the ground;
But all do still aver
The little Babe is buried there,
Beneath that Hill of moss so fair.
I cannot tell how this may be:
But plain it is, the Thorn is bound
With heavy tufts of moss, that strive
To drag it to the ground;
And this I know, full many a time,
When she was on the mountain high,
By day, and in the silent night,
When all the stars shone clear and bright,
That I have heard her cry,
"Oh misery! oh misery!
Oh woe is me! oh misery!"
