MARY
THE MAID OF THE INN
Who is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly fixed eyes
Scem a heart overcharged to express?
She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs;
She never complains—but her silence implies
The composure of settled distress.
Scem a heart overcharged to express?
She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs;
She never complains—but her silence implies
The composure of settled distress.
No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek,
Cold and hunger awake not her care;
Thro' the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak
On her poor wither'd bosom, half bare, and her cheek
Has the deadly pale hue of despair
Cold and hunger awake not her care;
Thro' the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak
On her poor wither'd bosom, half bare, and her cheek
Has the deadly pale hue of despair
Yet cheerful and happy (nor distant the day),
Poor Mary, the maniac, has been;
The traveller remembers, who journy'd this way,
No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay.
As Mary the Maid of the Inn.
Poor Mary, the maniac, has been;
The traveller remembers, who journy'd this way,
No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay.
As Mary the Maid of the Inn.
Her cheerful address fill'd the geusts with delight,
As she welcom'd them in with a smile;
Her heart was a stranger to childish affright.
And Mary would walk by the abbey at night,
When the wind whistled down the dark aisle.
As she welcom'd them in with a smile;
Her heart was a stranger to childish affright.
And Mary would walk by the abbey at night,
When the wind whistled down the dark aisle.
She lov'd—and young Richard had settled the day
And she hop'd to be happy for life;
But Richard was idle and worthless, and they
Who knew him, would pity poor Mary, and say,
That she was too good for his wife.
And she hop'd to be happy for life;
But Richard was idle and worthless, and they
Who knew him, would pity poor Mary, and say,
That she was too good for his wife.
'Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night
And fast were the windows and door:
Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright
And smoking in silence with tranquil delight,
They listened to hear the wind roar.
And fast were the windows and door:
Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright
And smoking in silence with tranquil delight,
They listened to hear the wind roar.
‘Tis pleasant, cries one, seated by the the fireside,
To hear the wind whistle without.
A fine night for the abbey his comrade replied,
Methinks a man’s courage would now be well tried
Who would wander the rains about.
To hear the wind whistle without.
A fine night for the abbey his comrade replied,
Methinks a man’s courage would now be well tried
Who would wander the rains about.
I’ll wager a dinner, the other one cried,
That Mary would venture there now,
Then wager and lose, with a sneer he replied,
I’ll warrant she’d fancy a ghost by her side,
And faint if she saw a white cow.
That Mary would venture there now,
Then wager and lose, with a sneer he replied,
I’ll warrant she’d fancy a ghost by her side,
And faint if she saw a white cow.
Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?
His companion exclaimed with a smile.
I shall win, for I know she will venture there now;
And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough
From the alder that grows in the aisle.
His companion exclaimed with a smile.
I shall win, for I know she will venture there now;
And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough
From the alder that grows in the aisle.
With fearless good humour did Mary comply,
And her way to the abbey she bent;
The night it was gloomy, the wind it was high,
And as hollowly howling it swept through the sky,
She shiver’d with cold as she went.
And her way to the abbey she bent;
The night it was gloomy, the wind it was high,
And as hollowly howling it swept through the sky,
She shiver’d with cold as she went.
O’er the path so well known still proceeded the maid
Where the abbey rose dim on the sight;
Through the gateway she entered, she felt not afraid,
Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and the shade
Seemed to darken the gloom of the night.
Where the abbey rose dim on the sight;
Through the gateway she entered, she felt not afraid,
Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and the shade
Seemed to darken the gloom of the night.
All around her was silent, save when the rude blast
Howl’d dismally round the whole pile;
Over wood-covered fragments still fearless she pass’d
And arrived at the innermost ruins at last,
Where the alder tree grows in the aisle.
Howl’d dismally round the whole pile;
Over wood-covered fragments still fearless she pass’d
And arrived at the innermost ruins at last,
Where the alder tree grows in the aisle.
Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near,
And hastily gathered the bough,
When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear,
She paused and she listened, all eager to hear,
And her heart panted fearfully now.
And hastily gathered the bough,
When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear,
She paused and she listened, all eager to hear,
And her heart panted fearfully now.
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.
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 moon-light two ruffians appear,
And between, them a corpse did they bear.
She crept to conceal herself there;
That instant the moon o’er a dark cloud shone clear,
And she saw in the moon-light 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, and, behold;
Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll’d
She fell—and expected to die.
Again the rough wind hurried by;—
It blew off the hat of the one, and, 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 replies,
She beheld them in safety pass on by her side,
Then seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied.
And away through the abbey she flies.
The dead body,’ his comrade replies,
She beheld them in safety pass on by her side,
Then seizes 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.
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—
For, O God, what cold horror thrill'd through her heart
When the name of her Richard she knew.
For a moment the hat met her view;
Her eyes from the object convulsively start—
For, 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.
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.