"O hear me, hear me, Lord in Heaven,
Although you take my life-

O curse this woman, at whose house
Young Edward woo'd his wife.

By night and day, in bed and bower,
O let her cursed be!"

So having prayed, steady and slow,
She rose up from her knee,
And left the church, nor e'er again
The church-door entered she.

I saw poor Ellen kneeling still,
So pale, I guessed not why:
When she stood up, there plainly was
A trouble in her eye.

And when the prayers were done, we all
Came round and asked her why:
Giddy she seemed, and sure, there was
A trouble in her eye.

But ere she from the church-door stepped She smiled and told us why:

"It was a wicked woman's curse,"

She smiled, and smiled, and passed it off
Ere from the door she stept-
But all agree it would have been
Much better had she wept.

And if her heart was not at ease, This was her constant cry"It was a wicked woman's curse

God's good, and what care I?"

There was a hurry in her looks, Her struggles she redoubled: "It was a wicked woman's curse,

And why should I be troubled ?”

These tears will come-I dandled her
When 'twas the merest fairy-
Good creature, and she hid it all:
She told it not to Mary.

But Mary heard the tale: her arms
Round Ellen's neck she threw ;
"O Ellen, Ellen, she cursed me,
And now she hath cursed you!"

I saw young Edward by himself
Stalk fast adown the lee,

He snatched a stick from every fence,
A twig from every tree.

He snapped them still with hand or knee,

And then away they flew!

As if with his uneasy limbs

He knew not what to do!

You see, good sir! that single hill?
His farm lies underneath :

He heard it there, he heard it all,
And only gnashed his teeth.

Now Ellen was a darling love
In all his joys and cares,

And Ellen's name and Mary's name
Fast-linked they both together came,

Whene'er he said his prayers.

T

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 reached 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,
But closelier did she cling,

And turned her face, and looked as if
She saw some frightful thing.

THE THREE GRAVES.

PART IV.

O see a man tread over graves

Το

I hold it no good mark:

"Tis wicked in the sun and moon,

And bad luck in the dark!

You see that grave? The Lord he gives,

The Lord he takes away:

O Sir! the child of my old

Lies there as cold as clay.

age

Except that grave, you scarce see one
That was not dug by me;
I'd rather dance upon 'em all

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; Though I had heard it, in the main, From Edward's self before.

Well! it passed off! the gentle Ellen
Did well-nigh dote on Mary;
And she went oftener than before,
And Mary loved her more and more:
She managed all the dairy.

To market she on market-days,

To church on Sundays came;

All seemed the same: all seemed so, Sir! But all was not the same!

Had Ellen lost her mirth? Oh! no!
But she was seldom cheerful;
And Edward looked as if he thought
That Ellen's mirth was fearful

When by herself, she to herself

Must sing some merry rhyme;

She could not now be glad for hours,
Yet silent all the time.

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 then her wrist she spanned;
And once when Mary was down-cast,
She took her by the hand,

And gazed upon her, and at first
She gently pressed her hand;

Then harder, till her grasp at length
Did gripe like a convulsion!
Alas! said she, we ne'er can be
Made happy by compulsion!

And once her both arms suddenly
Round Mary's neck she flung,
And her heart panted, and she felt
The words upon her tongue.

She felt them coming, but no power
Had she the words to smother;
And with a kind of shriek she cried,

"O Christ! you're like your

mother!"

So gentle Ellen now no more
Could make this sad house cheery;
And Mary's melancholy ways
Drove Edward wild and dreary.

Lingering he raised his latch at eve,
Though tired in heart and limb:
He loved no other place, and yet
Home was no home to him.