Not long thy sufferings; cold and colder grown, James Montgomery. MARY THE MAID OF THE INN. WHO is yonder poor maniac, whose wildly fixed eyes She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs; The No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek; Through her rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak Yet cheerful and happy, nor distant the day, The traveller remembers, who journeyed this way As Mary the maid of the inn. Her cheerful address filled her guests with delight She loved; and young Richard had settled the day, But Richard was idle and worthless, and they '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, ""Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fireside, "A fine night for the abbey!" his comrade replied; “Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried Who should wander the ruins about. "I myself, like a schoolboy, should tremble to hear And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear, "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." "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 elder that grows in the aisle." With fearless good humour did Mary comply, The night it was dark, and the wind it was high, O'er the path so well known still proceeded the maid, Through the gateway she entered, she felt not afraid; Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade Seemed to deepen the gloom of the night. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Over weed-covered fragments still fearless she past, Where the elder tree grew in the aisle. Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near, When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear: The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head, The wind ceased; her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, Of footsteps approaching her near. Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, Then Mary could feel her heart's blood curdle cold! It blew off the hat of the one, and behold, Even close to the feet of poor Mary it rolled— She fell and expected to die. "Curse the hat!" he exclaims. "Nay come on here and hide The dead body," his comrade replies. She beholds them in safety pass on by her side- And fast through the abbey she flies. She ran with wild speed, she rushed in at the door, She gazed horribly eager around, Then her limbs could support their faint burthen no more, And exhausted and breathless she sunk on the floor, Unable to utter a sound. Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For-O God! what cold horror then thrilled through her heart When the name of her Richard she knew! Where the old abboy stands on the common hard by, His irons still from the road may espy, you The traveller beholds them and thinks with a sigh, THE END. 'Robert Southey. PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET, AND CHARING CROSS. |