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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455726" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Poor Singing Dame</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beneath an old wall, that went round an old Castle,<br>For many a year, with brown ivy o'erspread;<br>A neat little Hovel, its lowly roof raising,<br>Defied the wild winds that howl'd over its shed:<br>The turrets, that frown'd on the poor simple dwelling,<br>Were rock'd to and fro, when the Tempest would roar,<br>And the river, that down the rich valley was swelling,<br>Flow'd swiftly beside the green step of its door.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Summer Sun, gilded the rushy-roof slanting,<br>The bright dews bespangled its ivy-bound hedge<br>And above, on the ramparts, the sweet Birds were chanting,<br>And wild buds thick dappled the clear river's edge.<br>When the Castle's rich chambers were haunted, and dreary,<br>The poor little Hovel was still, and secure;<br>And no robber e'er enter'd, or goblin or fairy,<br>For the splendours of pride had no charms to allure.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Lord of the Castle, a proud, surly ruler,<br>Oft heard the low dwelling with sweet music ring:<br>For the old Dame that liv'd in the little Hut chearly,<br>Would sit at her wheel, and would merrily sing:<br>When with revels the Castle's great Hall was resounding,<br>The Old Dame was sleeping, not dreaming of fear;<br>And when over the mountains the Huntsmen were bounding<br>She would open her wicket, their clamours to hear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To the merry-ton'd horn, she would dance on the threshold,<br>And louder, and louder, repeat her old Song:<br>And when Winter its mantle of Frost was displaying<br>She caroll'd, undaunted, the bare woods among:<br>She would gather dry Fern, ever happy and singing,<br>With her cake of brown bread, and her jug of brown beer,<br>And would smile when she heard the great Castle-bell ringing,<br>Inviting the Proud--to their prodigal chear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus she liv'd, ever patient and ever contented,<br>Till Envy the Lord of the Castle possess'd,<br>For he hated that Poverty should be so chearful,<br>While care could the fav'rites of Fortune molest;<br>He sent his bold yeomen with threats to prevent her,<br>And still would she carol her sweet roundelay;<br>At last, an old Steward, relentless he sent her--<br>Who bore her, all trembling, to Prison away!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Three weeks did she languish, then died, broken-hearted,<br>Poor Dame! how the death-bell did mournfully sound!<br>And along the green path six young Bachelors bore her,<br>And laid her, for ever, beneath the cold ground!<br>And the primroses pale, 'mid the long grass were growing,<br>The bright dews of twilight bespangled her grave<br>And morn heard the breezes of summer soft blowing<br>To bid the fresh flow'rets in sympathy wave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Lord of the Castle, from that fatal moment<br>When poor Singing MARY was laid in her grave,<br>Each night was surrounded by Screech-owls appalling,<br>Which o'er the black turrets their pinions would wave!<br>On the ramparts that frown'd on the river, swift flowing,<br>They hover'd, still hooting a terrible song,<br>When his windows would rattle, the Winter blast blowing,<br>They would shriek like a ghost, the dark alleys among!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wherever he wander'd they followed him crying,<br>At dawnlight, at Eve, still they haunted his way!<br>When the Moon shone across the wide common, they hooted,<br>Nor quitted his path, till the blazing of day.<br>His bones began wasting, his flesh was decaying,<br>And he hung his proud head, and he perish'd with shame;<br>And the tomb of rich marble, no soft tear displaying,<br>O'ershadows the grave, of THE POOR SINGING DAME!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Darby+Robinson">Mary Darby Robinson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455726" data-title="The Poor Singing Dame de Mary Darby Robinson" data-description="Beneath an old wall, that went round an old Castle,
For many a year, with brown ivy o'erspread;
A neat little Hovel, its lowly roof raising,
Defied the wild winds that howl'd over its shed:
The turrets, that frown'd on the poor simple dwelling,
We..."></div>
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