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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508069" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mary - A Ballad</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Author Note: The story of the following ballad was related to me, when a school boy, as a fact which had really happened in the North of England. I have<br>adopted the metre of Mr. Lewis's Alonzo and Imogene--a poem deservedly<br>popular.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who is she, the poor Maniac, whose wildly-fix'd eyes<br> Seem a heart overcharged to express?<br>She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs,<br>She never complains, but her silence implies<br> The composure of settled distress.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No aid, no compassion the Maniac will seek,<br> Cold and hunger awake not her care:<br>Thro' her rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak<br>On her poor withered bosom half bare, and her cheek<br> Has the deathy pale hue of despair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet chearful and happy, nor distant the day,<br> Poor Mary the Maniac has been;<br>The Traveller remembers who journeyed this way<br>No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay<br> As Mary the Maid of the Inn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her chearful address fill'd the guests with delight<br> As she welcomed them in with a smile:<br>Her heart was a stranger to childish affright,<br>And Mary would walk by the Abbey at night<br> When the wind whistled down the dark aisle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>V.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She loved, and young Richard had settled the day,<br> And she hoped to be happy for life;<br>But Richard was idle and worthless, and they<br>Who knew him would pity poor Mary and say<br> That she was too good for his wife.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night,<br> And fast were the windows and door;<br>Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright,<br>And smoking in silence with tranquil delight<br> They listen'd to hear the wind roar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fire side<br> "To hear the wind whistle without."<br>"A fine night for the Abbey!" his comrade replied,<br>"Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried<br> "Who should wander the ruins about.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VIII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear<br> "The hoarse ivy shake over my head;<br>"And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear,<br>"Some ugly old Abbot's white spirit appear,<br> "For this wind might awaken the dead!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IX.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried,<br> "That Mary would venture there now."<br>"Then wager and lose!" with a sneer he replied,<br>"I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side,<br> "And faint if she saw a white cow."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>X.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?"<br> His companion exclaim'd with a smile;<br>"I shall win, for I know she will venture there now,<br>"And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough<br> "From the elder that grows in the aisle."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With fearless good humour did Mary comply,<br> And her way to the Abbey she bent;<br>The night it was dark, and the wind it was high<br>And as hollowly howling it swept thro' the sky<br> She shiver'd with cold as she went.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O'er the path so well known still proceeded the Maid<br> Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight,<br>Thro' the gate-way she entered, she felt not afraid<br>Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade<br> Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XIII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All around her was silent, save when the rude blast<br> Howl'd dismally round the old pile;<br>Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she past,<br>And arrived in the innermost ruin at last<br> Where the elder tree grew in the aisle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XIV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well-pleas'd did she reach it, and quickly drew near<br> And hastily gather'd the bough:<br>When the sound of a voice seem'd to rise on her ear,<br>She paus'd, and she listen'd, all eager to hear,<br> Aud her heart panted fearfully now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head,<br> She listen'd,--nought else could she hear.<br>The wind ceas'd, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread<br>For she heard in the ruins distinctly the tread<br> Of footsteps approaching her near.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XVI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Behind a wide column half breathless with fear<br> She crept to conceal herself there:<br>That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear,<br>And she saw in the moon-light two ruffians appear<br> And between them a corpse did they bear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XVII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold!<br> Again the rough wind hurried by,--<br>It blew off the hat of the one, and behold<br>Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll'd,--<br> She felt, and expected to die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XVIII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Curse the hat!" he exclaims. "Nay come on and first hide<br> "The dead body," his comrade replies.<br>She beheld them in safety pass on by her side,<br>She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied,<br> And fast thro' the Abbey she flies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XIX.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door,<br> She gazed horribly eager around,<br>Then her limbs could support their faint burthen no more,<br>And exhausted and breathless she sunk on the floor<br> Unable to utter a sound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XX.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart,<br> For a moment the hat met her view;--<br>Her eyes from that object convulsively start,<br>For--oh God what cold horror then thrill'd thro' her heart,<br> When the name of her Richard she knew!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by<br> His gibbet is now to be seen.<br>Not far from the road it engages the eye,<br>The Traveller beholds it, and thinks with a sigh<br> Of poor Mary the Maid of the Inn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Southey">Robert Southey</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=508069" data-title="Mary - A Ballad de Robert Southey" data-description="Author Note: The story of the following ballad was related to me, when a school boy, as a fact which had really happened in the North of England. I have adopted the metre of Mr. Lewis's Alonzo and Imogene--a poem deservedly popular. I. Who is s..."></div> </div> </div>
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