As Edward led his bride away And hurried to the door, The ruthless mother springing forth Stopped midway on the floor.

What did she mean? What did she mean? 180 For with a smile she cried: 'Unblest ye shall not pa.s.s my door, The bride-groom and his bride.

'Be blithe as lambs in April are, As flies when fruits are red; 185 May G.o.d forbid that thought of me Should haunt your marriage-bed.

'And let the night be given to bliss, The day be given to glee: I am a woman weak and old, 190 Why turn a thought on me?

'What can an aged mother do, And what have ye to dread?

A curse is wind, it hath no shape To haunt your marriage-bed.' 195

When they were gone and out of sight She rent her h.o.a.ry hair, And foamed like any Dog of June When sultry sun-beams glare.

Now ask you why the barren wife, 200 And why the maid forlorn, And why the ruthless mother lies Beneath the flowery thorn?

Three times, three times this spade of mine, In spite of bolt or bar, 205 Did from beneath the belfry come, When spirits wandering are.

And when the mother's soul to h.e.l.l By howling fiends was borne, This spade was seen to mark her grave 210 Beneath the flowery thorn.

And when the death-knock at the door Called home the maid forlorn, This spade was seen to mark her grave Beneath the flowery thorn. 215

And 'tis a fearful, fearful tree; The ghosts that round it meet, 'Tis they that cut the rind at night, Yet still it blossoms sweet.

[_End of MS._]

PART III[276:1]

The grapes upon the Vicar's wall 220 Were ripe as ripe could be; And yellow leaves in sun and wind Were falling from the tree.

On the hedge-elms in the narrow lane Still swung the spikes of corn: 225 Dear Lord! it seems but yesterday-- Young Edward's marriage-morn.

Up through that wood behind the church, There leads from Edward's door A mossy track, all over boughed, 230 For half a mile or more.

And from their house-door by that track The bride and bridegroom went; Sweet Mary, though she was not gay, Seemed cheerful and content. 235

But when they to the church-yard came, I've heard poor Mary say, As soon as she stepped into the sun, Her heart it died away.

And when the Vicar join'd their hands, 240 Her limbs did creep and freeze: But when they prayed, she thought she saw Her mother on her knees.

And o'er the church-path they returned-- I saw poor Mary's back, 245 Just as she stepped beneath the boughs Into the mossy track.

Her feet upon the mossy track The married maiden set: That moment--I have heard her say-- 250 She wished she could forget.

The shade o'er-flushed her limbs with heat-- Then came a chill like death: And when the merry bells rang out, They seemed to stop her breath. 255

Beneath the foulest mother's curse No child could ever thrive: A mother is a mother still, The holiest thing alive.

So five months pa.s.sed: the mother still 260 Would never heal the strife; But Edward was a loving man And Mary a fond wife.

'My sister may not visit us, My mother says her nay: 265 O Edward! you are all to me, I wish for your sake I could be More lifesome and more gay.

'I'm dull and sad! indeed, indeed I know I have no reason! 270 Perhaps I am not well in health, And 'tis a gloomy season.'

'Twas a drizzly time--no ice, no snow!

And on the few fine days She stirred not out, lest she might meet 275 Her mother in the ways.

But Ellen, spite of miry ways And weather dark and dreary, Trudged every day to Edward's house, And made them all more cheery. 280

Oh! Ellen was a faithful friend.

More dear than any sister!

As cheerful too as singing lark; And she ne'er left them till 'twas dark, And then they always missed her. 285

And now Ash-Wednesday came--that day But few to church repair: For on that day you know we read The Commination prayer.

Our late old Vicar, a kind man, 290 Once, Sir, he said to me, He wished that service was clean out Of our good Liturgy.

The mother walked into the church-- To Ellen's seat she went: 295 Though Ellen always kept her church All church-days during Lent.

And gentle Ellen welcomed her With courteous looks and mild: Thought she, 'What if her heart should melt, 300 And all be reconciled!'

The day was scarcely like a day-- The clouds were black outright: And many a night, with half a moon, I've seen the church more light. 305

The wind was wild; against the gla.s.s The rain did beat and bicker; The church-tower swinging over head, You scarce could hear the Vicar!

And then and there the mother knelt, 310 And audibly she cried-- 'Oh! may a clinging curse consume This woman by my side!

'O hear me, hear me, Lord in Heaven.

Although you take my life-- 315 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, 320 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: 325 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 330 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,'

Quoth she, 'and what care I?' 335

She smiled, and smiled, and pa.s.sed 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, 340 This was her constant cry-- 'It was a wicked woman's curse-- G.o.d's good, and what care I?'