 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
THE SPECTRE WOMAN.
Along the hollow chancel the winds of autumn sung,
And the heavy flitting of the bat was heard the aisles among;
The sky was full of stars that night, the moon was at the full,
And yet about the old gray church the light was something dull.
And the heavy flitting of the bat was heard the aisles among;
The sky was full of stars that night, the moon was at the full,
And yet about the old gray church the light was something dull.
And in that solemn churchyard, where the mould was freshly thrown,
Wrapped in a thin, cold sheet, there sat a lovely maid alone:
The dark and tangled tresses half revealed her bosom's charms,
And a something that lay hidden, like a birdling in her arms.
Wrapped in a thin, cold sheet, there sat a lovely maid alone:
The dark and tangled tresses half revealed her bosom's charms,
And a something that lay hidden, like a birdling in her arms.
By that pale, sad brow of beauty, and the locks that fall so low,
And by the burning blushes in that lovely cheek, I know
She hath listened to the tempter, she hath heard his whisper dread,
When the “Get behind me, Satan,” hath been all too faintly said.
And by the burning blushes in that lovely cheek, I know
She hath listened to the tempter, she hath heard his whisper dread,
When the “Get behind me, Satan,” hath been all too faintly said.
It was not the willows trailing, as the winds among them stole,
That was heard there at the midnight, nor the digging of the mole;
Nor yet the dry leaves dropping where the grass was crushed and damp,
And the light that shone so spectral was not the fire-fly's lamp.
That was heard there at the midnight, nor the digging of the mole;
Nor yet the dry leaves dropping where the grass was crushed and damp,
And the light that shone so spectral was not the fire-fly's lamp.
17
The pale moon veiled her beauty in a lightly passing cloud,
When a voice was heard thrice calling to that woman in the shroud!
But whether fiend or angel were for her spirit come,
The lips that could have told it have long been sealed and dumb.
When a voice was heard thrice calling to that woman in the shroud!
But whether fiend or angel were for her spirit come,
The lips that could have told it have long been sealed and dumb.
But they say, who pass that churchyard at the dead watch of the night,
That a woman in her grave-clothes, when the moon is full and bright,
Is seen to bend down fondly, but without a mother's pride,
Over something in her bosom that her tresses cannot hide.
That a woman in her grave-clothes, when the moon is full and bright,
Is seen to bend down fondly, but without a mother's pride,
Over something in her bosom that her tresses cannot hide.
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |