 | The poetical works (1829) |  |
THE MAD WOMAN.
[_]
The circumstance on which the following Ballad is founded, happened not many years ago in Bristol.
The Traveller's hands were white with cold,
The Traveller's lips were blue,
Oh! glad was he when the village church
So near was seen in view!
The Traveller's lips were blue,
Oh! glad was he when the village church
So near was seen in view!
He hasten'd to the village Inn,
That stood the church-door nigh,—
There sat a woman on a grave,
And he could not pass her by.
That stood the church-door nigh,—
There sat a woman on a grave,
And he could not pass her by.
Her feet were bare, and on her breast
Through rags did the winter blow,
She sate with her face towards the wind,
And the grave was cover'd with snow.
Through rags did the winter blow,
She sate with her face towards the wind,
And the grave was cover'd with snow.
Is there never a Christian in the place,
To her the Traveller cried,
Who will let thee, this cold winter time,
Sit by his fire-side?
To her the Traveller cried,
Who will let thee, this cold winter time,
Sit by his fire-side?
I have fire in my head, she answered him,
I have fire in my heart also;
And there will be no winter time
In the place where I must go!
I have fire in my heart also;
And there will be no winter time
In the place where I must go!
A curse upon thee, man,
For mocking me! she said;
And he saw the woman's eyes, like one
In a fever-fit, were red.
For mocking me! she said;
And he saw the woman's eyes, like one
In a fever-fit, were red.
And when he to the inn-door came,
And the host his greeting gave,
He ask'd who that mad woman was
Who sate upon the grave.
And the host his greeting gave,
He ask'd who that mad woman was
Who sate upon the grave.
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God in his mercy, quoth the host,
Forgive her for her sin;
For heavy is her crime, and strange
Her punishment hath been.
Forgive her for her sin;
For heavy is her crime, and strange
Her punishment hath been.
She was so pale and meagre-ey'd,
As scarcely to be known,
When to her mother she return'd
From service in the town.
As scarcely to be known,
When to her mother she return'd
From service in the town.
She seldom spoke, she never smil'd,
What ail'd her no one knew,
But every day more meagre-pale
And sullen sad she grew.
What ail'd her no one knew,
But every day more meagre-pale
And sullen sad she grew.
It was upon last Christmas eve,
As we sat round the hearth,
And every soul but Martha's
Was full of Christmas mirth.
As we sat round the hearth,
And every soul but Martha's
Was full of Christmas mirth.
She sat, and look'd upon the fire
That then so fiercely shone,
She look'd into it carnestly,
And we heard a stifled groan.
That then so fiercely shone,
She look'd into it carnestly,
And we heard a stifled groan.
And she shook like a dying wretch
In a convulsive fit;
And up she rose, and in the snows,
Went out on a grave to sit.
In a convulsive fit;
And up she rose, and in the snows,
Went out on a grave to sit.
We follow'd her, and to the room
Besought her to return;
She groan'd and said, that in the fire,
She saw her Baby burn.
Besought her to return;
She groan'd and said, that in the fire,
She saw her Baby burn.
And in her dreadful madness then
To light her murder came,
How secretly from every eye
Nine months she hid her shame;
To light her murder came,
How secretly from every eye
Nine months she hid her shame;
And how she slew the wretched babe
Just as he sprung to light,
And in the midnight fire consum'd
His little body quite.
Just as he sprung to light,
And in the midnight fire consum'd
His little body quite.
Would I could feel the winter wind,
Would I could feel the snow!
I have fire in my head, poor Martha cried,
I have fire in my heart also.
Would I could feel the snow!
I have fire in my head, poor Martha cried,
I have fire in my heart also.
So there from morn till night she sits—
Now God forgive her sin!
For heavy is her crime, and strange
Her punishment hath been.
Now God forgive her sin!
For heavy is her crime, and strange
Her punishment hath been.
| The poetical works (1829) | |