Unthinking Stephen went-
Poor Martha! on that woeful day
A pang of pitiless dismay
Into her soul was sent ;

A fire was kindled in her breast,
Which might not burn itself to rest.

XII

'They say, full six months after this,
While yet the summer leaves were green,
She to the mountain-top would go,
And there was often seen.

What could she seek?—or wish to hide ?
Her state to any eye was plain;

She was with child, and she was mad;
Yet often was she sober sad

From her exceeding pain.

O guilty Father-would that death

Had saved him from that breach of faith!

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XIII

'Sad case for such a brain to hold
Communion with a stirring child!
Sad case, as you may think, for one
Who had a brain so wild!

Last Christmas-eve we talked of this,
And grey-haired Wilfred of the glen
Held that the unborn infant wrought
About its mother's heart, and brought
Her senses back again :

And, when at last her time drew near,
Her looks were calm, her senses clear.

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XIV

'More know I not, I wish I did,
And it should all be told to you;
For what became of this poor child
No mortal ever knew;

Nay-if a child to her was born

No earthly tongue could ever tell;
And if 'twas born alive or dead,

Far less could this with proof be said;
But some remember well,

That Martha Ray about this time
Would up the mountain often climb.

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XV

And all that winter, when at night
The wind blew from the mountain-peak,
'Twas worth your while, though in the dark,
The churchyard path to seek:

For many a time and oft were heard

Cries coming from the mountain head :
Some plainly living voices were ;

And others, I've heard many swear,

Were voices of the dead:

I cannot think, whate'er they say,
They had to do with Martha Ray.

'Twas mist and rain, and storm and rain : No screen, no fence could I discover;

And then the wind! in sooth, it was

A wind full ten times over.

I looked around, I thought I saw

A jutting crag,—and off I ran,

Head-foremost, through the driving rain,
The shelter of the crag to gain;

And, as I am a man,

Instead of jutting crag I found
A Woman seated on the ground.

XVIII

'I did not speak-I saw her face; Her face it was enough for me; I turned about and heard her cry, "Oh misery! oh misery!"

And there she sits, until the moon

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Through half the clear blue sky will go;
And, when the little breezes make

The waters of the pond to shake,

As all the country know,

She shudders, and you hear her cry,

"Oh misery! oh misery!"''

XIX

'But what's the Thorn? and what the pond?

And what the hill of moss to her?

And what the creeping breeze that comes
The little pond to stir ? '

'I cannot tell; but some will say

She hanged her baby on the tree;

Some say she drowned it in the pond,
Which is a little step beyond:

But all and each agree,

The little Babe was buried there,
Beneath that hill of moss so fair.

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XX

'I've heard, the moss is spotted red

With drops of that poor infant's blood;
But kill a new-born infant thus,

I do not think she could!

Some say, if to the pond you go,

And fix on it a steady view,

The shadow of a babe you trace,
A baby and a baby's face,

And that it looks at you;

Whene'er you look on it, 'tis plain

The baby looks at you again.

XXI

'And some had sworn an oath that she
Should be to public justice brought;
And for the little infant's bones
With spades they would have sought.
But instantly the hill of moss
Before their eyes began to stir!
And, for full fifty yards around,

The grass-it shook upon the ground!
Yet all do still aver

The little Babe lies buried there,

Beneath that hill of moss so fair.

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XXII

'I cannot tell how this may be,
But plain it is the Thorn is bound
With heavy tufts of moss that strive
To drag it to the ground;

And this I know, full many a time,
When she was on the mountain high,

By day, and in the silent night,

When all the stars shone clear and bright,
That I have heard her cry,

"Oh misery! oh misery!

Oh woe is me! oh misery!"'

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1798

XXIV

HART-LEAP WELL

HART-LEAP WELL is a small spring of water, about five miles from Richmond in Yorkshire, and near the side of the road that leads from Richmond to Askrigg. Its name is derived from a remarkable Chase, the memory of which is preserved by the monuments spoken of in the second Part of the following Poem, which monuments do now exist as I have there described them.

HE Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor

TH

With the slow motion of a summer's cloud,

And now, as he approached a vassal's door,
'Bring forth another horse!' he cried aloud.

'Another horse!'-That shout the vassal heard
And saddled his best Steed, a comely grey;
Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third
Which he had mounted on that glorious day.

Joy sparkled in the prancing courser's eyes;
The horse and horseman are a happy pair;
But, though Sir Walter like a falcon flies,
There is a doleful silence in the air.

A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall,
That as they galloped made the echoes roar;
But horse and man are vanished, one and all;
Such race, I think, was never seen before.

Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind,
Calls to the few tired dogs that yet remain :
Blanch, Swift, and Music, noblest of their kind,
Follow, and up the weary mountain strain.

ΤΟ

20

The Knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them on
With suppliant gestures and upbraidings stern;
But breath and eyesight fail; and, one by one,
The dogs are stretched among the mountain fern.

Where is the throng, the tumult of the race?
The bugles that so joyfully were blown?
-This chase it looks not like an earthly chase;
Sir Walter and the Hart are left alone.

The poor Hart toils along the mountain-side;
I will not stop to tell how far he fled,
Nor will I mention by what death he died;
But now the Knight beholds him lying dead.

Dismounting, then, he leaned against a thorn;
He had no follower, dog, nor man, nor boy:
He neither cracked his whip, nor blew his horn,
But gazed upon the spoil with silent joy.

Close to the thorn, on which Sir Walter leaned,
Stood his dumb partner in this glorious feat;
Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yeaned;
And white with foam as if with cleaving sleet.

Upon his side the Hart was lying stretched :
His nostril touched a spring beneath a hill,
And with the last deep groan his breath had fetched
The waters of the spring were trembling still.

And now, too happy for repose or rest,
(Never had living man such joyful lot!)

Sir Walter walked all round, north, south, and west,
And gazed and gazed upon that darling spot.

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And climbing up the hill-(it was at least

Four roods of sheer ascent) Sir Walter found

Three several hoof-marks which the hunted Beast
Had left imprinted on the grassy ground.

6

Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, Till now
Such sight was never seen by human eyes:
Three leaps have borne him from this lofty brow
Down to the very fountain where he lies.

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