I did not speak - I saw her face; I turned about and heard her cry, And there she sits, until the moon 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!'" "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, But all and each agree, The little Babe was buried there, Beneath that Hill of moss so fair. 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 if to the Pond you go, say, And fix on it a steady view, The shadow of a babe you trace, And that it looks at you; Whene'er you look on it, 'tis plain 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. It might not be the Hill of moss The little Babe is buried there, Beneath that Hill of moss so fair, I cannot tell how this may be: But plain it is, the Thorn is bound And this I know, full many a time, When she was on the mountain high, When all the stars shone clear and bright, Oh misery! oh misery! Oh woe is me! oh misery!"" XXIX. 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. THE Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor And "Bring another horse!" he cried aloud. "Another Horse!". That shout the Vassal heard, And saddled his best Steed, a comely gray; Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third Joy sparkled in the prancing Courser's eyes; A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall, Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind, The Knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them on Where is the throng, the tumult of the race? - This Chase it looks not like an earthly Chase; Sir Walter and the Hart are left alone. |