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Ah me! what lovely tints are there !
Now would you see this aged Thorn,
That's like an infant's grave in size, And that same Pond of which I spoko, A Woman in a scarlet cloak, And to herself she cries, “Oh misery! oh misery ! “Oh woe is me! oh misery !"
At all times of the day and night
wind that blows ; And there beside the Thorn she sits When the blue day-light's in the skies, And when the whirlwind's on the hill, Or frosty air is keen and still, And to herself she cries, « Oh misery ! oh misery! “ Oh woe is me! oh misery!" **
“ Now wherefore, thus, by day and night,
? And why sits she beside the Thorn ~ When the blue day-light's in the sky, “ Or when the whirlwind's on the hill, “Or frosty air is keen and still, “ And wherefore does she cry?“ Oh wherefore ? wherefore ? tell me why “Does she repeat that doleful
I cannot tell ; I wish I could;
The Pond—and Thorn, so old and grey,
“ But wherefore to the mountain-top:
I'll give you the best help I can :
all I know. 'Tis now some two and twenty years, Since she (her name is Martha Ray) Gave with a maiden's true good will Her company to Stephen Hill ; And she was blithe and gay, And she was happy, happy still Whene'er she thought of Stephen Hill,
And they had fix'd the wedding-day,