ld moonlight;
Shine upon my lowly grave,
Sadly, stars of night! 260

When home returned, the tears ran down apace;
She looked in silence in her mother's face;
Then, starting up, with wilder aspect cried,
How happy shall we be at Whitsuntide,
Then, mother, I shall be a bride--a bride!
Ah! some dire thought seems in her breast to rise,
Stern with terrific joy she rolls her eyes:
Her mother heeded not; nor when she took,
With more impatient haste, her Sunday book,
She heeded not--for age had dimmed her sight. 270
Her mother now is left alone: 'tis night.
Mary! poor Mary! her sad mother cried,
Mary! my Mary!--but no voice replied.

Next morn, light-hearted William passed along,
And careless hummed a desultory song,
Bound to St Ives' revel.[64] Not a ray
Yet streaked the pale dawn of the dubious day;
The sun is yet below the hills: but, look! 278
There is the tower--the mill--the stile--the brook,--
And there is Mary's cottage! All is still!
Listen! no sound is heard but of the mill.
'Tis true, the toils of day are not begun,
But Mary always rose before the sun.
Still at the door, a leafless relic now,
Appeared a remnant of the May-day bough;
No hour-glass, in the window, tells the hours:
Where is poor Mary, where her book, her flowers?
Ah! was it fancy?--as he passed along,
He thought he heard a spirit's feeble song.[65]
Struck by the thrilling sound, he turned his look. 290
Upon the ground there lay an open book;
One page was folded down:--Spirit of grace!
See! there are soils, like tear-blots, on the place!
It is a prayer-book! Soon these words he read;
Let him be desolate, and beg his bread![66]
Let there be none, not one, on earth to bless,--
Be his days few,--his children fatherless,--
His wife a widow!--let there be no friend
In his last moments mercy to extend!
It was a prayer-book he before had seen: 300
Where? when? Once more, wild terror on his mien,
He read the page:--An outcast let him lie,
And unlamented and forsaken die!
When he has children, may they pine away
Before his sight,--his wife to grief a prey.
Ah! 'tis poor Mary's book!--the very same 306
He read with her at church; and, lo! her name:--