The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth Volume I Part 87

Her state to any eye was plain; [13]

She was with child, and she was mad; Yet often was she [14] sober sad 130 From her exceeding pain.

O guilty Father--would that death Had saved him from that breach of faith! [15]

XIII "Sad case for such a brain to hold Communion with a stirring child! 135 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 [16] 140 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.

XIV "More know I not, I wish I did, 145 And it should all be told to you; [17]

For what became of this poor child No mortal ever knew; [18]

Nay--if a child to her was born No earthly tongue could ever tell; [19] 150 And if 'twas born alive or dead, Far less could this with proof be said; [20]

But some remember well, That Martha Ray about this time Would up the mountain often climb. 155

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 160 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, 165 They had to do with Martha Ray.

XVI "But that she goes to this old Thorn, The Thorn which I described [21] to you, And there sits in a scarlet cloak, I will be sworn is true. 170 For one day with my telescope, To view the ocean wide and bright, When to this country first I came, Ere I had heard of Martha's name, I climbed the mountain's height:-- 175 A storm came on, and I could see No object higher than my knee.

XVII "'Twas mist and rain, and storm and rain: No screen, no fence could I discover; And then the wind! in sooth, [22] it was 180 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; 185 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 [23] enough for me: 190 I turned about and heard her cry, 'Oh misery! oh misery!'

And there she sits, until the moon Through half the clear blue sky will go; And, when the little breezes make 195 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? 200 And what the hill of moss to her?

And what the creeping breeze that comes [24]

The little pond to stir?"

"I cannot tell; but some will say She hanged her baby on the tree; 205 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. 210

XX "I've heard, the moss is spotted red [25]

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, 215 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 220 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. 225 But instantly the hill of moss [26]

Before their eyes began to stir!

And, for full fifty yards around, The gra.s.s--it shook upon the ground!

Yet [27] all do still aver 230 The little Babe lies [28] buried there, Beneath that hill of moss so fair.

XXII "I cannot tell how this may be But plain it is the Thorn is bound With heavy tufts of moss that strive 235 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, 240 That I have heard her cry, 'Oh misery! oh misery!

Oh woe is me! oh misery!'"

Compare 'The Heart of Midlothian' (vol. iii. chap. v. edition of 1818):

"Are ye sure ye ken the way ye are taking us?" said Jeanie, who began to imagine that she was getting deeper into the woods, and more remote from the highroad.

"Do I ken the road? Wasna I mony a day living here, and what for shouldna I ken the road? I might hae forgotten, too, for it was afore my accident; but there are some things ane can never forget, let them try it as muckle as they like."

By this time they had gained the deepest part of a patch of woodland.

The trees were a little separated from each other, and at the foot of one of them, a beautiful poplar, was a hillock of moss, such as the poet of Grasmere has described in the motto to our chapter. So soon as she arrived at this spot, Madge Wildfire, joining her hands above her head, with a loud scream that resembled laughter, flung herself all at once upon the spot, and remained there lying motionless.

Jeanie's first idea was to take the opportunity of flight; but her desire to escape yielded for a moment to apprehension for the poor insane being, who, she thought, might perish for want of relief. With an effort, which, in her circ.u.mstances, might be termed heroic, she stooped down, spoke in a soothing tone, and tried to raise up the forlorn creature. She effected this with difficulty, and as she placed her against the tree in a sitting posture, she observed with surprise, that her complexion, usually florid, was now deadly pale, and that her face was bathed in tears. Notwithstanding her own extreme danger, Jeanie was affected by the situation of her companion; and the rather that, through the whole train of her wavering and inconsistent state of mind and line of conduct, she discerned a general colour of kindness towards herself, for which she felt grat.i.tude.

"Let me alane!--let me alane!" said the poor young woman, as her paroxysm of sorrow began to abate. "Let me alane; it does me good to weep. I canna shed tears but maybe anes or twice a-year, and I aye come to wet this turf with them, that the flowers may grow fair, and the gra.s.s may be green."

"But what is the matter with you?" said Jeanie. "Why do you weep so bitterly?"

"There's matter enow," replied the lunatic; "mair than ae puir mind can bear, I trow. Stay a bit, and I'll tell you a' about it; for I like ye, Jeanie Deans; a'body spoke weel about ye when we lived in the Pleasaunts. And I mind aye the drink o' milk ye gae me yon day, when I had been on Arthur's Seat for four-and-twenty hours, looking for the s.h.i.+p that somebody was sailing in."

Ed.

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1836.

... th.o.r.n.y ... 1798.]

[Variant 2:

1836.

... it is overgrown. 1798.]

[Variant 3:

1836.

... were ... 1798.]

[Variant 4: