No aid, no compassion, the maniac will seek, Cold and hunger awake not her care; Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak On her poor wither'd bosom half bare; and her cheek Has the deadly pale hue of despair! Yet cheerful and happy-nor distant the day- The traveller remembers, who journey'd this way, As Mary, the Maid of the Inn! Her cheerful address fill'd the guests with delight, She loved; and young Richard had settled the day, But Richard was idle and worthless; and they 'Twas in Autumn, and stormy and dark was the night, And fast were the windows and door; Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burn'd bright, "Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fire-side, To hear the wind whistle without." "A fine night for the Abbey !" his comrade replied: "Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried, Who should wander the ruins about. "I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear "I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, "Will Mary this charge on her courage allow ?" "I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, With fearless good humour did Mary comply, The night it was gloomy, the wind it was high, O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid, Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight: Through the gateway she enter'd-she felt not afraidYet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she pass'd, Where the alder-tree grew in the aisle. Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near, When the sound of a voice seem'd to rise on her ear And her heart panted fearfully now! The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head; The wind ceased, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold! It blew off the hat of the one, and behold! She fell-and expected to die! "Curse the hat!"-he exclaims-"Nay, come on, and first hide The dead body!" his comrade replies, She beheld them in safety pass on by her side, She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door, Her limbs could support their faint burden no more : Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For, O heaven! what cold horror thrill'd through her heart When the name of her Richard she knew! Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by, Not far from the Inn it engages the eye, The traveller beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh, Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn! THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. It was a summer evening, And by him sported on the green She saw her brother Peterkin In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found, Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh, ""Tis some poor fellow's scull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory." "I find them in the garden, For there's many here about; And often when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out! For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory." "Now tell us what 'twas all about," "Now tell us all about the war, And what they killed each other for." "It was the English," Kaspar cried, "My father lived at Blenheim then, They burnt his dwelling to the ground So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head. "With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide; And many a childing mother then, But things like that, you know, must be "They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun; But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. "Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our prince Eugene." Nay-nay-my little girl," quoth he, "And every body prais'd the Duke "Why, that I cannot tell," said he, But 'twas a famous victory." |