Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Epilogue
' Must wear the breeches . ' Says I , 'Don't deplore [ wore : ' What in your husband ' s life you slways ' But vVuu vowt La ' ashtu ' s heart may cease from throbbing , [ dobbin ; ' Let your fat coachman mount upon tat ' ' And " for the good old pair , I'll boldly jay , ' Nor man , nor horse , will ever run away . ' ' Run—arrah—what is that—don't tear
betray , ' Cries patriot Paddy , hot fromBantry Bay . [ Assuming the brogue . ' The Frenchmen came , expecting us to meet 'em , [' em , ' And sure we all were ready there to beat ' With piping hot potatoes made of lead , ' And powder that would serve instead of bread : [ of frogs ,
' Then for the meat—Oh , such fine legs ' With warm dry lodging for them in the bogs . ' ' Thev came , alas , ' cried I , nf terror full , ' Thev marie a conquest '— ' No , they made a ' bull . ' [ battle , But softlv—what with measures , bulls , and You must , I ' m sure , be lir'd of my dull ' prattle ; [ clever , But while you look so pleasant , kind , aticl Had I the wav , I'd talk to you for ever .
Mary, A Tale.
MARY , A TALE .
WHO is she , the poor maniac , whose wildly fix'd eyes Seem a heartovercharg'd to express ? She weeps not , yet often and deeply she sighs Lpites She never complains , but her silence mi' f lie composure of settled distress . No aidno compassion the maniac will
, seek , , Cold and hunger awake not her care : Thro - her lags do the winds of the winter blow bleak . ' , , On her poor withered bosom half baie , and her cheek Has the deathy pale hue of despair . Yet cheerful and happy , nor distant the
dav , Poof Mary the maniac has been ; The trav'ller remembers who journey'd this way No damsel so lovely , no damsel so gay As Mary t he maid of the ititi . Her cheerful address filVu the gue . ts with delight
As she wek-om'd them in with asmile : lle ' i- heart wasa stranger to childish affright , And Marv wouid waff , by the abbey at wg ' m When " the wind whistled down the dark aisle . She loved , and young Richard had settled . the d ay .
And she hoped to be happy for life ; But Richard was idle and worthless , and they Who knew him would pity poor Mary , and say That she was too good for his wife . 'Twas in autumn , and st . rmy and dark was the night , windows and door
And fast were the ; Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright , And smoking in silence with tratiquildehght , They listen'd to hear the wind roar . ' 'Tis pleasant , ' cried one , ' seated by the fire side , ' To hear the wind whistle without . '
' A fine night for the abbey ! ' his comrade replied , ' Metliinks a man ' s courage would now be well tried ' Who should wander the ruins about . ' I myself , like asehool-boy , should tremble to hear ' Tile hoarse ivy shake over my he . d ;
' And could fancy I saw , half persuaded by ' fear , Some ugly old abbot ' s white spirit appear , ' For tins wind might awaken the dead !' ' I'll v .-ager a dinner , ' the other one cried , ' That " Mary would venture there now . ' ' Then wager-and lose ! ' with a sneer he replied ,
'I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side , ' And faint if she saw a white cow . ' ' Will Mary this charge on her courage allow ?' His companion exclaim'd with asmile ; ' I shall win , for I know she will venture there now , [ bough 'And earn a new . bonnet by bringing a ' From the elder that grows in the aisle . "
With fearless good humour did Mary ccmplv , And ' her way to the abbey she bent ; The night it was dark , and the wind it was higli , Csk } ' , And as hollowly howling it swept thro' ihe She shiver'd with cold as she went . O ' er tbe path so well known still proceeded
Ihe maid , Where the abbey rose dim on the sight , Through the gate-way she enter'd , she felt not afraid , Yet 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 Howl'd dismall y round the old pile ; Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she past , A « d arriv'd in the innermost ruin at last , \ V here the eider wee grew in the aisle . Well pleas'd did she reach it , and quickly drew near , Ami hastily gather'd the bough :
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Epilogue
' Must wear the breeches . ' Says I , 'Don't deplore [ wore : ' What in your husband ' s life you slways ' But vVuu vowt La ' ashtu ' s heart may cease from throbbing , [ dobbin ; ' Let your fat coachman mount upon tat ' ' And " for the good old pair , I'll boldly jay , ' Nor man , nor horse , will ever run away . ' ' Run—arrah—what is that—don't tear
betray , ' Cries patriot Paddy , hot fromBantry Bay . [ Assuming the brogue . ' The Frenchmen came , expecting us to meet 'em , [' em , ' And sure we all were ready there to beat ' With piping hot potatoes made of lead , ' And powder that would serve instead of bread : [ of frogs ,
' Then for the meat—Oh , such fine legs ' With warm dry lodging for them in the bogs . ' ' Thev came , alas , ' cried I , nf terror full , ' Thev marie a conquest '— ' No , they made a ' bull . ' [ battle , But softlv—what with measures , bulls , and You must , I ' m sure , be lir'd of my dull ' prattle ; [ clever , But while you look so pleasant , kind , aticl Had I the wav , I'd talk to you for ever .
Mary, A Tale.
MARY , A TALE .
WHO is she , the poor maniac , whose wildly fix'd eyes Seem a heartovercharg'd to express ? She weeps not , yet often and deeply she sighs Lpites She never complains , but her silence mi' f lie composure of settled distress . No aidno compassion the maniac will
, seek , , Cold and hunger awake not her care : Thro - her lags do the winds of the winter blow bleak . ' , , On her poor withered bosom half baie , and her cheek Has the deathy pale hue of despair . Yet cheerful and happy , nor distant the
dav , Poof Mary the maniac has been ; The trav'ller remembers who journey'd this way No damsel so lovely , no damsel so gay As Mary t he maid of the ititi . Her cheerful address filVu the gue . ts with delight
As she wek-om'd them in with asmile : lle ' i- heart wasa stranger to childish affright , And Marv wouid waff , by the abbey at wg ' m When " the wind whistled down the dark aisle . She loved , and young Richard had settled . the d ay .
And she hoped to be happy for life ; But Richard was idle and worthless , and they Who knew him would pity poor Mary , and say That she was too good for his wife . 'Twas in autumn , and st . rmy and dark was the night , windows and door
And fast were the ; Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright , And smoking in silence with tratiquildehght , They listen'd to hear the wind roar . ' 'Tis pleasant , ' cried one , ' seated by the fire side , ' To hear the wind whistle without . '
' A fine night for the abbey ! ' his comrade replied , ' Metliinks a man ' s courage would now be well tried ' Who should wander the ruins about . ' I myself , like asehool-boy , should tremble to hear ' Tile hoarse ivy shake over my he . d ;
' And could fancy I saw , half persuaded by ' fear , Some ugly old abbot ' s white spirit appear , ' For tins wind might awaken the dead !' ' I'll v .-ager a dinner , ' the other one cried , ' That " Mary would venture there now . ' ' Then wager-and lose ! ' with a sneer he replied ,
'I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side , ' And faint if she saw a white cow . ' ' Will Mary this charge on her courage allow ?' His companion exclaim'd with asmile ; ' I shall win , for I know she will venture there now , [ bough 'And earn a new . bonnet by bringing a ' From the elder that grows in the aisle . "
With fearless good humour did Mary ccmplv , And ' her way to the abbey she bent ; The night it was dark , and the wind it was higli , Csk } ' , And as hollowly howling it swept thro' ihe She shiver'd with cold as she went . O ' er tbe path so well known still proceeded
Ihe maid , Where the abbey rose dim on the sight , Through the gate-way she enter'd , she felt not afraid , Yet 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 Howl'd dismall y round the old pile ; Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she past , A « d arriv'd in the innermost ruin at last , \ V here the eider wee grew in the aisle . Well pleas'd did she reach it , and quickly drew near , Ami hastily gather'd the bough :