Versos English John Shaw Neilson Marian's Child

English poem

Marian's Child

by (1872–1942)

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First we thought of the river, But the body might be found; And it did not seem so cruel To bury it in the ground. So small it seemed, so helpless — I hardened my heart like stone — She kissed it over and over, And then I heard her groan.

I took it out of her bosom: It cried, and cried, and cried; I carried it down the garden — The moon was bright outside. I dug a hole with a shovel And laid the baby down; I shovelled the sand upon it — The sand was soft and brown.

But, ah! its cry was bitter I scarce could cover it in, And when at last 't was hidden I sank beneath my sin. Down at the foot of the garden, Where the moon-made shadows fell, I sold myself to the Devil And bought a home in hell.

Down at the foot of the garden, Where the weeds grew rank and wild, Under the shivering willows I murdered Marian's child; My heart was wildly beating, My eyes and cheeks were wet, For I heard the baby crying — O God! I hear it yet. I hear it crying, crying, Just as I heard it cry In Marian's arms in the morning When I knew that it must die.

Neither of us was woman — I was the younger one; And we strove to tell each other What a wise thing we had done. Why should it live to plague us? Why should it ever begin Travelling roads of trouble, Soiling its soul with sin?

Marian! ah, she remembers! In spite of all her tears Sweet children call her mother These many, many years. Yet when I saw my darling, Her blue eyes seemed to swell: "Annie!" she said, "do you hear it? Listen! I hear it well!

In the night I hear it calling With a muffled, plaintive wail, And my heart stands still to count its sobs, And ever I try and fail; For I think the depth of my baby's grief Will never fathomed be Till the fires are lit in the bottomless pit To blast eternity."

Once in a southern city Joy came into my life — He loved me, kissed me, thought me Worthy to be his wife ... No, I will never marry. God! I had rather die — If ever I had a baby 'T would curse me with its cry! For down at the foot of the garden, Where the moon-made shadows fell, I sold myself to the Devil And bought a home in hell.