[PART II--FROM MS.][271:3]

And now the wedding day was fix'd, The wedding-ring was bought; The wedding-cake with her own hand The ruthless mother brought.

'And when to-morrow's sun shines forth The maid shall be a bride'; Thus Edward to the mother spake While she sate by his side.

Alone they sate within the bower: The mother's colour fled, For Mary's foot was heard above-- She decked the bridal bed.

And when her foot was on the stairs To meet her at the door, With steady step the mother rose, And silent left the bower.

She stood, her back against the door, And when her child drew near-- 'Away! away!' the mother cried, 'Ye shall not enter here.

'Would ye come here, ye maiden vile, And rob me of my mate?' And on her child the mother scowled A deadly leer of hate.

Fast rooted to the spot, you guess, The wretched maiden stood, As pale as any ghost of night That wanteth flesh and blood.

She did not groan, she did not fall, She did not shed a tear, Nor did she cry, 'Oh! mother, why May I not enter here?'

But wildly up the stairs she ran, As if her sense was fled, And then her trembling limbs she threw Upon the bridal bed.

The mother she to Edward went Where he sate in the bower, And said, 'That woman is not fit To be your paramour.

'She is my child--it makes my heart With grief and trouble swell; I rue the hour that gave her birth, For never worse befel.

'For she is fierce and she is proud, And of an envious mind; A wily hypocrite she is, And giddy as the wind.

'And if you go to church with her, You'll rue the bitter smart; For she will wrong your marriage-bed, And she will break your heart.

'Oh God, to think that I have shared Her deadly sin so long; She is my child, and therefore I As mother held my tongue.

'She is my child, I've risked for her My living soul's estate: I cannot say my daily prayers, The burthen is so great.

'And she would scatter gold about Until her back was bare; And should you swing for lust of hers In truth she'd little care.'

Then in a softer tone she said, And took him by the hand: 'Sweet Edward, for one kiss of your's I'd give my house and land.

'And if you'll go to church with me, And take me for your bride, I'll make you heir of all I have-- Nothing shall be denied.'

Then Edward started from his seat, And he laughed loud and long-- 'In truth, good mother, you are mad, Or drunk with liquor strong.'

To him no word the mother said, But on her knees she fell, And fetched her breath while thrice your hand Might toll the passing-bell.

'Thou daughter now above my head, Whom in my womb I bore, May every drop of thy heart's blood Be curst for ever more.

'And curséd be the hour when first I heard thee wawl and cry; And in the Church-yard curséd be The grave where thou shalt lie!'

And Mary on the bridal-bed Her mother's curse had heard; And while the cruel mother spake The bed beneath her stirred.

In wrath young Edward left the hall, And turning round he sees The mother looking up to God And still upon her knees.

Young Edward he to Mary went When on the bed she lay: 'Sweet love, this is a wicked house-- Sweet love, we must away.'

He raised her from the bridal-bed, All pale and wan with fear; 'No Dog,' quoth he, 'if he were mine, No Dog would kennel here.'

He led her from the bridal-bed, He led her from the stairs. [Had sense been hers she had not dar'd To venture on her prayers. MS. erased.]

The mother still was in the bower, And with a greedy heart She drank perdition on her knees, Which never may depart.

But when their steps were heard below On God she did not call; She did forget the God of Heaven, For they were in the hall.

She started up--the servant maid Did see her when she rose; And she has oft declared to me The blood within her froze.

As Edward led his bride away And hurried to the door, The ruthless mother springing forth Stopped midway on the floor.

What did she mean? What did she mean? For with a smile she cried: 'Unblest ye shall not pass my door, The bride-groom and his bride.

'Be blithe as lambs in April are, As flies when fruits are red; May God forbid that thought of me Should haunt your marriage-bed.

'And let the night be given to bliss, The day be given to glee: I am a woman weak and old, Why turn a thought on me?

'What can an agéd mother do, And what have ye to dread? A curse is wind, it hath no shape To haunt your marriage-bed.'

When they were gone and out of sight She rent her hoary hair, And foamed like any Dog of June When sultry sun-beams glare.

* * * * *

Now ask you why the barren wife, And why the maid forlorn, And why the ruthless mother lies Beneath the flowery thorn?

Three times, three times this spade of mine, In spite of bolt or bar, Did from beneath the belfry come, When spirits wandering are.

And when the mother's soul to Hell By howling fiends was borne, This spade was seen to mark her grave Beneath the flowery thorn.

And when the death-knock at the door Called home the maid forlorn, This spade was seen to mark her grave Beneath the flowery thorn.

And 'tis a fearful, fearful tree; The ghosts that round it meet, 'Tis they that cut the rind at night, Yet still it blossoms sweet.

* * * * *

[End of MS.]