No More Learning

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IX "I cannot tell; I wish I could;
For the true reason no one knows: 90
But would you [7] gladly view the spot,
The spot to which she goes;
The hillock like [8] an infant's grave,
The pond--and Thorn, so old and grey;
Pass by her door--'tis seldom shut-- 95
And, if you see her in her hut--
Then to the spot away!
I never heard of such as dare
Approach the spot when she is there. "


X "But wherefore to the mountain-top 100
Can this unhappy Woman go,
Whatever star is in the skies,
Whatever wind may blow? " [9]
"Full twenty years are past and gone [10]
Since she (her name is Martha Ray) 105
Gave with a maiden's true good-will
Her company to Stephen Hill;
And she was blithe and gay,
While friends and kindred all approved
Of him whom tenderly she loved. [11] 110


XI "And they had fixed the wedding day,
The morning that must wed them both;
But Stephen to another Maid
Had sworn another oath;
And, with this other Maid, to church 115
Unthinking Stephen went--
Poor Martha! on that woeful day
A pang of pitiless dismay
Into her soul was sent;
A fire was kindled in her breast, 121
Which might not burn itself to rest. [12]


XII "They say, full six months after this,
While yet the summer leaves were green,
She to the mountain-top would go, 125
And there was often seen.
What could she seek? --or wish to hide?
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.