XXVII. THE THORN. "THERE is a Thorn-it looks so old, In truth, you'd find it hard to say How it could ever have been young, It looks so old and gray. Not higher than a two years' child It is a mass of knotted joints, It stands erect, and like a stone a With lichens it is overgrown. Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown With lichens to the very top, And hung with heavy tufts of moss, Up from the earth these mosses creep, And all had joined in one endeavour High on a mountain's highest ridge, Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds It sweeps from vale to vale; Not five yards from the mountain path, This Thorn you on your left espy; And to the left, three yards beyond, You see a little muddy Pond Of water, never dry; I've measured it from side to side: 'Tis three feet long, and two feet wide. And, close beside this aged Thorn, All lovely colours there you see, The work had woven been; Ah me! what lovely tints are there! In spikes, in branches, and in stars, This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss, Which close beside the Thorn you see, So fresh in all its beauteous dyes, Now would you see this aged Thorn, You must take care and choose your time For oft there sits, between the Heap And to herself she cries, "Oh misery! oh misery! Oh woe is me! oh misery!" At all times of the day and night This wretched Woman thither And she is known to every star, goes; And there beside the Thorn she sits Or frosty air is keen and still, And to herself she cries, "Oh misery! oh misery! Oh woe is me! oh misery!" 45-201 "Now wherefore, thus, by day and night, In rain, in tempest, and in snow, Does this poor Woman go? And wherefore does she cry?— "I cannot tell; I wish I could; For the true reason no one knows: But if you'd gladly view the spot, The Heap that's like an infant's grave, Pass by her door-'tis seldom shut- I never heard of such as dare Approach the spot when she is there." |