Chapter 24

The grapes upon the Vicar's wall 220 Were ripe as ripe could be; And yellow leaves in sun and wind Were falling from the tree.

On the hedge-elms in the narrow lane Still swung the spikes of corn: 225 Dear Lord! it seems but yesterday-- Young Edward's marriage-morn.

Up through that wood behind the church, There leads from Edward's door A mossy track, all over boughed, 230 For half a mile or more.

And from their house-door by that track The bride and bridegroom went; Sweet Mary, though she was not gay, Seemed cheerful and content. 235

But when they to the church-yard came, I've heard poor Mary say, As soon as she stepped into the sun, Her heart it died away.

And when the Vicar join'd their hands, 240 Her limbs did creep and freeze: But when they prayed, she thought she saw Her mother on her knees.

And o'er the church-path they returned-- I saw poor Mary's back, 245 Just as she stepped beneath the boughs Into the mossy track.

Her feet upon the mossy track The married maiden set: That moment--I have heard her say-- 250 She wished she could forget.

The shade o'er-flushed her limbs with heat-- Then came a chill like death: And when the merry bells rang out, They seemed to stop her breath. 255

Beneath the foulest mother's curse No child could ever thrive: A mother is a mother still, The holiest thing alive.

So five months passed: the mother still 260 Would never heal the strife; But Edward was a loving man And Mary a fond wife.

'My sister may not visit us, My mother says her nay: 265 O Edward! you are all to me, I wish for your sake I could be More lifesome and more gay.

'I'm dull and sad! indeed, indeed I know I have no reason! 270 Perhaps I am not well in health, And 'tis a gloomy season.'

'Twas a drizzly time--no ice, no snow! And on the few fine days She stirred not out, lest she might meet 275 Her mother in the ways.

But Ellen, spite of miry ways And weather dark and dreary, Trudged every day to Edward's house, And made them all more cheery. 280

Oh! Ellen was a faithful friend. More dear than any sister! As cheerful too as singing lark; And she ne'er left them till 'twas dark, And then they always missed her. 285

And now Ash-Wednesday came--that day But few to church repair: For on that day you know we read The Commination prayer.

Our late old Vicar, a kind man, 290 Once, Sir, he said to me, He wished that service was clean out Of our good Liturgy.

The mother walked into the church-- To Ellen's seat she went: 295 Though Ellen always kept her church All church-days during Lent.

And gentle Ellen welcomed her With courteous looks and mild: Thought she, 'What if her heart should melt, 300 And all be reconciled!'

The day was scarcely like a day-- The clouds were black outright: And many a night, with half a moon, I've seen the church more light. 305

The wind was wild; against the glass The rain did beat and bicker; The church-tower swinging over head, You scarce could hear the Vicar!

And then and there the mother knelt, 310 And audibly she cried-- 'Oh! may a clinging curse consume This woman by my side!

'O hear me, hear me, Lord in Heaven. Although you take my life-- 315 O curse this woman, at whose house Young Edward woo'd his wife.

'By night and day, in bed and bower, O let her curséd be!!!' So having prayed, steady and slow, 320 She rose up from her knee! And left the church, nor e'er again The church-door entered she.

I saw poor Ellen kneeling still, So pale! I guessed not why: 325 When she stood up, there plainly was A trouble in her eye.

And when the prayers were done, we all Came round and asked her why: Giddy she seemed, and sure, there was 330 A trouble in her eye.

But ere she from the church-door stepped She smiled and told us why: 'It was a wicked woman's curse,' Quoth she, 'and what care I?' 335

She smiled, and smiled, and passed it off Ere from the door she stept-- But all agree it would have been Much better had she wept.

And if her heart was not at ease, 340 This was her constant cry-- 'It was a wicked woman's curse-- God's good, and what care I?'

There was a hurry in her looks, Her struggles she redoubled: 345 'It was a wicked woman's curse, And why should I be troubled?'

These tears will come--I dandled her When 'twas the merest fairy-- Good creature! and she hid it all: 350 She told it not to Mary.

But Mary heard the tale: her arms Round Ellen's neck she threw; 'O Ellen, Ellen, she cursed me, And now she hath cursed you!' 355

I saw young Edward by himself Stalk fast adown the lee, He snatched a stick from every fence, A twig from every tree.

He snapped them still with hand or knee, 360 And then away they flew! As if with his uneasy limbs He knew not what to do!

You see, good sir! that single hill? His farm lies underneath: 365 He heard it there, he heard it all, And only gnashed his teeth.

Now Ellen was a darling love In all his joys and cares: And Ellen's name and Mary's name 370 Fast-linked they both together came, Whene'er he said his prayers.

And in the moment of his prayers He loved them both alike: Yea, both sweet names with one sweet joy 375 Upon his heart did strike!

He reach'd his home, and by his looks They saw his inward strife: And they clung round him with their arms, Both Ellen and his wife. 380

And Mary could not check her tears, So on his breast she bowed; Then frenzy melted into grief, And Edward wept aloud.

Dear Ellen did not weep at all, 385 But closelier did she cling, And turned her face and looked as if She saw some frightful thing.