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"But what's the Thorn? and what's the Pond?

And what's the Hill of moss to her?

And what's the creeping breeze that comes

The little Pond to stir?"

"I cannot tell; but some will


She hanged her baby on the tree;

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.

I've heard, the moss is spotted red
With drops of that poor infant's blood:

But kill a new-born infant thus,

I do not think she could!

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And fix on it a steady view,

The shadow of a babe you trace,

A baby and a baby's face,

And that it looks at you;

Whene'er you look on it, 'tis plain

The baby looks at you again.

And some had sworn an oath that she
Should be to public justice brought ;
And for the little infant's bones

With spades they would have sought.
But then the beauteous Hill of moss
Before their eyes began to stir;

And for full fifty yards around,

The grass, it shook upon the ground;

But all do still aver

The little Babe is buried there,
Beneath that Hill of moss so fair.

I cannot tell how this may be :
But plain it is, the Thorn is bound
With heavy tufts of moss, that strive
To drag it to the ground;

And this I know, full many a time,

When she was on the mountain high,

By day, and in the silent night,

When all the stars shone clear and bright,

That I have heard her cry,

"Oh misery! oh misery!

Oh woe is me! oh misery!"



Hart-Leap Well is a small spring of water, about five miles from Richmond in Yorkshire, and near the side of the road which leads from Richmond to Askrigg. Its name is derived from a remarkable Chase, the memory of which is preserved by the monuments spoken of in the second Part of the following Poem, which monuments do now exist as I have there described them.

THE Knight had ridden down from Wensley moor
With the slow motion of a summer's cloud;

He turned aside towards a Vassal's door,
And," Bring another Horse!" he cried aloud.

"Another Horse!"-That shout the Vassal heard,
And saddled his best Steed, a comely gray;
Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third
Which he had mounted on that glorious day.

Joy sparkled in the praucing Courser's eyes;
The Horse and Horseman are a happy pair;
But, though Sir Walter like a falcon flies,
There is a doleful silence in the air.

A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall,
That as they galloped made the echoes roar;
But Horse and Man are vanished, one and all;
Such race, I think, was never seen before.

Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind,
Calls to the few tired Dogs that yet remain:
Brach, Swift, and Music, noblest of their kind,
Follow, and up the weary mountain strain.

The Knight hallooed, he chid and cheered them on
With suppliant gestures and upbraidings stern;
But breath and eye-sight fail; and, one by one,
The Dogs are stretched among the mountain fern.

Where is the throng, the tumult of the race?

The bugles that so joyfully were blown?
-This Chase it looks not like an earthly Chase;

Sir Walter and the Hart are left alone.

The poor Hart toils along the mountain side;
I will not stop to tell how far he fled,
Nor will I mention by what death he died;
But now the Knight beholds him lying dead.

Dismounting then, he leaned against a thorn;
He had no follower, Dog, nor Man, nor Boy :
He neither smacked his whip, nor blew his horn,
But gazed upon the spoil with silent joy.

Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter leaned,
Stood his dumb partner in this glorious act;
Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yeaned;
And foaming like a mountain cataract.

Upon his side the Hart was lying stretched:
His nose half-touched a spring beneath a hill,
And with the last deep groan his breath had fetched
The waters of the spring were trembling still.

And now, too happy for repose or rest,

(Was never man in such a joyful case!)

Sir Walter walked all round, north, south, and west,

And gazed and gazed upon that darling place.



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