The Power of Solitude/William and Mary

WILLIAM AND MARY. A LEGENDARY TALE, IN IMITATION OF THE OLD ENGLISH BALLAD.

Hard is the lot of many poor,
To work and drudge the livelong day,
To weave the web, and wash the floor,
With many an aching hand and sore,
And scarcely have they time to pray.

Yet have I seen this toilsome throng
Endure, what you would weep to see;
And yet no murmur broke their song,
Right merrily they tripped along,
For still the heart from care was free.

For shame, then hush complaint, ye great,
Who never knew the pangs of grief;
Let me one simple tale relate,
And you may weep at partial fate,
But cannot now afford relief.

Fair Mary Gay was scarce eighteen,
When first she graced young William's bed:
She was a pretty girl I ween,
And something in her eye was seen,
Which told you, she had thought and read.

Indeed she loved alone to pore
Among the books, the village had;
And, as she turned their legends o'er,
She gathered many a tale of yore,
To make the idle rustic glad.

I well remember, all the youth
To her at every wake would run,
And buy her cakes; for she forsooth
Did use to mingle jest with truth,
And lure to good by quaintish pun.

Perchance you ask, where she did dwell;
Her little cot was all forlorn,
It had a little benched well,
Where Mary loved to sit and tell
Strange things, that were, ere she was born.

And thus somehow did Mary thrive;
Her pittance true was very small;
On sunday she could fast and live,
And oft did passing strangers give
A thankful mite to Mary's all.

Yet she was aye content and gay,
For William he was kind and true;
And love, we know, can charm away
The cares and troubles of the day;
Just so poor Mary would tell you.

At length sad times of want came round,
For fortune turns, 'tis said, her wheel;
And then so little food was found,
In Mary's famished span of ground,
You might think, 'twere no sin to steal.

But this young couple both were bred
To love their God and pray amain;
They said, and they had rightly read,
'Twere better far to starve in dread,
Than make God's holy word in vain.

So William would away to war,
And this cost Mary many tears;
She too had heard from climes afar,
That dreadful scenes await the tar,
And felt her heart subdued with fears.

But want pinched sharp, and he must go
To sell his youth for petty pay;
Poor Mary kissed his cheek in woe,
And stammered, while her tears did flow,
'William, remember me I pray.'

Thus parted they; to earn her bread
This child of want did delve and spin;
A little kerchief tied her head,
And one mean robe around her led,
And anguished was her heart within.

'Twas melting sad to hear her sing,
So doleful now she poured the strain,
This burden thro her song would ring;
'Ah William, William, come and bring
'The smile, that scatters all my pain.'

So summer past; but winter came,
The snow beat down, and whirled the breeze;
Poor Mary Could afford no flame,
And, were it only for the name,
She might in truth be said to freeze.

One night it rained, it blew right hard,
And twelve had struck the village clock;
In those dark nights she could not card,
So Mary lay, her windows barred;
Yet heard she many a solemn knock.

She thought at first it was the rain,
That dripped so loud upon the floor;
But soon she heard a voice complain,
'Pray Mary wake, and chase my pain,
'Thy lover waits thee at the door.'

Quick did she rise, and quick did fly
The creaking door its hinge about;
She strangely felt, yet knew not why,
She felt, as tho she then should die,
AS William shivering stood without.

'Ah welcome, William,' soon she cried,
'Thy clothes are wet, thy cheeks are cold;
'Ah very cold,' a voice replied,
'But Mary, thou shalt be my bride,
'My narrow house both us can hold.

My journey has been long opprest,
'And perils I have undergone;
But, Mary, lay thee down to rest,
'And sleep upon my clay cold breast,
'We soon again shall be but one.'

Then, tho she thought so strange the sound,
So hollow, dismal, the reply,
That she would sometimes look around,
And feared each noise, that stirred the ground,
With William's wish she did comply.

So to his breast he did her fold,
And round her neck his arms entwine;
Yet oft she said, as since she told,
'Sweet love, thy limbs are marble cold;'
And he, 'Oh Mary, thou art mine.'

At length she sunk in deepest sleep,
And never woke, till break of day;
Yet then she might both shake and weep,
And true, she felt some horrors creep,
For at her side no William lay!

But Mary thought, that he might choose
To welcome all the rustics near;
So dressed; and still no time to lose,
Ran round to tell the curious news;
Yet scarce she dared, opprest by fear.

She said her William had come back,
And asked, if they had marked his tread
The neighbors all looked blue and black,
And cried; 'Ah no, alack, alack,'
For well they knew, that he was dead.

I will not wound your gentle soul,
To tell how Mary stood aghast;
Her eyeballs seemed no more to roll,
She groaned; and if you knew her dole,
You well might wish, it were her last.

The neighbors say, that she must die,
She neither eats, nor drinks, nor sleeps,
But all the time in fits will cry,
'Poor William to thy Mary fly;'
And then by turns she laughs and weeps.