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. 210

XX “I’ve heard, the moss is spotted red [25]
          With drops of that poor infant’s blood;
          But kill a new-born infant thus,
          I do not think she could! 
          Some say, if to the pond you go, 215
          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 220
          The baby looks at you again.