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首页Lyrical Ballads: With a Few Other PoemsTHE THORN.

THE THORN.

        I.

        t looks so old,

        In trut o say,

        could ever have been young,

        It looks so old and grey.

        Not wo-years child,

        It sta thorn;

        No leaves it s;

        It is a mass of knotted joints,

        A g forlorn.

        It sta, and like a stone

        it is rown.

        II.

        Like rock or sto is rown

        ito top,

        And ufts of moss,

        A melancholy crop:

        Up from these mosses creep,

        And t round

        So close, youd say t t

        it i,

        t it to the ground;

        And all had joined in one endeavour

        to bury thorn for ever.

        III.

        ains    ridge,

        tormy er gale

        Cuts like a scythe clouds

        It so vale;

        Not ?ve yards from tain-path,

        t espy;

        And to t, three yards beyond,

        You see a little muddy pond

        Of er, never dry;

        Ive measured it from side to side:

        tis t long, and t wide.

        IV.

        And close beside thorn,

        t,

        A beauteous heap, a hill of moss,

        Just    in .

        All lovely colours there you see,

        All colours t were ever seen,

        And mossy oo is there,

        As if by hand of lady fair

        the work had woven been,

        And cups, the eye,

        So deep is their vermilion dye.

        V.

        A lovely tints are there!

        Of olive-green and scarlet bright,

        In spikes, in brancars,

        Green, red, and pearly we.

        th moss

        horn you see,

        So fress beauteous dyes,

        Is like an infants grave in size

        As like as like    be:

        But never, never any where,

        An infants grave was half so fair.

        VI.

        Nohorn,

        teous hill of moss,

        You must take care and cime

        tain wo cross.

        For oft ts, bethe heap

        ts like an infants grave in size,

        And t same pond of which I spoke,

        A    cloak,

        And to herself she cries,

        "Oh misery! oh misery!

        "O;

        VII.

        At all times of t

        tcher goes,

        And so every star,

        And every    blows;

        And ts

        s in the skies,

        And whe hill,

        Or frosty air is keen and still,

        And to herself she cries,

        "Oh misery! oh misery!

        "O;

        VIII.

        "Now w,

        "In rain, in tempest, and in snow,

        "to tain-top

        "Does this poor woman go?

        "And ws shorn

        "s in the sky,

        "Or whe hill,

        "Or frosty air is keen and still,

        "And wherefore does she cry?--

        "Oell me why

        "Does s t doleful cry?"

        IX.

        I ot tell; I wish I could;

        For true reason no one knows,

        But if youd gladly vie,

        t to which she goes;

        ts like an infants grave,

        thorn, so old and grey,

        Pass by is seldom s--

        And if you see ,

        to t away!--

        I never heard of such as dare

        Approac where.

        X.

        "But ain-top

        " this unhappy woman go,

        "ever star is in the skies,

        "ever ;

        Nay rack your brain--tis all in vain,

        Ill tell you every thing I know;

        But to to the pond

        tle step beyond,

        I wis you would go:

        Per the place

        You sometale may trace.

        XI.

        Ill give you t help I :

        Before you up tain go,

        Up to tain-top,

        Ill tell you all I know.

        tis noy years,

        Since sha Ray)

        Gave rue good will

        o Stephen hill;

        And she and gay,

        And sill

        of Stephen hill.

        XII.

        And the wedding-day,

        t must h;

        But Stepo another maid

        h;

        And o church

        Untep--

        Poor Mart woful day

        A cruel, cruel ?re, they say,

        Into :

        It dried her body like a der,

        And almost turnd o tinder.

        XIII.

        ter this,

        the summer-leaves were green,

        So tain-top would go,

        And ten seen.

        tis said, a child was in her womb,

        As noo any eye lain;

        Sh child, and she was mad,

        Yet often she was sober sad

        From her exceeding pain.

        Oen times Id rather

        t    cruel father!

        XIV.

        Sad case for suco hold

        uni child!

        Sad case, as you may think, for one

        ho had a brain so wild!

        Last Cmas his,

        Old Farmer Simpson did maintain,

        t in

        About its mot, and brought

        her senses back again:

        And    ime drew near,

        her looks were calm, her senses clear.

        XV.

        No more I know, I wish I did,

        And I ell it all to you;

        For his poor child

        t ever knew:

        And if a child was born or no,

        t could ever tell;

        And if twas born alive or dead,

        theres no one knows, as I have said,

        But some remember well,

        t Mart time

        ould up tain often climb.

        XVI.

        And all t er,

        tain-peak,

        the dark,

        to seek:

        For many a time and oft were heard

        Cries ing from tain-head,

        Some plainly living voices were,

        And others, Ive heard many swear,

        ere voices of the dead:

        I ot teer they say,

        to do ha Ray.

        XVII.

        But t so thorn,

        to you,

        And ts in a scarlet cloak,

        I rue.

        For one day elescope,

        to vie,

        o try ?rst I came,

        Ere I has name,

        I climbed tains :

        A storm came on, and I could see

        No object han my knee.

        XVIII.

        t and rain, and storm and rain,

        No s, no fence could I discover,

        And t was

        A en times over.

        I looked around, I t I saw

        A jutting crag, and oft I ran,

        , the driving rain,

        ter of to gain,

        And, as I am a man,

        Instead of jutting crag, I found

        A ed on the ground.

        XIX.

        I did not speak--I saw her face,

        was enough for me;

        I turned about and heard her cry,

        "O misery! O misery!"

        And ts, until the moon

        the clear blue sky will go,

        And wtle breezes make

        ters of to shake,

        As all try know,

        She shudders and you hear her cry,

        "Oh misery! oh misery!

        XX.

        "But s the pond?

        "And o her?

        "And    es

        "ttle pond to stir?"

        I ot tell; but some will say

        Sree,

        Some say s in the pond,

        tle step beyond,

        But all and each agree,

        ttle babe here,

        Be hill of moss so fair.

        XXI.

        Ive    moss is red

        it poor infants blood;

        But kill a hus!

        I do not think she could.

        Some say, if to the pond you go,

        And ?x on it a steady view,

        trace,

        A baby and a babys face,

        And t it looks at you;

        , tis plain

        t you again.

        XXII.

        And some    she

        So public justice brought;

        And for ttle infants bones

        it.

        But teous hill of moss

        Before to stir;

        And for full ?fty yards around,

        t she ground;

        But all do still aver

        ttle babe is buried there,

        Be hill of moss so fair.

        XXIII.

        I ot tell his may be,

        But plain it is, thorn is bound

        itufts of moss, t strive

        t it to the ground.

        And time,

        ain high,

        By day, and in t night,

        ars s,

        t I have heard her cry,

        "Oh misery! oh misery!

        "O woe is me! o;
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