Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/191

 Homeward went the granddame sadly,
 * Thinking of that naughty maid,

Then she eat her dinner gladly,
 * Wondering where the maiden stayed;

Sat her down and began nodding,
 * Murmuring, “She is now afraid.”

Soon the neighbors came in horror.
 * Petronella’s turned to stone!

Come and see her to thy sorrow,
 * Standing on the hill alone;

Grown like a mighty mountain,
 * With her basket turned to stone.”

Pale with horror went the granddame,
 * Gazed upon the far-off hill,

Then calling loud the Virgin’s name,
 * She fell in a death-cramp chill.

The neighbors bore her to her grave,
 * And the mound they show you still.

By Tetschen is the mountain sere,
 * And the peasants love to tell

To naughty maids who will not fear,
 * The trouble that once befell

A girl who laughed at good St. John,
 * And her grandmother as well.