Page:Celebrated ballad of the lass of Fair Wone, or, The parson's daughter betrayed.pdf/7

 Collected, then, she started up,

And thro' the hissing sleet.

Thro' thorn and brier, thro' flood and mire,

She fled with bleeding feet.

"Where now," she cried, “my gracious God!

"What refuge have I left?"

And reach'd the garden of her home,

Of hope in man bereſt.

On hand and foot she feebly crawl'd

Beneath the bow'r unblest;

Where withering leaves and gathering snow,

Prepar'd her only rest.

There rending pains and darting throes

Assail'd her shuddering frame;

And from her womb a lovely boy,

With wail and weeping came.

Forth from her hair a silver pin

With hasty hand she drew,

And prest against its tender heart-

And the sweet babe she slew.

Whene'er the act of blood was done,

Her soul its guilt abhorr'd;

"My Jesus! what has been my deed ?

" Have mercy on me, Lord!"

With bloody nails, beside the pond,

Its shallow grave she tore;

"There rest in God-there shame and want

" Thou can'st not suffer more:

"Me vengence waits. My poor, poor child,

Thy wound shall bleed afresh,