The native American. [volume] (Washington City [i.e. Washington, D.C.]) 1837-1840, 1840-04-25
POOR MARY THE MAID OF THE INN.

BY ROBERT soUTHEY.
Who is she. the poor maniac, whose wildly fixed eyes
Seem heart over charged to expresJ?
She weeps not. yet often and deeply she sghs;
She complains, but her silence implies
The cornposure of settled distress.
No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek;
Cold and hunger await not her care;
Thro the rags do the winds OF the winter blow bleak
On her poor withered BOSOM half hare and her cheek
Has the deadly pale hue of despair.
Yet cheerful and happy, nor distant the day,
Poor Mary the maniac has been;
The trav'ler remembers, who journey'd this way,
No damsel SO lovely, no daInsei SO gay,
As Mary the Maid of the Inn.
Her cheerful address ill'd the guests with delight,
As she welcom'd them in with a smile;
Her heart stranger to childish alright,
And Mary would walk by the abbey at night,
When the wind whistled down the dark aisle.
Sheloved, and young Richard had settled the day,
And she hoped to be happy for life,
But Richard was idle and worthless, and they
Who knew HIM would pity poor Mary, and say
That she too good for his wife.
Twas autumn, and stormy and dark was the night
And fast were the windows and door;
Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright
And smoking in silence, with tranquil delight
They isten'd TO hear the wind roar.
'Tis pleasant cried one, seated by the fire side,
To hear tho wind whistle and roar without; ;
"A fine night for the abbey, his comrade replied,
.Methink. mans courage would now be well tried,
Who would wander the ruins about.
Myself like schoolboy should tremble to hear
The hoarse ivy shake DER my head;
And could fancy saw, half persuaded by fear,
Some ugly old abbots white spirit appear,
For this wind might awaken the dead
sIll wager dinner the other one cried,
That Mary would venture there pow.'
Then wager and lose! with . snser he replied,
I'm warrant she'd fancy ghost by her side,
And faint if she saw white cow
will Mary this charge courage allow9
His companion excIai led with = smile;
Il shall win, for know she will venture there now,
And earn new bonnet by bringing bough
From the alder that grows in the aisle
With fearless good humor did Mary comply,
And her way TO the abbey she be Z;
The night it was dark, and the wind it was high,
And as holloway bowling it swept through the sky;
Sh shivered with cold as she went.
Der the path, so well known, still proceeded the
Whe,e the abbey rose dim on the sight;
Thro' the gateway she entered, she felt not afraid
Yet the I'd hs are lonely, and wild, and their shade
Seem'd to deepen the gloom OF the night.
All round her was silent, save when the rude blast
HOW'LL dismaiy round the old pile;
Over weed covered fragments still fearless she passG
And arrived at the innermost ruin at last,
Where the alder tree grew in the aisle.
Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near
And hastily gathered the Dough;
When the sound of voice seemed to rise her ear
She paused, and she sten'd, all eager to hear,
And her heart painted fearfully now.
The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over head,
She listen 'd--nanght else could she hear;
The wind ceased, her heart sunk in her bosom with
dread,
For she heard in the ruins dstincty the tread
Of footsteps approaching her near.
Behind wide column, half breathless with fear,
She crcpt to conceal herself there;
That instant the DER dark cloud shone 81 ear
And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear,
AM between tlsn corpse they did bear