PART III1

The grapes upon the Vicar's wall
Were ripe as ripe could be;
And yellow leaves in sun and wind
Were falling from the tree.

On the hedge-elms in the narrow lane
Still swung the spikes of corn:

Dear Lord! it seems but yesterday-
Young Edward's marriage-morn.

Up through that wood behind the church,
There leads from Edward's door

A mossy track, all over boughed,
For half a mile or more.

And from their house-door by that track
The bride and bridegroom went;

Sweet Mary, though she was not gay,

Seemed cheerful and content.

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But when they to the church-yard came,

I've heard poor Mary say,

As soon as she stepped into the sun,
Her heart it died away.

And when the Vicar join'd their hands,

Her limbs did creep and freeze:

But when they prayed, she thought she saw

Her mother on her knees.

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In the MS. of The Friend, Part III is headed :-'The Three Graves. A Sexton's Tale. A Fragment.' A MS. note erased in the handwriting of S. T. C. is attached:-'N.B. Written for me by Sarah Stoddart before her brother was an entire Blank. I have not voluntarily been guilty of any desecration of holy Names.' In The Friend, in Sibylline Leaves, in 1828, 1829, and 1834, the poem is headed 'The Three Graves, &c.' The heading 'Part III' first appeared in 1893.

Part III] III MS. erased.

The

220 foll. In The Friend the lines were printed continuously. division into stanzas (as in the MS.) dates from the republication of the poem in Sibylline Leaves, 1817. 221 as ripe] as they MS. 224 High on the hedge-elms in the lane MS. erased. 225 spikes] strikes Sibylline Leaves, 1817. [Note. It is possible that 'strikes'-a Somersetshire word— (compare 'strikes of flax') was deliberately substituted for 'spikes'. It does not appear in the long list of Errata prefixed to Sibylline Leaves. Wagons passing through narrow lanes leave on the hedge-rows not single 'spikes', but little swathes or fillets of corn.] 230 over boughed] overbough'd MS. 242 they] he MS. The Friend, 1809.

And o'er the church-path they returned-
I saw poor Mary's back,

Just as she stepped beneath the boughs
Into the mossy track.

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'Twas a drizzly time-no ice, no snow!
And on the few fine days

She stirred not out, lest she might meet
Her mother in the ways.

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But Ellen, spite of miry ways

And weather dark and dreary,

Trudged every day to Edward's house,
And made them all more cheery.

260 So five months passed: this mother foul MS erased. dank MS. The Friend, 1809.

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278 dark]

Oh! Ellen was a faithful friend,
More dear than any sister!
As cheerful too as singing lark;

And she ne'er left them till 'twas dark,
And then they always missed her.

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And now Ash-Wednesday came-that day
But few to church repair:

Though Ellen always kept her church
All church-days during Lent.

And gentle Ellen welcomed her

With courteous looks and mild:

Thought she, 'What if her heart should melt, 300
And all be reconciled!'

The day was scarcely like a day

The clouds were black outright:
And many a night, with half a moon,
I've seen the church more light.

The wind was wild; against the glass
The rain did beat and bicker;
The church-tower swinging over head,

You scarce could hear the Vicar!

And then and there the mother knelt,
And audibly she cried-

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'Oh! may a clinging curse consume
This woman by my side!

'O hear me, hear me, Lord in Heaven,
Although you take my life-

O curse this woman, at whose house
Young Edward woo'd his wife.

308 swinging] singing MS. The Friend, 1809: swaying S. L. could not hear the Vicar. MS. The Friend, 1809.

Friend, 1809

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309 You

315 you] thou The

'By night and day, in bed and bower,

O let her curséd be!!!'

So having prayed, steady and slow,

She rose up from her knee!
And left the church, nor e'er again
The church-door entered she.

I saw poor Ellen kneeling still,
So pale! I guessed not why:

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When she stood up, there plainly was
A trouble in her eye.

Giddy she seemed, and sure, there was

And when the prayers were done, we all
Came round and asked her why:

A trouble in her eye.

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But ere she from the church-door stepped
She smiled and told us why:

'It was a wicked woman's curse,'

Quoth she, and what care I?'

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She smiled, and smiled, and passed it off
Ere from the door she stept-

I saw young Edward by himself

Stalk fast adown the lee,

He snatched a stick from every fence,

A twig from every tree.

He snapped them still with hand or knee,

And then away they flew!

As if with his uneasy limbs

He knew not what to do!

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You see, good sir! that single hill?

His farm lies underneath :

He heard it there, he heard it all,

And only gnashed his teeth.

Now Ellen was a darling love

In all his joys and cares:
And Ellen's name and Mary's name
Fast-linked they both together came,
Whene'er he said his prayers.

And in the moment of his prayers

He loved them both alike:

Yea, both sweet names with one sweet joy
Upon his heart did strike!

He reach'd his home, and by his looks

They saw his inward strife :

And they clung round him with their arms,

Both Ellen and his wife.

And Mary could not check her tears,

So on his breast she bowed;

Then frenzy melted into grief,

And Edward wept aloud.

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To see a man tread over graves

I hold it no good mark;

"Tis wicked in the sun and moon,

And bad luck in the dark!

Part IV] The Three Graves, a Sexton's Tale, Part the IVth MS.

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