And fetched her breath while thrice your hand Might toll the passing-bell. 'Thou daughter now above my head, Whom in my womb I bore, May every drop of thy heart's blood 140 'And cursed be the hour when first And Mary on the bridal-bed Her mother's curse had heard ; And while the cruel mother spake The bed beneath her stirred. Three times, three times this spade of mine, In spite of bolt or bar, Did from beneath the belfry come, When spirits wandering are. And when the mother's soul to Hell And when the death-knock at the door And 'tis a fearful, fearful tree; The ghosts that round it meet, 'Tis they that cut the rind at night, Yet still it blossoms sweet. And o'er the church-path they returned And now Ash - Wednesday came—that And then and there the mother knelt, 310 'O hear me, hear me, Lord in Heaven, Although you take my life— O curse this woman, at whose house 'By night and day, in bed and bower, So having prayed, steady and slow, 320 The church-door entered she. I saw poor Ellen kneeling still, |