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1. THERE is a Thorn; it looks so old, In truth you'd find it hard to say, . How it could ever have been young, It looks so old and grey. Not higher than a two-years' child, It stands erect this aged Thorn; No leaves it has, no thorny points; It is a mass of knotted joints, A wretched thing forlorn. It stands erect, and like a stone With lichens it is overgrown.
II. Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown With lichens to the very top, And hung with heavy tufts of moss, A melancholy crop :
Up from the earth these mosses creep,
III. High on a mountain's highest ridge, Where oft the stormy winter gale Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds It sweeps from vale to vale; Not five yards from the mountain path . This Thorn you on your left espy; And to the left, three yards beyond, You see a little muddy pond Of water, never dry; I've measur'd it from side to side: 'Tis three feet long, and two feet wide.
And close beside this aged Thorn,
All lovely colours there you see,
In spilive-green Lovely tints
v. Ah me! what lovely tints are there Of olive-green and scarlet bright! In spikes, in branches, and in stars, Green, red, and pearly white. This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss, Which close beside the Thorn you see, So fresh in all its beauteous dyes, . Is like an infant's grave in size,
As like as like can be: * But never, never any where,
An infants grave was half so fair.
VI. Now would you see this aged Thorn, This pond and beauteous hill of moss, You must take care and chuse your time The mountain when to cross.
For oft there sits, between the heap
“Oh misery! oh inisery!
so Oh misery! oh misery!
VIII. “Now wherefore thus, by day and night, “ In rain, in tempest, and in snow, “ Thus to the dreary mountain-top “ Does this poor woman go?
* And why sits she beside the Thorit • When the blue day-light's in the sky, “ Or when the whirlwind's on the hill, “ Or frosty air is keen and still, 66 And wherefore does she cry?" Oh wherefore? wherefore? tell me why 66 Does she repeat that doleful cry?”
IX. I cannot tell; I wish I could; For the true reason no one knows, But if you'd gladly view the spot, The spot to which she goes; The heap that's like an infant's grave, The pond—and Thorn-so old and grey, Pass by her door-tis seldom shut . And if you see her in her hut, Then to the spot away!-- . I never heard of such as dare Approach the spot when she is there.
" But wherefore to the mountain-top