The Buried Mother

Swain Dyring he journey'd up the land,
And von a lovely maiden's hand;

Seven years she lived his home to share,
And seven the sweetest children bare;

But stalking through the land came death,
And stopp'd that gentle lady's breath.

Swain Dyring rode again up land,
And gain'd another maiden's hand.

He won his bride, and home she came,
A grim and harsh ill -favoured dame.

When from her gilded wain she stepp'd,
The seven poor children stood and wept.

They stood, those little things, and cried,
But kick'd them off th' unfeeling bride.

She gave them neither bread nor beer,
"Hunger and hate will be your cheer.

She took away their bolsters blue,
"Bare straw shall be the bed for you."

She took away their fire and light,
"In blind -house ye shall sleep all night."

They cried one evening, till the sound
Their mother heard beneath the ground.

She heard it, as in her grave she lay,
"But go I must their pain to stay."

At God's high throne she bent her knee,
"O let me, Lord, my children see."

And such her prayer, and tale of woe,
That God in mercy let her go.

"But there on earth no longer stay,
"When cock shall crow the dawn of day."

Hi Out from their chest she stretch'd her hones,
And rent her way through earth and stones.

As through the street she glided by,
Loud all the hounds howl'd to the sky.

She reach'd her husband's courtyard gate,
And there her eldest daughter sate.

"O daughter mine, why so in tears?
"How fare my other little dears?"

"No mother at all art thou of mine,
"Thou'rt not like her, though fair and fine;

"My mother's cheeks were white and red,
"But thine are pale, and like the dead."

"And how should I be fine or fair,
"When death has bleach'd the cheeks I bear?

"Or how should I be white and red,
"So long, my child, as I've been dead?"'

She found her children's sleeping place,
And wet with tears each little face.

She nurs'd them all with mother's care,
She comb'd and dress'd their silky hair.

The infant babe she took on lap,
And offer'd him the welcome pap.

Her eldest daughter then she sped,
To fetch Swain Dyring out of bed.

And when before her chair he stood,
She chid him thus in angry mood:

"I left' thee store of beer and bread,
I find my children all unfed.

"I left thee bolsters of softest down,
"And here on straw I find them thrown.

I left thee many a good waxlight,
"And here they lie in the dark all night

"This warning take, thy duty learn,
"'Tis ill for you, if I return.

"There's crowing now the rooster red,
"And back to the earth must go the dead;

"And now I hear the black cock crow,
"Heaven's gate is open, and I must go.

"Now crows the white return of day,
"A moment more I dare not stay."

Whenever, hound was heard to whine,
They gave the children bread and wine.

Whenever hound was heard to bark,
They thought the dead walk'd in the dark.

Whenever bound was heard to howl,
They thought they saw a corpse's cowl.