It is, that half-way up the hill,
    In yon cottage, by whose walls
    Stand the cart-house and the stalls,
    Dwelleth the blind orphan still,
    Daughter of a veteran old;
    And you must know, one year ago,
    That Margaret, the young and tender,
    Was the village pride and splendor,
    And Baptiste her lover bold. 
    Love, the deceiver, them ensnared;
    For them the altar was prepared;
    But alas! the summer’s blight,
    The dread disease that none can stay,
    The pestilence that walks by night,
    Took the young bride’s sight away.

All at the father’s stern command was changed;
Their peace was gone, but not their love estranged. 
Wearied at home, erelong the lover fled;
    Returned but three short days ago,
    The golden chain they round him throw,
    He is enticed, and onward led
    To marry Angela, and yet
    Is thinking ever of Margaret.

    Then suddenly a maiden cried,
    “Anna, Theresa, Mary, Kate! 
Here comes the cripple Jane!” And by a fountain’s side
    A woman, bent and gray with years,
    Under the mulberry-trees appears,
    And all towards her run, as fleet
    As had they wings upon their feet.

    It is that Jane, the cripple Jane,
    Is a soothsayer, wary and kind. 
She telleth fortunes, and none complain. 
    She promises one a village swain,
    Another a happy wedding-day,
    And the bride a lovely boy straightway. 
    All comes to pass as she avers;
    She never deceives, she never errs.

    But for this once the village seer
    Wears a countenance severe,
And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white
    Her two eyes flash like cannons bright
    Aimed at the bridegroom in waistcoat blue,
    Who, like a statue, stands in view;
    Changing color as well he might,
    When the beldame wrinkled and gray
    Takes the young bride by the hand,
    And, with the tip of her reedy wand
    Making the sign of the cross, doth say:—­
    “Thoughtless Angela, beware! 
    Lest, when thou weddest this false bridegroom,
    Thou diggest for thyself a tomb!”
And she was silent; and the maidens fair
Saw from each eye escape a swollen tear;
But on a little streamlet silver-clear,
    What are two drops of turbid rain? 
    Saddened a moment, the bridal train
    Resumed the dance and song again;
The bridegroom only was pale with fear;—­
      And down green alleys
      Of verdurous valleys,
      With merry sallies,
      They sang the refrain:—­

“The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom,
So fair a bride shall leave her home! 
Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay,
So fair a bride shall pass to-day!”

II

And by suffering worn and weary,
But beautiful as some fair angel yet,
Thus lamented Margaret,
In her cottage lone and dreary;—­