And she told how, in the shape o' the wind
As manfully it roar'd,

She twisted her hand in the infant's hair

And threw it overboard.

1

And to have seen the mother's pangs,
"Twas a glorious sight to see;
The crew could scarcely hold her down
From jumping in the sea.

The hag held a lock of the hair in her hand,
And it was soft and fair,

It must have been a lovely child,

To have had such lovely hair.

And she said, the father in his arms
He held his sickly son,

And his dying throes they fast arose,
His pains were nearly done.

And she throttled the youth with her sinewy hands,
And his face grew deadly blue;

And the father he tore his thin grey hair,
And kiss'd the livid hue.

And then she told, how she bored a hole
In the bark, and it fill'd away;

And 'twas rare to hear, how some did swear,

The man, and woman, they soon were dead,
The sailors their strength did urge;
But the billows that beat, were their winding-sheet,
And the winds sung their funeral dirge.

She threw the infant's hair in the fire,
The red flame flamed high,

And round about the cauldron stout
They danced right merrily.

The second begun, she said she had done
The task that Queen Hecat' had set her,
And that the devil, the father of evil,
Had never accomplish'd a better.

She said, there was an aged woman
And she had a daughter fair,

Whose evil habits fill'd her heart
With misery and care.

The daughter had a paramour,
A wicked man was he,
And oft the woman, him against,
Did murmur grievously.

And the bag had worked the daughter up
To murder her old mother,

That then she might seize on all her goods,
And wanton with her lover.

And one night as the old woman
Was sick and ill in bed,
And pondering sorely on the life
Her wicked daughter led,

She heard her footstep on the floor,
And she rais'd her pallid head,
And she saw her daughter, with a knife,
Approaching to her bed.

And she said, my child, I'm very ill,
I have not long to live,
Now kiss my cheek, that ere I die
Thy sins I may forgive.

And the murderess bent to kiss her cheek,

And she lifted the sharp, bright knife,

And the mother saw her fell intent,

And hard she begg❜d for life.

But prayers would nothing her avail,

And she scream'd loud with fear;

But the house was lone, and the piercing screams
Could reach no human ear.

And though that she was sick, and old,
She struggled hard, and fought;

The murderess cut three fingers through
Ere she could reach her throat.

And the hag she held the fingers up,
The skin was mangled sore,

And they all agreed a nobler deed

And she threw the fingers in the fire,
The red flame flamed high,
And round about the cauldron stout
They danced right merrily.

The third arose: She said she'd been To Holy Palestine;

And seen more blood in one short day, Than they had all seen in nine.

Now Gondoline, with fearful steps,
Drew nearer to the flame,
For much she dreaded now to hear
Her hapless lover's name.

The hag related then the sports
Of that eventful day,

When on the well-contested field

Full fifteen thousand lay.

She said, that she in human gore,
Above the knees did wade,

And that no tongue could truly tell

The tricks she there had play'd.

There was a gallant featur'd youth,
Who like a hero fought;

He kiss'd a bracelet on his wrist,
And every danger sought.

And in a vassal's garb disguis'd
Unto the knight she sues,

And tells him she from Britain comes,
And brings unwelcome news.

That three days ere she had embark'd, His love had given her hand, Unto a wealthy Thane:-and thought Him dead in holy land.

And to have seen how he did writhe
When this her tale she told,

It would have made a wizard's blood
Within his heart run cold.

Then fierce he spurr'd his warrior steed,
And sought the battle's bed:
And soon all mangled o'er with wounds
He on the cold turf bled.

And from his smoking corse, she tore His head, half clove in two,

She ceas'd, and from beneath her garb, The bloody trophy drew.