Mary Robinson

“ On the ramparts that frown'd on the river, swift flowing,
They hover'd, still hooting a terrible song,
When his windows would rattle, the winter blast blowing,
They would shriek like a ghost, the dark alleys among! ”

“ The lord of the castle, from that fatal moment
When poor singing Mary was laid in her grave,
Each night was surrounded by screech-owls appalling,
Which o'er the black turrets their pinions would wave! ”

“ And would smile when she heard the great castle-bell ringing,
Inviting the proud to their prodigal cheer.
Thus she lived, ever patient and ever contented,
Till envy the lord of the castle possess'd,
For he hated that poverty should be so cheerful,
While care could the fav'rites of fortune molest ”