XVI

4 0 00

XVI

And all that winter, when at night

The wind blew from the mountain-peak,

’Twas worth your while, though in the dark,

The church-yard path to seek:

For many a time and oft were heard

Cries coming from the mountain-head:

Some plainly living voices were;

And others, I’ve heard many swear,

Were voices of the dead:

I cannot think, whate’er they say,

They had to do with Martha Ray.