XV

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XV

No more I know, I wish I did,

And I would tell it all to you;

For what became of this poor child

There’s none that ever knew:

And if a child was born or no,

There’s no one that could ever tell;

And if ’twas born alive or dead,

There’s no one knows, as I have said;

But some remember well,

That Martha Ray about this time

Would up the mountain often climb.