The woman repented and turned from sin, But no door opened to let her in. The preacher prayed that she might be forgiven, But told her to look for mercy--in heaven For this is the law of the earth, we know: That the woman is stoned, while the man may go. A brave man wedded her after all, But the world said, frowning, “We shall not call.” MEG’S CURSE. The sun rode high in a cloudless sky Of a perfect summer morn. She stood and gazed out into the street, And wondered why she was born. On the topmost branch of a maple-tree That close by the window grew, A robin called to his mate enthralled: “I love but you, but you, but you.” A soft look came in her hardened face-- She had not wept for years; But the robin’s trill, as some sounds will, Jarred open the door of tears. She thought of the old home far away; She heard the whir-r-r of the mill; She heard the turtle’s wild, sweet call, And the wail of the whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will. She saw again that dusty road Whence he came riding down; She smelled once more the flower she wore In the breast of her simple gown. Out on the new-mown meadow she heard Two blue-jays quarrel and fret, And the warning cry of a Phœbe bird: “More wet, more wet, more wet.” With a blithe “hello” to the men below Who were spreading the new-mown hay, The rider drew rein at her window-pane-- How it all came back to-day! How young she was, and how fair she was; What innocence crowned her brow! The future seemed fair, for Love was there-- And now--and now--and now. In a dingy glass on the wall near by She gazed on her faded face. “Well, Meg, I declare, what a beauty you are!” She sneered, “What an angel of grace! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! What a thing of beauty and grace!” She reached out her arms with a moaning sob. “Oh, if I could go back!” Then, swift and strange, came a sudden change; Her brow grew hard and black. “A curse on the day and a curse on that man, And on all who are his,” she cried. “May he starve and be cold, may he live to be old When all who loved him have died.” Her wild voice frightened the robin away From the branch by the window-sill; And little he knew as away he flew, Of the memories stirred by his trill. He called to his mate on the grass below, “Follow me,” as he soared on high; And as mates have done since the world begun She followed, and asked not why. The dingy room seemed curtained with gloom; Meg shivered with nameless dread. The ghost of her youth and her murdered truth Seemed risen up from the dead.