Fast rooted to the spot, you guess, The wretched maiden stood, As pale as any ghost of night That wanteth flesh and blood. 85 She did not groan, she did not fall, She did not shed a tear, Nor did she cry, 'Oh! mother, why May I not enter here?' But wildly up the stairs she ran, 90 As if her sense was fled, And then her trembling limbs she threw Upon the bridal bed. The mother she to Edward went Where he sate in the bower, 95 And said, 'That woman is not fit To be your paramour. 'She is my child--it makes my heart With grief and trouble swell; I rue the hour that gave her birth, 100 For never worse befel. 'For she is fierce and she is proud, And of an envious mind; A wily hypocrite she is, And giddy as the wind. 105 'And if you go to church with her, You'll rue the bitter smart; For she will wrong your marriage-bed, And she will break your heart. 'Oh God, to think that I have shared 110 Her deadly sin so long; She is my child, and therefore I As mother held my tongue. 'She is my child, I've risked for her My living soul's estate: 115 I cannot say my daily prayers, The burthen is so great. 'And she would scatter gold about Until her back was bare; And should you swing for lust of hers 120 In truth she'd little care.' Then in a softer tone she said, And took him by the hand: 'Sweet Edward, for one kiss of your's I'd give my house and land. 125 'And if you'll go to church with me, And take me for your bride, I'll make you heir of all I have-- Nothing shall be denied.' Then Edward started from his seat, 130 And he laughed loud and long-- 'In truth, good mother, you are mad, Or drunk with liquor strong.' To him no word the mother said, But on her knees she fell, 135 And fetched her breath while thrice your hand Might toll the passing-bell. 'Thou daughter now above my head, Whom in my womb I bore, May every drop of thy heart's blood 140 Be curst for ever more. 'And curséd be the hour when first I heard thee wawl and cry; And in the Church-yard curséd be The grave where thou shalt lie!' 145 And Mary on the bridal-bed Her mother's curse had heard; And while the cruel mother spake The bed beneath her stirred. In wrath young Edward left the hall, 150 And turning round he sees The mother looking up to God And still upon her knees.