The grapes upon the Vicar's wall 220 Were ripe as ripe could be; And yellow leaves in sun and wind Were falling from the tree. On the hedge-elms in the narrow lane Still swung the spikes of corn: 225 Dear Lord! it seems but yesterday-- Young Edward's marriage-morn. Up through that wood behind the church, There leads from Edward's door A mossy track, all over boughed, 230 For half a mile or more. And from their house-door by that track The bride and bridegroom went; Sweet Mary, though she was not gay, Seemed cheerful and content. 235 But when they to the church-yard came, I've heard poor Mary say, As soon as she stepped into the sun, Her heart it died away. And when the Vicar join'd their hands, 240 Her limbs did creep and freeze: But when they prayed, she thought she saw Her mother on her knees. And o'er the church-path they returned-- I saw poor Mary's back, 245 Just as she stepped beneath the boughs Into the mossy track. Her feet upon the mossy track The married maiden set: That moment--I have heard her say-- 250 She wished she could forget. The shade o'er-flushed her limbs with heat-- Then came a chill like death: And when the merry bells rang out, They seemed to stop her breath. 255 Beneath the foulest mother's curse No child could ever thrive: A mother is a mother still, The holiest thing alive. So five months passed: the mother still 260 Would never heal the strife; But Edward was a loving man And Mary a fond wife. 'My sister may not visit us, My mother says her nay: 265 O Edward! you are all to me, I wish for your sake I could be More lifesome and more gay. 'I'm dull and sad! indeed, indeed I know I have no reason! 270 Perhaps I am not well in health, And 'tis a gloomy season.' 'Twas a drizzly time--no ice, no snow! And on the few fine days She stirred not out, lest she might meet 275 Her mother in the ways. But Ellen, spite of miry ways And weather dark and dreary, Trudged every day to Edward's house, And made them all more cheery. 280 Oh! Ellen was a faithful friend. More dear than any sister! As cheerful too as singing lark; And she ne'er left them till 'twas dark, And then they always missed her. 285 And now Ash-Wednesday came--that day But few to church repair: For on that day you know we read The Commination prayer.