Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/392
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ST. DE'NICK'S WELL.
He was indeed a wretched man,
And wrung his hands, and heat his breast:
His cheeks were sunken, thin and wan,
Remorse had long deep furrows run
Across his brow,—he could not rest.
And wrung his hands, and heat his breast:
His cheeks were sunken, thin and wan,
Remorse had long deep furrows run
Across his brow,—he could not rest.
He sometimes wandered round the wood,
Or stood to listen by its side;
Or bending o'er the meadow-flood,
Would try to wash away the blood,
With which his guilty hands seemed dyed.
Or stood to listen by its side;
Or bending o'er the meadow-flood,
Would try to wash away the blood,
With which his guilty hands seemed dyed.
He never spoke to living soul;
Oh, how an infant made him quake!
For then his eyes would wildly roll,
And he would shriek, and curse, and growl,
As if he felt the burning lake.
Oh, how an infant made him quake!
For then his eyes would wildly roll,
And he would shriek, and curse, and growl,
As if he felt the burning lake.
St. De'Nick's Well.
A well in the Den of Ardo, Aberdeenshire, sacred to St. Devenick.
In simple times, when simple folks
Had faith in simple spell,
How many sought thy healing spring,
O good St. De'nick's Well!
Had faith in simple spell,
How many sought thy healing spring,
O good St. De'nick's Well!
St. De'nick's waters still give back
The sparkling rays of noon;
But who believes their mystic power,
Or craves the mystic boon?
The sparkling rays of noon;
But who believes their mystic power,
Or craves the mystic boon?
No more revered is Methlic's saint,
Nor sought sweet Ardo's vale;
No trusting pilgrim comes to drink,
Nor whisper forth his tale.
Nor sought sweet Ardo's vale;
No trusting pilgrim comes to drink,
Nor whisper forth his tale.
For now the folks so wise are grown,
They mock at holy rill;
And, scoffing at such simple creed,
They pay the doctor's bill!
They mock at holy rill;
And, scoffing at such simple creed,
They pay the doctor's bill!
But though they hug their nostrums dear,
In whispers let me tell—
That, perhaps, as happy cures were wrought
At good St. De'nick's Well!
In whispers let me tell—
That, perhaps, as happy cures were wrought
At good St. De'nick's Well!