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Robert Southey - A Ballad, Shewing How An Old Woman Rode Double, And Who Rode Before Her
Work rating: Medium

The Raven croak`d as she sate at her meal,
    And the Old Woman knew what he said,
  And she grew pale at the Raven`s tale,
    And sicken`d and went to her bed.

  Now fetch me my children, and fetch them with speed,
    The Old Woman of Berkeley said,
  The monk my son, and my daughter the nun
    Bid them hasten or I shall be dead.

  The monk her son, and her daughter the nun,
    Their way to Berkeley went,
  And they have brought with pious thought
    The holy sacrament.

  The old Woman shriek`d as they entered her door,
    `Twas fearful her shrieks to hear,
  Now take the sacrament away
    For mercy, my children dear!

  Her lip it trembled with agony,
    The sweat ran down her brow,
  I have tortures in store for evermore,
    Oh! spare me my children now!

  Away they sent the sacrament,
    The fit it left her weak,
  She look`d at her children with ghastly eyes
    And faintly struggled to speak.

  All kind of sin I have rioted in
    And the judgment now must be,
  But I secured my childrens souls,
    Oh! pray my children for me.

  I have suck`d the breath of sleeping babes,
    The fiends have been my slaves,
  I have nointed myself with infants fat,
    And feasted on rifled graves.

  And the fiend will fetch me now in fire
    My witchcrafts to atone,
  And I who have rifled the dead man`s grave
    Shall never have rest in my own.

  Bless I intreat my winding sheet
    My children I beg of you!
  And with holy water sprinkle my shroud
    And sprinkle my coffin too.

  And let me be chain`d in my coffin of stone
    And fasten it strong I implore
  With iron bars, and let it be chain`d
    With three chains to the church floor.

  And bless the chains and sprinkle them,
    And let fifty priests stand round,
  Who night and day the mass may say
    Where I lie on the ground.

  And let fifty choristers be there
    The funeral dirge to sing,
  Who day and night by the taper`s light
    Their aid to me may bring.

  Let the church bells all both great and small
    Be toll`d by night and day,
  To drive from thence the fiends who come
    To bear my corpse away.

  And ever have the church door barr`d
    After the even song,
  And I beseech you children dear
    Let the bars and bolts be strong.

  And let this be three days and nights
    My wretched corpse to save,
  Preserve me so long from the fiendish throng
    And then I may rest in my grave.

  The Old Woman of Berkeley laid her down
    And her eyes grew deadly dim,
  Short came her breath and the struggle of death
    Did loosen every limb.

  They blest the old woman`s winding sheet
    With rites and prayers as due,
  With holy water they sprinkled her shroud
    And they sprinkled her coffin too.

  And they chain`d her in her coffin of stone
    And with iron barr`d it down,
  And in the church with three strong chains
    They chain`d it to the ground.

  And they blest the chains and sprinkled them,
    And fifty priests stood round,
  By night and day the mass to say
    Where she lay on the ground.

  And fifty choristers were there
    To sing the funeral song,
  And a hallowed taper blazed in the hand
    Of all the sacred throng.

  To see the priests and choristers
    It was a goodly sight,
  Each holding, as it were a staff,
    A taper burning bright.

  And the church bells all both great and small
    Did toll so loud and long,
  And they have barr`d the church door hard
    After the even song.

  And the first night the taper`s light
    Burnt steadily and clear.
  But they without a hideous rout
    Of angry fiends could hear;

  A hideous roar at the church door
    Like a long thunder peal,
  And the priests they pray`d and the choristers sung
    Louder in fearful zeal.

  Loud toll`d the bell, the priests pray`d well,
    The tapers they burnt bright,
  The monk her son, and her daughter the nun
    They told their beads all night.

  The cock he crew, away they flew
    The fiends from the herald of day,
  And undisturb`d the choristers sing
    And the fifty priests they pray.

  The second night the taper`s light
    Burnt dismally and blue,
  And every one saw his neighbour`s face
    Like a dead man`s face to view.

  And yells and cries without arise
    That the stoutest heart might shock,
  And a deafening roaring like a cataract pouring
    Over a mountain rock.

  The monk and nun they told their beads
    As fast as they could tell,
  And aye as louder grew the noise
    The faster went the bell.

  Louder and louder the choristers sung
    As they trembled more and more,
  And the fifty priests prayed to heaven for aid,
    They never had prayed so before.

  The cock he crew, away they flew
    The fiends from the herald of day,
  And undisturb`d the choristers sing
    And the fifty priests they pray.

  The third night came and the tapers flame
    A hideous stench did make,
  And they burnt as though they had been dipt
    In the burning brimstone lake.

  And the loud commotion, like the rushing of ocean,
    Grew momently more and more,
  And strokes as of a battering ram
    Did shake the strong church door.

  The bellmen they for very fear
    Could toll the bell no longer,
  And still as louder grew the strokes
    Their fear it grew the stronger.

  The monk and nun forgot their beads,
    They fell on the ground dismay`d,
  There was not a single saint in heaven
    Whom they did not call to aid.

  And the choristers song that late was so strong
    Grew a quaver of consternation,
  For the church did rock as an earthquake shock
    Uplifted its foundation.

  And a sound was heard like the trumpet`s blast
    That shall one day wake the dead,
  The strong church door could bear no more
    And the bolts and the bars they fled.

  And the taper`s light was extinguish`d quite,
    And the choristers faintly sung,
  And the priests dismay`d, panted and prayed
    Till fear froze every tongue.

  And in He came with eyes of flame
    The Fiend to fetch the dead,
  And all the church with his presence glowed
    Like a fiery furnace red.

  He laid his hand on the iron chains
    And like flax they moulder`d asunder,
  And the coffin lid that was barr`d so firm
    He burst with his voice of thunder.

  And he bade the Old Woman of Berkeley rise
    And come with her master away,
  And the cold sweat stood on the cold cold corpse,
    At the voice she was forced to obey.

  She rose on her feet in her winding sheet,
    Her dead flesh quivered with fear,
  And a groan like that which the Old Woman gave
    Never did mortal hear.

  She followed the fiend to the church door,
    There stood a black horse there,
  His breath was red like furnace smoke,
    His eyes like a meteor`s glare.

  The fiendish force flung her on the horse
    And he leapt up before,
  And away like the lightning`s speed they went
    And she was seen no more.

  They saw her no more, but her cries and shrieks
    For four miles round they could hear,
  And children at rest at their mother`s breast,
    Started and screamed with fear.
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