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Amelia Opie - The Mad Wanderer
Work rating: Low

There came to Grasmere`s pleasant vale
A stranger maid in tatters clad,
Whose eyes were wild, whose cheek was pale,
While oft she cried, "Poor Kate is mad!"

Four words were all she`d ever say,
Nor would she shelter in a cot;
And e`en in winter`s coldest day
She still would cry, "My brain is hot."

A look she had of better days;
And once, while o`er the hills she ranged,
We saw her on her tatters gaze,
And heard her say, "How Kate is changed!"

Whene`er she heard the death-bell sound,
Her face grew dreadful to behold;
She started, trembled, beat the ground,
And shuddering cried, "Poor Kate is cold!"

And when to church we brought the dead,
She came in ragged mourning drest;
The coffin-plate she trembling read,
Then laughing cried, "Poor Kate is blest!"

But when a wedding peal was rung,
With dark revengeful leer she smiled,
And, curses muttering on her tongue,
She loudly screamed, "Poor Kate is wild!"

To be in Grasmere church interred,
A corpse one day from far was brought;
Poor Kate the death-bell sounding heard,
And reached the aisle as quick as thought:

When on the coffin looking down,
She started, screamed, and back retired,
Then clasped it….breathing such a groan!
And with that dreadful groan expired.
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