Cane Hill, Ark.
March 30, 1950
Reel 17-18, Item 2
Mary of the Wild Moor
One night when the wind blew high
And blew coldly across the wild moor,
Then Mary came with her child
All alone to her own father's door.
Crying, "Father, pray do let me in;
Take pity on me, I am poor:
Or the child at my bosom will die
From the winds that blow 'cross the wild moor
But her father was deef to her cries,
Not a voice, not a sound reached the door,
But the watchdog barked and the wind
That blew coldly across the wild moor.
Now, what must that father have felt
When he went to the door in the mom?
There he found Mary dead, and her child
Fondly clasped in its dead mother's arms.
Soon her father in grief passed away,
And the child to the grave soon was borne,
And there's no one lives there till this day,
And the cottage to ruin had gone.
The villagers point to the spot
Where the willow weeps over the door,
Saying, "There Mary perished and died
From the winds that blow cross the wild moor.
Coll. by Mitchell
Transc. by Parler
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