"SHE'LL soon be here, the Lady Ann," The children cried in glee; "She always comes at four o'clock, And now it's striking three." At stroke of four the lady came, A lady passing fair; And she sat and gazed adown the road With a long and eager stare. "The mail! the mail!" the idlers cried, At sight of a coach-and-four; "The mail! the mail!" and at the word, The coach was at the door. Up sprang in haste the Lady Ann, And marked with anxious eye The travelers, who, one by one, Were slowly passing by. "Alack! alack!" the lady cried, "He surely named to-day; He'll come to-morrow, then," she sighed, And, turning, strolled away. "'T is passing odd, upon my word," The landlord now began; "A strange romance! -- that woman, sirs, Is called the Lady Ann. "She dwells hard by upon the hill, The widow of Sir John, Who died abroad, come August next, Just twenty years agone. "A hearty neighbor, sirs, was he, A bold, true-hearted man; And a fonder pair was seldom seen Than he and Lady Ann. "They scarce had been a twelvemonth wed, When -- ill betide the day! -- Sir John was called to go in haste Some hundred miles away. "Ne'er lovers in the fairy tales A truer love could boast; And many were the gentle words That came and went by post. "A month or more had passed away, When by the post came down The joyous news that such a day Sir John would be in town. "Full gleesome was the Lady Ann To read the welcome word, And promptly at the hour she came, To meet her wedded lord. "Alas! alas! he came not back. There only came instead A mournful message by the post, That good Sir John was dead! "One piercing shriek, and Lady Ann Had swooned upon the floor: Good sirs, it was a fearful grief That gentle lady bore! "We raised her up; her ebbing life Began again to dawn; She muttered wildly to herself, -- 'T was plain her wits were gone. "A strange forgetfulness came o'er Her sad, bewildered mind, And to the grief that drove her mad Her memory was blind! "Ah! since that hour she little wots Full twenty years are fled! She little wots, poor Lady Ann! Her wedded lord is dead. "But each returning day she deems The day he fixed to come; And ever at the wonted hour She's here to greet him home. "And when the coach is at the door, She marks with eager eye The travelers, as one by one They're slowly passing by. "'Alack!' she cries, in plaintive tone, 'He surely named to-day! He'll come to-morrow, then,' she sighs, And, turning, strolls away." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE UNIVERSITY OF GOTTINGEN by GEORGE CANNING THE SNUG LITTLE ISLAND by THOMAS FROGNALL DIBDIN THE BATTLE OF CHARLESTON HARBOR by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 27 by OMAR KHAYYAM WARREN'S ADDRESS [TO THE AMERICANS] [AT BUNKER HILL] [JUNE 17, 1775] by JOHN PIERPONT VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1885 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE EVE OF BUNKER HILL [JUNE 16, 1775] by CLINTON SCOLLARD |