The Maiden of Tretallow
In a Cornish parish, blessed by Saint
Veep,1
The Vicar awoke from a restless sleep ;2
Quoth he, “ Bless the saints, there’s a maiden fair,3
With her hat in hand, and flowing hair,4
Crossing the meadows beyond the fallow ;5
There is danger ahead and need of prayer.6
’Tis the Maiden of Tretallow.”7
The fierce wind had blown ; the thick rain had poured ;8
The waters had risen across the ford ;9
The bridge, it was said, had been carried away,10
Nor had it been seen since break of day ;11
Then never again upon the morrow12
Would be seen the face of the maiden fair—13
The Maiden of Tretallow.14
She had quitted her home all full of glee ;15
She had kissed her brothers and sisters three
;16
She cared not for storm nor swollen stream,17
But crossing the fields, like one in a dream,18
She had reached the sign of the “ Old Black Crow,”19
Where she faced the torrent, that maiden fair—20
The Maiden of Tretallow.21
Now at night, when the misty moon is full,22
And screams o’er the waters the wild sea-gull,23
You may hear o’er the flats of Tregenna vale,24
In the grey dank fog a sad spirit’s wail,25
They say ’tis the shriek of the maiden fair,26
With her hat in hand and flowing hair,27
The Maiden of Tretallow.28