My mind it seems a-fire like,
My heart’s as cold as lead,
My prayers they dry upon my lips
And somehow won’t get said.
I wish that I could lay me down,
Upon the dreary plain
That stretches out to Raggedstone,*
And never rise again!
* A legend is attached to Raggedstone Hill in Worcestershire. The Hill was cursed by a Benedictine Monk. From time to time a great shadow rises up from it, spreading across the surrounding country. Woe betide those on whom the shadow falls, as it brings with it terrible misfortune! Many of the people living near Raggedstone still firmly believe in this legend.