By Rachel Wiley

Hush your weeping, my child

I’ll tell you of a place faraway

Dry your tears, still your sobs

Hark, hear what I have to say.

Beyond the furthest horizons

More distant than the shooting stars

Wreathed in forgotten memories

The Misty Blue Mountain lies afar.

The peak is hidden in clouds

The valleys pervaded with fog

Dew lies heavy on the ground

And moss covers hill and log.

Tall firs and birches abound in this place

And when the winds blow and their boughs creak

They bow their heads in weary mourning.

Whispering and groaning, a sad tale they speak.

They tell of a love that was purer than gold

Of two hearts that beat as one

Of a maiden of beauty and a man of strength

And of the one who now lives alone.

When the sun shone on these fair heights

When flowers bloomed and birds chattered,

The two walked beside a brook a’bubbling

Unaware that their joy would shatter.

Hand in hand, they strolled the banks,

Their laughter ringing and hearts singing.

Then, pausing to pluck a bloom for his beloved,

The youth slipped and dashed his head, his hands upward flinging.

The brook had seemed so friendly,

But the girl grasped at his hand in vain,

The water now cackled as it bore him away,

Heedless of her heart’s infinite pain.

Now no sun shines on the misty blue mountain

But shadows and shivers prevail.

Laughter is no longer heard,

Only the ghost maiden’s wail.

The heady scent of blossoms is gone

And in it’s place the dankness of decay.

The softness of grass is lost

But slime and mire seem there to stay.

Meanwhile, the water rushes on

Ever flowing, heartless, cold and cruel.

Roaring, rumbling, over the rocks,

Haughty and terrible, the river rules.

It’s said, according to the muttering trees,

That often, a shrieking voice is heard crying out to heaven,

And sometimes, a frail phantom is seen a’wandering

The Maid of the Misty Blue Mountain.