In a cottage on a hillock
Circled round about by flowers,
Near a quaint and quiet village
Circled round about by towers,
Lived a young girl, pretty young girl
Raised alone by her grandmother,
Young Atropa was that young girl,
The village witch was her grandmother.
2
Raised in gentleness and knowledge,
Taught the healing powers of Nature,
The old woman showed the young girl
The magic blossoms that could serve her.
But she warned her, always warned her
Of the deadly nightshade's trauma:
"Beware, my child,
Take care, my child,
Beware the belladonna!"
3
So the child learned her namesake,
Learned the tiny blushing flowers,
Learned the beauty and the wonder,
Learned the nightshade's fatal powers.
Found the flowers grown up freely
All around their humble garden,
Learned the reason why these herbs
Were planted there to guard her.
4
Heard the story told unto her
By the old witch, her grandmother,
Heard the story of the horrors
That befell her own dear mother,
How she had ignored the warnings,
Ignored her mother's dogma:
"Beware my child,
Take care, my child,
Beware the belladonna!"
5
How her mother kept a lover
Who she met in darkest midnight,
But the man - Atropa's father -
Was a man who could not do right,
Was a man who lied and cheated,
Was a man who stole from others,
But the worst thing ever stolen
Was the innocence of her mother.
6
Soon the man who was her father
Learned of the child her mother was bearing,
Left the village the day after,
Ne'er returning, ne'er caring,
And her mother stumbled after him
While the old witch cried, "Marianna!
Beware, my child,
Take care, my child,
Beware the belladonna!"
But her mother did not listen,
Kept on stumbling down the pathway,
Kept on calling to her lover,
But she only made it half way,
Then collapsed she in the garden
Near the bottom of the hillock,
Collasped among the blossoms
And lay there, crying shrilly.
8
Into the house her mother brought her,
Laid her down upon the bed there,
Looking down at her dear daughter,
Knowing soon she would lie dead there,
For she had not paid attention
To the shouts among the drarma:
"Beware, my child,
Take care, my child,
Beware the belladonna!"
9
In her thrashing and her screaming
There upon the flower-filled ground,
The scattered seeds of deadly nightshade
Into her mouth a pathway found,
Made their way into her body,
Poisoned the beauty, Marianna,
Past all hope of saving
But there was hope yet for her daughter.
10
With expert skill and practiced hands
The old witch the child delivered,
Wrapped the baby in warm blankets
But twas the babe's mother who shivered.
And the old witch knelt there crying,
Crying softly to her daughter,
"Beware, my child,
Take care, my child,
Beware the belladonna!"
11
With her last strength the dying girl
Reached for her babe, to hold her,
In shaking arms she held her close
And named the child Atropa,
Then cursed all men for the pain she bore
And swore to her child no man should harm her
With authority commanded
That the nightshade grow and guard her.
12
With her final breaths she hummed a tune
To lullaby the girl child
While all around the hillock
The nightshade grew like wild.
She closed her eyes and turned her head
And slipped into nirvana, whispering
"Beware, dear child,
Take care, dear child,
Beware the belladonna!"