He did not bid us this far forest tread,
To leave us here in want and impotence.
Warnings, my Mary, were most strangely given,
Such as I sometimes deem were sent from Heaven!
LXIV.
"Well can thy mind that stormy night recall,
The last in Salem that I dared abide,—
In fleecy torrents did the tempest fall,
Our little dwelling reeled from side to side;
The fading brands just glimmered on the wall,
Alone I sate, my heart with anguish tried,
When lo! a summons at the door I heard,
Deemed it a wretch distressed, the pass unbarred.
LXV.
"And straight appeared a venerable seer,
Such as on earth none ever saw before;
His temples spake at least their hundredth year,
In many a long and deeply furrowed score;
But, Oh! his eyes, in youthful glory clear,
Did from them a celestial radiance pour;
And then that face scarce seemed to veil the rays,
(Too bright for mortal!) of an angel's blaze.
LXVI.
"And when he spake, methought the music clear
Of tongue seraphic, filled his heavenly tone;
It came so full, yet gently, on my ear,
It well might serenade the Almighty's throne;
"Williams," it said, "I come on messsge here
Of mighty moment, to this age unknown;
Thou must not dally, or the tempest fear,
But fly by morn into the forest drear.
