Oh, what protecting hand from lurking harm
Will be thy shield by night?—What friendly door
Will give thee refuge at the dire alarm
Of hungry wolves, and beasts in human form?"
XXXII.
"Oh cease, my Mary, cease!—Thou dost complain
That Heaven itself doth interpose to save,—
Doth wing this tempest's fury to restrain
The quest of foes, and prompt my soul to brave
The desert's perils, that I may maintain
The conscience free against who would enslave;—
Wait till the storm shall cease to sweep the plain,
And we are doomed to cross yon heaving main."
XXXIII.
No more he said, for she in silence went
From place to place until her task was o'er;
Williams, the while, the fleeting moments spent
To scrawl a message to delay the more—
Aye, to mislead the beagles on the scent,
Till he could safely reach far wood or shore;
And, haply, hope its vain illusion lent
That friends might plead, and bigotry relent.
XXXIV.
Then he to Heaven his weeping spouse commends,
And craves its blessing on his purpose bold;—
Still Salem lies in sleep, and forth he wends
To breast the driving storm and chilling cold;
While the lone mother from the window sends
A look where all her aching heart is told;
Dimly she marks him as his course he bends
Across the fields, and toward the forest tends.
