Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/151

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Sat shaping for her bridal dress
Her mother’s wedding gown,
When lo! the marshal, writ in hand,
From Alford hill rode down.

His face was hard with cruel fear,
He grasped the maiden’s hands:
“Come with me unto Salem town,
For so the law commands!”

“Oh, let me to my mother say
Farewell before I go!”
He closer tied her little hands
Unto his saddle bow.

“Unhand me,” cried she piteously,
“For thy sweet daughter’s sake.”
“I ’ll keep my daughter safe,” he said,
“From the witch of Wenham Lake.”

“Oh, leave me for my mother’s sake,
She needs my eyes to see.”
“Those eyes, young witch, the crows shall peck
From off the gallows-tree.”

He bore her to a farm-house old
And up its stairway long,
And closed on her the garret-door
With iron bolted strong.

The day died out, the night came down:
Her evening prayer she said,
While, through the dark, strange faces seemed
To mock her as she prayed.

The present horror deepened all
The fears her childhood knew;
The awe wherewith the air was filled
With every breath she drew.

And could it be, she trembling asked,
Some secret thought or sin
Had shut good angels from her heart
And let the bad ones in?

Had she in some forgotten dream
Let go her hold on Heaven,
And sold herself unwittingly
To spirits unforgiven?

Oh, weird and still the dark hours passed;
No human sound she heard,
But up and down the chimney stack
The swallows moaned and stirred.

And o’er her, with a dread surmise
Of evil sight and sound,
The blind bats on their leathern wings
Went wheeling round and round.

Low hanging in the midnight sky
Looked in a half-faced moon.
Was it a dream, or did she hear
Her lover’s whistled tune?

She forced the oaken scuttle back;
A whisper reached her ear:
“Slide down the roof to me,” it said,
“So softly none may hear.”

She slid along the sloping roof
Till from its eaves she hung,
And felt the loosened shingles yield
To which her fingers clung.

Below, her lover stretched his hands
And touched her feet so small;
“Drop down to me, dear heart,” he said,
“My arms shall break the fall.”

He set her on his pillion soft,
Her arms about him twined;
And, noiseless as if velvet-shod,
They left the house behind.

But when they reached the open way,
Full free the rein he cast;
Oh, never through the mirk midnight
Rode man and maid more fast.

Along the wild wood-paths they sped,
The bridgeless streams they swam;
At set of moon they passed the Bass,
At sunrise Agawam.

At high noon on the Merrimac
The ancient ferryman
Forgot, at times, his idle oars,
So fair a freight to scan.

And when from off his grounded boat
He saw them mount and ride,
“God keep her from the evil eye,
And harm of witch!” he cried.

The maiden laughed, as youth will laugh
At all its fears gone by;