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

Rh 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;