Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/91

Rh

The mildew hangs upon the corn; the earth Teems with unwholesome damps; whole flocks of sheep Are smitten with disease; and she has wrought These deadly plagues. Beneath the waning moon I saw her gather poisonous herbs, and heard The spells she inly muttered—off with her!

Aye to the river straight—the witch shall swim.

Nay, nay good people, hold your eager hands The poor old dame is innocent—indeed She cannot harm you if she would—so old, So pressed by want—Oh! if she had the power To work forbidden spells, she would not starve Upon a morsel wrung from the cold hand Of most reluctant charity. Then pause, Nor for an idle prejudice commit This cruel deed.