POEMS OF NEW ENGLAND
The sailors' children laid them down,—
Dear Lord! their sweet prayers couldst thou hear?
'T is said that gently blew the winds;
The goodwives, through the seaward blinds,
Looked down the bay and had no fear.
New England! New England!
Thy ports their dauntless seamen mourn;
The twin capes yearn for their return
Who never shall be thither borne;
Their orphans whisper as they meet;
The homes are dark in many a street,
And women move in weeds forlorn.
And wilt thou quail, and dost thou fear?
Ah no! though widows' cheeks are pale,
The lads shall say: "Another year,
And we shall be of age to sail!"
And the mothers' hearts shall fill with pride,
Though tears drop fast for them who died
When the fleet was wrecked in the Lord's-Day gale.
WITCHCRAFT
I
A. D. 1692
Soe, Mistress Anne, faire neighbour myne,
How rides a witche when nighte-winds blowe?
Folk saye that you are none too goode
To joyne the crewe in Salem woode,
When one you wot of gives the signe:
Righte well, methinks, the pathe you knowe.
In Meetinge-time I watched you well,
Whiles godly Master Parris prayed:
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