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The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme

The witch of Shiloh, the last of the Wampanoags, the gentle earl, the enchanted voyage

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IX

Then Downing knew that death was near;
He knew the witch, her errand knew;
Yet quickly made his shallop veer
To meet her wizard-built canoe.
Ah! perilous she was to greet
As ocean maid, or forest fay,
Or lorelei singing deadly-sweet,
Or Circe smiling sense away.
Her cheek was brown, but fervid bloom
Of roses flushed its dimpled grace;
Her hair was black as raven's plume,
And veiled with magic half her face.
Her form was slender, round and tall,
And shapely were the arms that twined
From side to side, and drove her yawl
To meet the foeman of her kind.
She smiled upon him. Oh, that smile!
What viper hath such deadly guile!
It seemed the joyous friendliness
Of childhood, innocent of ill;
It had a lovelorn tenderness,
And yet its longing was to kill.