Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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The Last Witch-Burning.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
93
The Last Witch-Burning.
AT FORFAR, JUNE 17---.
There was a swoon of yellow cloud,
A scud of wind-tossed blue,
A drift of vapour, crimson proud,
Shot purple through and through,
Then a scurl of the greys of a wild-dove's wing
With shifting pearly hue.
A scud of wind-tossed blue,
A drift of vapour, crimson proud,
Shot purple through and through,
Then a scurl of the greys of a wild-dove's wing
With shifting pearly hue.
At Forfar, on a bright June eve
(The sun in blazoned pride),
They led old Elspeth to the stake,
Her withered hands both tied;
They brought her with a blast of pipes,
As men bring home a bride.
(The sun in blazoned pride),
They led old Elspeth to the stake,
Her withered hands both tied;
They brought her with a blast of pipes,
As men bring home a bride.
The pointing children hooted her,
Even the beggar's bitch
Bit at her as she trembling went
To die—“the poisoning witch.”
Patched cloaks flocked with soft scarlet hoods:
The poor as well as rich.
Even the beggar's bitch
Bit at her as she trembling went
To die—“the poisoning witch.”
Patched cloaks flocked with soft scarlet hoods:
The poor as well as rich.
They struck her as men do a thief,
Pelting the blackening mud;
They would not stay to file the bridge,
But dragged her through the flood.
Old palsied hags from windows screamed,
Longing to drink her blood.
Pelting the blackening mud;
They would not stay to file the bridge,
But dragged her through the flood.
Old palsied hags from windows screamed,
Longing to drink her blood.
Looking across the fields you saw
Black lines, that widened out,
Of ploughmen running; on the wind
Came curse, and groan, and shout:
But, God! to hear no single sob
Or sigh from all that rout!
Black lines, that widened out,
Of ploughmen running; on the wind
Came curse, and groan, and shout:
But, God! to hear no single sob
Or sigh from all that rout!
She gasped for mercy. Ask the dog
To spare the strangling life
That in the vixen moans and barks
Deep in the tumbling strife;
Or ask the Indian Chief to give
Mercy when blood is rife.
To spare the strangling life
That in the vixen moans and barks
Deep in the tumbling strife;
Or ask the Indian Chief to give
Mercy when blood is rife.
Old Elspeth, with her lean arms crossed
Humbly upon her breast,
Walks painfully with bleeding feet,
A rope strains round her chest;
Sickly her watery eyes upturn
To the gallows farther west.
Humbly upon her breast,
Walks painfully with bleeding feet,
A rope strains round her chest;
Sickly her watery eyes upturn
To the gallows farther west.
Her coif is off, her ragged hair,
Snow-streaked with wintry years,
Floats out when any gust of wind
Brings billowing storms of cheers;
The rolling mob still screech and roar,
No bloodshot eye drops tears.
Snow-streaked with wintry years,
Floats out when any gust of wind
Brings billowing storms of cheers;
The rolling mob still screech and roar,
No bloodshot eye drops tears.
She kissed a Bible,—close she kept
The volume to her lips;
Oh! then arose a flame of yells
As when war's red eclipse
Passes. The leaping hangman then
Cried out for “stronger whips.”
The volume to her lips;
Oh! then arose a flame of yells
As when war's red eclipse
Passes. The leaping hangman then
Cried out for “stronger whips.”
Yet all this time the mounting larks
Sang far from human toil,—
Miles, miles around the ripening corn
Was in a golden boil;
The bee upon the blue flower swung
In restless, happy moil.
Sang far from human toil,—
Miles, miles around the ripening corn
Was in a golden boil;
The bee upon the blue flower swung
In restless, happy moil.
With stolid care across the moor
The distant death-bell rung,
And, drowning it, five thousand screamed
The ribald dirge that's sung
When the great King Devil has his own,
And another witch is hung.
The distant death-bell rung,
And, drowning it, five thousand screamed
The ribald dirge that's sung
When the great King Devil has his own,
And another witch is hung.
'T was pitiful to see them bind
Those shrunk limbs to the stake;
Her idiot sisters' thankful smiles
Approve the pains they take,
And all the cruel, mocking care
With which the sticks they break.
Those shrunk limbs to the stake;
Her idiot sisters' thankful smiles
Approve the pains they take,
And all the cruel, mocking care
With which the sticks they break.
94
A calcined collar round her neck
The hard-faced hangman fits,
An iron chain around her waist
And round her ankles knits,
As ready for the fire his man
The beech log cleaves and splits.
The hard-faced hangman fits,
An iron chain around her waist
And round her ankles knits,
As ready for the fire his man
The beech log cleaves and splits.
They thrust the cruel arrowy flame
Into the billet heaps,
Its fiery, serpent quivering tongues
Make eager, hungry leaps;
See the poor creature stretch her hands
To warm them. No one weeps!
Into the billet heaps,
Its fiery, serpent quivering tongues
Make eager, hungry leaps;
See the poor creature stretch her hands
To warm them. No one weeps!
The savage tiger fire is lit,
A thunder-cloud of smoke,
In one ribbed column tall and black,
Rose thirty feet, then broke:
It blotted out the setting sun
As with a burial cloak.
A thunder-cloud of smoke,
In one ribbed column tall and black,
Rose thirty feet, then broke:
It blotted out the setting sun
As with a burial cloak.
You heard from thickness of the cloud
The mumble of a prayer,
And lo! a shriek, swift, dagger keen,
Sprang up and stabbed the air,
Then just one burning hand that strove
To wave and beckon there.
The mumble of a prayer,
And lo! a shriek, swift, dagger keen,
Sprang up and stabbed the air,
Then just one burning hand that strove
To wave and beckon there.
A silence came upon the crowd,
As when the softening Spring
Breaks up the icy Northern seas,
Melting ring after ring:
Then, rising o'er their guilty heads,
The lark sought Heaven's King.
As when the softening Spring
Breaks up the icy Northern seas,
Melting ring after ring:
Then, rising o'er their guilty heads,
The lark sought Heaven's King.
Was it the sinner's pleading soul
That rose up to those skies,
High, high above the burning light
And sea of brutal eyes,
The storms and eddies round the stake
Of brutal wild-beast cries?
That rose up to those skies,
High, high above the burning light
And sea of brutal eyes,
The storms and eddies round the stake
Of brutal wild-beast cries?
An hour ago! Now but a ring
Of ashes silvery white,
And filmy sparks that broke in blooms
Of fitful scarlet light,
When scudding winds, with fiery gush,
Drove the children left and right.
Of ashes silvery white,
And filmy sparks that broke in blooms
Of fitful scarlet light,
When scudding winds, with fiery gush,
Drove the children left and right.
And chief amongst the staring crowd
A child laughed with those bands—
She was the maid the hag bewitched
Upon the laird's own lands;
And when she saw the ash blow red
She clapped her little hands.
A child laughed with those bands—
She was the maid the hag bewitched
Upon the laird's own lands;
And when she saw the ash blow red
She clapped her little hands.
Thank God, the frightened, cruel folk
Ne'er lit that fire again;
None wore that calcined collar more,
With its griping, throttling strain:—
'T was a cruel deed, and only sweet
To the bigot's blighted brain.
Ne'er lit that fire again;
None wore that calcined collar more,
With its griping, throttling strain:—
'T was a cruel deed, and only sweet
To the bigot's blighted brain.
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