 | Mabel Martin: A Harvest Idyl |  |
III. THE WITCH'S DAUGHTER
[Description: Grave stones.]
[Description: Mabel Martin sits on the ground husking corn.]
But still the sweetest voice was mute
That river-valley ever heard
From lips of maid or throat of bird ;
That river-valley ever heard
From lips of maid or throat of bird ;
For Mabel Martin sat at,
And let the hay-mow's shadow fall
Upon the loveliest face of all.
And let the hay-mow's shadow fall
Upon the loveliest face of all.
She sat at, as one forbid,
Who knew that none would condescend
To own the Witch-wife's child a friend.
Who knew that none would condescend
To own the Witch-wife's child a friend.
[Description: Old woman (witch) led to the top of the gallows by a frowning crowd.]
The seasons scarce had gone their round,
Since curious thousands thronged to see
Her mother at the gallows-tree ;
Since curious thousands thronged to see
Her mother at the gallows-tree ;
And mocked the prison-palsied limbs
That faltered on the fatal stairs,
And wan lip trembling with its prayers !
That faltered on the fatal stairs,
And wan lip trembling with its prayers !
Few questioned of the sorrowing child,
Or, when they saw the mother die,
Dreamed of the daughter's agony.
Or, when they saw the mother die,
Dreamed of the daughter's agony.
They went up to their homes that day,
As men and Christians justified :
God willed it, and the wretch had died !
As men and Christians justified :
God willed it, and the wretch had died !
Dear God and Father of us all,
Forgive our faith in cruel lies, -
Forgive the blindness that denies !
Forgive our faith in cruel lies, -
Forgive the blindness that denies !
Forgive thy creature when he takes,
For the all-perfect love Thou art,
Some grim creation of his heart.
For the all-perfect love Thou art,
Some grim creation of his heart.
Cast down our idols, overturn
Our bloody altars ; let us see
Thyself in Thy humanity !
Our bloody altars ; let us see
Thyself in Thy humanity !
Young Mabel from her mother's grave
Crept to her desolate hearth-stone,
And wrestled with her fate alone ;
Crept to her desolate hearth-stone,
And wrestled with her fate alone ;
With love, and anger, and despair,
The phantoms of disordered sense,
The awful doubts of Providence !
The phantoms of disordered sense,
The awful doubts of Providence !
[Description: Mabel weeps slumped over an empty rocking chair.]
Oh, dreary broke the winter days,
And dreary fell the winter nights
When, one by one, the neighboring lights
And dreary fell the winter nights
When, one by one, the neighboring lights
[Description: A small dark cottage with a light in the window.]
Went out, and human sounds grew still,
And all the phantom-peopled dark
Closed round her hearth-fire's dying sk
And all the phantom-peopled dark
Closed round her hearth-fire's dying sk
And summer days were sad and long,
And sad the uncompanioned eves,
And sadder sunset-tinted leaves,
And sad the uncompanioned eves,
And sadder sunset-tinted leaves,
[Description: A tree hanging over a still pond.]
And Indian Summer's airs of balm ;
She scarcely felt the soft caress,
The beauty died of loneliness !
She scarcely felt the soft caress,
The beauty died of loneliness !
The school-boys jeered her as they passed,
And, when she sought the house of prayer,
Her mother's curse pursued her there.
And, when she sought the house of prayer,
Her mother's curse pursued her there.
And still o'er many a neighboring door
She saw the horseshoe's curved charm,
To guard against her mother's harm :
She saw the horseshoe's curved charm,
To guard against her mother's harm :
[Description: A family sits outside of their cottage. A cat plays with a broom.]
That mother, poor and sick and lame,
Who daily, by the old arm-chair,
Folded her withered hands in prayer ;-
Who daily, by the old arm-chair,
Folded her withered hands in prayer ;-
Who turned, in Salem's dreary jail,
Her worn old Bible o'er and o'er,
When her dim eyes could read no more !
Her worn old Bible o'er and o'er,
When her dim eyes could read no more !
[Description: An old woman sits in a dark cell reading a book.]
Sore tried and pained, the poor girl kept
Her faith, and trusted that her way,
So dark, would somewhere meet the day.
Her faith, and trusted that her way,
So dark, would somewhere meet the day.
And still her weary wheel went round
Day after day, with no relief :
Small leisure have the poor for grief.
Day after day, with no relief :
Small leisure have the poor for grief.
| Mabel Martin: A Harvest Idyl | |