Th the sin of his ignorance, sorely rued,

Might be washed away in the mingled

torts,

Ruling as right the will of the strong,
Poverty, crime, and w akness wrong;
Wide-eared to power, to the wronged
and weak

Deaf as Egypt's gods/leek;
Scoffing aside at party's nod
Order of nature and law of God;
For whose dabbled ermi e respect were
waste,

Reverence folly, and awe misplaced;
Justice of whom 't were vain to seek
As from Koordish robber or Syrian
Sheik !

O, leave the wretch to h bribes and sins;

Let him rot in the web of li he spins!
To the saintly soul of the early day,
To the Christian judge, let us turn and
say:

273

"Praise and thanks for an honest man!

Glory to God for the Puritan ! "

I see, far southward, this quiet day, The hills of Newbury rolling away, With the many tints of the season gay, Dreamily blending in autumn mist Crimson, and gold, and amethyst. Long and low, with dwarf trees crowned,

Plum Island lies, like a whale aground,
A stone's toss over the narrow sound.
Inland, as far as the eye can go,
The hills curve round like a bended
bow;

A silver arrow from out them sprung,
I see the shine of the Quasycung;
And, round and round, over valley and
hill,

Old roads winding, as old roads will,
Here to a ferry, and there to a mill;
And glimpses of chimneys and gabled

And the low, broad chimney shows the crack

By the earthquake made a century back.

Up from their midst springs the village spire

With the crest of its cock in the sun afire;

Beyond are orchards and planting lands, And great salt marshes and glimmering sands,

And, where north and south the coastlines run,

The blink of the sea in breeze and sun!

I see it all like a chart unrolled, But my thoughts are full of the past and old,

Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, Shouting and singing the shrill refrain: "Here's Flud Oírson, fur his horrd horrt,

Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt

By the women o' Morble'ead!"

275

Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt

By the women o' Morble'ead!"

Sweetly along the Salem road
Bloom of orchard and lilac showed.
Little the wicked skipper knew

Of the fields so green and the sky so blue.

Riding there in his sorry trim,
Like an Indian idol glum and grim,
Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear
Of voices shouting, far and near:

"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,

Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt

By the women o' Morble'ead!"