And the thick and sullen smoke From the blackened forges broke.

Could it be his fathers ever

Loved to linger here? These bare hills, this conquered river, Could they hold them dear, With their native loveliness Tamed and tortured into this?

Sadly, as the shades of even

Gathered o'er the hill, While the western half of heaven

Blushed with sunset still, From the fountain's mossy seat Turned the Indian's weary feet.

Year on year hath flown forever,

But he came no more To the hillside or the river Where he came before. But the villager can tell Of that strange man's visit well.

And the merry children, laden

With their fruits or flowers, Roving boy and laughing maiden, In their school-day hours, Love the simple tale to tell Of the Indian and his well.

THE EXILES.

1660.

THE goodman sat beside his door

One sultry afternoon,

And stood before the farmer's door, With travel soiled and lame.

Sad seemed he, yet sustaining hope Was in his quiet glance,

37

And peace, like autumn's moonlight, clothed

His tranquil countenance.

The stranger meekly said; And, leaning on his oaken staff,

The goodman's features read.

"My life is hunted, — evil men
Are following in my track;
The traces of the torturer's whip
Are on my aged back.

"And much, I fear, 't will peril thee Within thy doors to take

A hunted seeker of the Truth,
Oppressed for conscience' sake."

O, kindly spoke the goodman's wife,
"Come in, old man!" quoth she,
"We will not leave thee to the storm,
Whoever thou mayst be."

Then came the aged wanderer in,

And silent sat him down;

rain,

The parish priest he saw.

Where suffering woman's prayer was

heard,

With sickening childhood's wail,

It suits not with our tale to tell : Those scenes have passed away, Let the dim shadows of the past Brood o'er that evil day.

"Ho, sheriff!" quoth the ardent priest,

"Take Goodman Macey too; The sin of this day's heresy

His back or purse shall rue."

"Now, goodwife, haste thee!" Macey cried,

She caught his manly arm :-
Behind, the parson urged pursuit,
With outcry and alarm.

Ho! speed the Maceys, neck or naught, —
The river-course was near: —
The plashing on its pebbled shore
Was music to their ear.

A gray rock, tasselled o'er with birch,
Above the waters hung,
And at its base, with every wave,

A small light wherry swung.

Thy blessing prithee spare."

"Vile scoffer!" cried the baffled priest,

"Thou 'lt yet the gallows see. "Who's born to be hanged, will not be drowned,"

Quoth Macey, merrily;

"And so, sir sheriff and priest, good by!" He bent him to his oar,

And the small boat glided quietly

From the twain upon the shore.

Now in the west, the heavy clouds

Scattered and fell asunder, While feebler came the rush of rain, And fainter growled the thunder.

And through the broken clouds, the sun
Looked out serene and warm,
Painting its holy symbol-light
Upon the passing storm.

O, beautiful! that rainbow span,
O'er dim Crane-neck was bended;
One bright foot touched the eastern hills,
And one with ocean blended.

-

By green Pentucket's southern slope
The small boat glided fast,
The watchers of "the Block-house" saw
The strangers as they passed.

That night a stalwart garrison
Sat shaking in their shoes,
To hear the dip of Indian oars,
The glide of birch canoes.

The fisher-wives of Salisbury,
(The men were all away,)
Looked out to see the stranger oar
Upon their waters play.

Deer-Island's rocks and fir-trees threw
Their sunset-shadows o'er them,
And Newbury's spire and weathercock
Peered o'er the pines before them.

Around the Black Rocks, on their left,
The marsh lay broad and green ;
And on their right, with dwarf shrubs
crowned,

Plum Island's hills were seen.

With skilful hand and wary eye The harbor-bar was crossed;

The boat on ocean tossed.

The glory of the sunset heaven
On land and water lay, -
On the steep hills of Agawam,
On cape, and bluff, and bay.

39

They passed the gray rocks of Cape Ann,
And Gloucester's harbor-bar;
The watch-fire of the garrison
Shone like a setting star.

How brightly broke the morning
On Massachusetts Bay!
Blue wave, and bright green island,
Rejoicing in the day.

On passed the bark in safety
Round isle and headland steep, —
No tempest broke above them,
No fog-cloud veiled the deep.

Far round the bleak and stormy Cape
The vent'rous Macey passed,
And on Nantucket's naked isle
Drew up his boat at last.

And how, in log-built cabin,

They braved the rough sea-weather; And there, in peace and quietness, Went down life's vale together:

How others drew around them,

And how their fishing sped, Until to every wind of heaven Nantucket's sails were spread;

God bless the sea-beat island!

And grant forevermore, That charity and freedom dwell As now upon her shore !

THE NEW WIFE AND THE OLD.

DARK the halls, and cold the feast,
Gone the bridemaids, gone the priest :
All is over,
all is done,

Twain of yesterday are one!
Blooming girl and manhood gray,
Autumn in the arms of May !

Hushed within and hushed without,
Dancing feet and wrestlers' shout;
Dies the bonfire on the hill;
All is dark and all is still,
Save the starlight, save the breeze
Moaning through the graveyard trees;
And the great sea-waves below,
Pulse of the midnight beating slow.

From the brief dream of a bride
She hath wakened, at his side.
With half-uttered shriek and start, -
Feels she not his beating heart?
And the pressure of his arm,
And his breathing near and warm?

Lightly from the bridal bed
Springs that fair dishevelled head,
And a feeling, new, intense,
Half of shame, half innocence,
Maiden fear and wonder speaks
Through her lips and changing cheeks.

From the oaken mantel glowing
Faintest light the lamp is throwing
On the mirror's antique mould,
High-backed chair, and wainscot old,
And, through faded curtains stealing,
His dark sleeping face revealing.

Listless lies the strong man there,
Silver-streaked his careless hair;
Lips of love have left no trace
On that hard and haughty face;
And that forehead's knitted thought
Love's soft hand hath not unwrought.

"Yet," she sighs, "he loves me well,
More than these calm lips will tell.
Stooping to my lowly state,
He hath made me rich and great,
And I bless him, though he be
Hard and stern to all save me!"

Star-like, beneath whose sombre shade,
The fiery-winged cucullo played !
Yes, lovely was thine aspect, then,
Fair island of the Western Sea!
Lavish of beauty, even when
Thy brutes were happier than thy men,
For they, at least, were free!
Regardless of thy glorious clime,

Unmindful of thy soil of flowers,
The toiling negro sighed, that Time
No faster sped his hours.
For, by the dewy moonlight still,
He fed the weary-turning mill,
Or bent him in the chill morass,
To pluck the long and tangled grass,
And hear above his scar-worn back
The heavy slave-whip's frequent crack:
While in his heart one evil thought
In solitary madness wrought,
One baleful fire surviving still

The quenching of the immortal mind, One sterner passion of his kind, Which even fetters could not kill, The savage hope, to deal, erelong, A vengeance bitterer than his wrong!

Hark to that cry!— long, loud, and shrill, From field and forest, rock and hill,