. Perfect pearls of poetry and prose; the most unique, touching, inspiring and beautiful literary . using at tho door, Her sad eyes met the troubled gazeOf one, who in her better days, Had been her warm and steady friend,Ere yet her mothers doom had madeEven Esek Harden half afraid. He felt that mute appeal of tears,And starting, with an angry frown,Hushed all the wicked murmurs down. ••Good neighbors mine, he sternly said, This passes harmless mirth or jest;I brook no insult to my guest. She is indeed her mothers child;But Gods sweet pity ministersUnto no whiter soul than hers. Le
. Perfect pearls of poetry and prose; the most unique, touching, inspiring and beautiful literary . using at tho door, Her sad eyes met the troubled gazeOf one, who in her better days, Had been her warm and steady friend,Ere yet her mothers doom had madeEven Esek Harden half afraid. He felt that mute appeal of tears,And starting, with an angry frown,Hushed all the wicked murmurs down. ••Good neighbors mine, he sternly said, This passes harmless mirth or jest;I brook no insult to my guest. She is indeed her mothers child;But Gods sweet pity ministersUnto no whiter soul than hers. Let Goody Martin rest in peace-,I never knew her harm a fly,And witch or not, God knows—not I. I know who swore her life away;And as God lives, Id not condemnAn Indian dog on word of them. The broadest lands in all the town,The skill to guide, the power to awe,Were Hardens, and his word was lavr. None dared withstand him to his face,But one sly maiden spake aside -. The little witch is evil-eyed! Her mother only killed a cow,Or witched a churn or dairy-pan ;But she, forsooth, must charm a man I PART I> TUE SUAiiuW. Poor Mabel, homeward turning, passedThe nameless terrors of the wood,And saw, as if a ghost pursued, Her shadow gliding in the moon ; The soft breath of the west wind gaveA chill as from her mothers grave. How dreary seemed the silent house!Wide in the moonbeams ghastly glareIts windows had a dead mans stare! *nd, like a gaunt and spectral hand,The tremulous shadow of a birchReached out and touched the doors lowporch, As if to lift its latch: hard by,A sudden warning call she heard,The night-cry of a boding bird. She leaned against the door ; her lair, so young, so full of in the moonlights silver rain. The river, on its pebbled rim,Made music such as childhood knew ;The door-yard tree was whispered through By voices such as childhoods earHad heard in moonlights long ago :And through the willow-boughs below. 494 MABEL MARTIN. She saw the
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Keywords: ., bo, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjectenglishliterature
