Narrative Poems, part 7, Bay of Seven Islands | Page 3

before no earthly blast,
The red sign fluttering from her mast,

Over the solemn seas,
The ghost of the schooner Breeze!
1882.
THE WISHING BRIDGE.
AMONG the legends sung or said
Along our rocky shore,
The
Wishing Bridge of Marblehead
May well be sung once more.

An hundred years ago (so ran
The old-time story) all
Good wishes
said above its span
Would, soon or late, befall.
If pure and earnest, never failed
The prayers of man or maid
For
him who on the deep sea sailed,
For her at home who stayed.
Once thither came two girls from school,
And wished in childish glee

And one would be a queen and rule,
And one the world would see.
Time passed; with change of hopes and fears,
And in the self-same
place,
Two women, gray with middle years,
Stood, wondering, face
to face.
With wakened memories, as they met,
They queried what had been

"A poor man's wife am I, and yet,"
Said one, "I am a queen.
"My realm a little homestead is,
Where, lacking crown and throne,
I
rule by loving services
And patient toil alone."
The other said: "The great world lies
Beyond me as it lay;
O'er
love's and duty's boundaries
My feet may never stray.
"I see but common sights of home,
Its common sounds I hear,
My
widowed mother's sick-bed room
Sufficeth for my sphere.
"I read to her some pleasant page
Of travel far and wide,
And in a
dreamy pilgrimage
We wander side by side.
"And when, at last, she falls asleep,
My book becomes to me
A
magic glass: my watch I keep,
But all the world I see.
"A farm-wife queen your place you fill,
While fancy's privilege
Is
mine to walk the earth at will,
Thanks to the Wishing Bridge."
"Nay, leave the legend for the truth,"
The other cried, "and say
God

gives the wishes of our youth,
But in His own best way!"
1882.
HOW THE WOMEN WENT FROM DOVER.
The following is a copy of the warrant issued by Major Waldron, of
Dover, in 1662. The Quakers, as was their wont, prophesied against
him, and saw, as they supposed, the fulfilment of their prophecy when,
many years after, he was killed by the Indians.
To the constables of Dover, Hampton, Salisbury, Newbury, Rowley,
Ipswich, Wenham, Lynn, Boston, Roxbury, Dedham, and until these
vagabond Quakers are carried out of this jurisdiction. You, and every
one of you, are required, in the King's Majesty's name, to take these
vagabond Quakers, Anne Colman, Mary Tomkins, and Alice Ambrose,
and make them fast to the cart's tail, and driving the cart through your
several towns, to whip them upon their naked backs not exceeding ten
stripes apiece on each of them, in each town; and so to convey them
from constable to constable till they are out of this jurisdiction, as you
will answer it at your peril; and this shall be your warrant.
RICHARD WALDRON.
Dated at Dover, December 22, 1662.
This warrant was executed only in Dover and Hampton. At Salisbury
the constable refused to obey it. He was sustained by the town's people,
who were under the influence of Major Robert Pike, the leading man in
the lower valley of the Merrimac, who stood far in advance of his time,
as an advocate of religious freedom, and an opponent of ecclesiastical
authority. He had the moral courage to address an able and manly letter
to the court at Salem, remonstrating against the witchcraft trials.
THE tossing spray of Cocheco's fall
Hardened to ice on its rocky wall,

As through Dover town in the chill, gray dawn,
Three women
passed, at the cart-tail drawn!
Bared to the waist, for the north wind's grip
And keener sting of the
constable's whip,
The blood that followed each hissing blow
Froze
as it sprinkled the winter snow.

Priest and ruler, boy and maid
Followed the dismal cavalcade;
And
from door and window, open thrown,
Looked and wondered gaffer
and crone.
"God is our witness," the victims cried,
We suffer for Him who for all
men died;
The wrong ye do has been done before,
We bear the
stripes that the Master bore!
And thou, O Richard Waldron, for whom
We hear the feet of a
coming doom,
On thy cruel heart and thy hand of wrong
Vengeance
is sure, though it tarry long.
"In the light of the Lord, a flame we see
Climb and kindle a proud
roof-tree;
And beneath it an old man lying dead,
With stains of
blood on his hoary head."
"Smite, Goodman Hate-Evil!--harder still!"
The magistrate cried, "lay
on with a will!
Drive out of their bodies the Father of Lies,
Who
through them preaches and prophesies!"
So into the forest they held their way,
By winding river and
frost-rimmed bay,
Over wind-swept hills that felt the beat
Of the
winter sea at their icy feet.
The Indian hunter, searching his traps,
Peered stealthily through the
forest gaps;
And the outlying settler shook his head,--
"They're
witches going to jail," he said.
At last a meeting-house came in view;
A blast on his horn the
constable blew;
And the boys of Hampton cried up and down,
"The
Quakers have come!" to the wondering town.