Narrative and Legendary Poems, Complete






CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK.

In 1658 two young persons, son and daughter of Lawrence Smithwick of Salem, who had himself been imprisoned and deprived of nearly all his property for having entertained Quakers at his house, were fined for non-attendance at church. They being unable to pay the fine, the General Court issued an order empowering "the Treasurer of the County to sell the said persons to any of the English nation of Virginia or Barbadoes, to answer said fines." An attempt was made to carry this order into execution, but no shipmaster was found willing to convey them to the West Indies.

     To the God of all sure mercies let my blessing rise
     to-day,
     From the scoffer and the cruel He hath plucked
     the spoil away;
     Yea, He who cooled the furnace around the faithful
     three,
     And tamed the Chaldean lions, hath set His hand-
     maid free!
     Last night I saw the sunset melt through my prison
     bars,
     Last night across my damp earth-floor fell the pale
     gleam of stars;
     In the coldness and the darkness all through the
     long night-time,
     My grated casement whitened with autumn's early
     rime.
     Alone, in that dark sorrow, hour after hour crept
     by;
     Star after star looked palely in and sank adown
     the sky;
     No sound amid night's stillness, save that which
     seemed to be
     The dull and heavy beating of the pulses of the sea;

     All night I sat unsleeping, for I knew that on the
     morrow
     The ruler and the cruel priest would mock me in
     my sorrow,
     Dragged to their place of market, and bargained
     for and sold,
     Like a lamb before the shambles, like a heifer
     from the fold!

     Oh, the weakness of the flesh was there, the
     shrinking and the shame;
     And the low voice of the Tempter like whispers to
     me came:
     "Why sit'st thou thus forlornly," the wicked
     murmur said,
     "Damp walls thy bower of beauty, cold earth thy
     maiden bed?

     "Where be the smiling faces, and voices soft and
     sweet,
     Seen in thy father's dwelling, heard in the pleasant
     street?
     Where be the youths whose glances, the summer
     Sabbath through,
     Turned tenderly and timidly unto thy father's pew?
     "Why sit'st thou here, Cassandra?-Bethink
     thee with what mirth
     Thy happy schoolmates gather around the warm
     bright hearth;
     How the crimson shadows tremble on foreheads
     white and fair,
     On eyes of merry girlhood, half hid in golden hair.

     "Not for thee the hearth-fire brightens, not for
     thee kind words are spoken,
     Not for thee the nuts of Wenham woods by laughing
     boys are broken;
     No first-fruits of the orchard within thy lap are
     laid,
     For thee no flowers of autumn the youthful hunters
     braid.

     "O weak, deluded maiden!—by crazy fancies
     led,
     With wild and raving railers an evil path to tread;
     To leave a wholesome worship, and teaching pure
     and sound,
     And mate with maniac women, loose-haired and
     sackcloth bound,—

     "Mad scoffers of the priesthood; who mock at
     things divine,
     Who rail against the pulpit, and holy bread and
     wine;
     Sore from their cart-tail scourgings, and from the
     pillory lame,
     Rejoicing in their wretchedness, and glorying in
     their shame.

     "And what a fate awaits thee!—a sadly toiling
     slave,
     Dragging the slowly lengthening chain of bondage
     to the grave!
     Think of thy woman's nature, subdued in hopeless
     thrall,
     The easy prey of any, the scoff and scorn of all!"

     Oh, ever as the Tempter spoke, and feeble Nature's
     fears
     Wrung drop by drop the scalding flow of unavailing
     tears,
     I wrestled down the evil thoughts, and strove in
     silent prayer,
     To feel, O Helper of the weak! that Thou indeed
     wert there!

     I thought of Paul and Silas, within Philippi's cell,
     And how from Peter's sleeping limbs the prison
     shackles fell,
     Till I seemed to hear the trailing of an angel's
     robe of white,
     And to feel a blessed presence invisible to sight.

     Bless the Lord for all his mercies!—for the peace
     and love I felt,
     Like dew of Hermon's holy hill, upon my spirit
     melt;
     When "Get behind me, Satan!" was the language
     of my heart,
     And I felt the Evil Tempter with all his doubts
     depart.

     Slow broke the gray cold morning; again the sunshine
     fell,
     Flecked with the shade of bar and grate within
     my lonely cell;
     The hoar-frost melted on the wall, and upward
     from the street
     Came careless laugh and idle word, and tread of
     passing feet.

     At length the heavy bolts fell back, my door was
     open cast,
     And slowly at the sheriff's side, up the long street
     I passed;
     I heard the murmur round me, and felt, but dared
     not see,
     How, from every door and window, the people
     gazed on me.

     And doubt and fear fell on me, shame burned upon
     my cheek,
     Swam earth and sky around me, my trembling
     limbs grew weak:
     "O Lord! support thy handmaid; and from her
     soul cast out
     The fear of man, which brings a snare, the weakness
     and the doubt."

     Then the dreary shadows scattered, like a cloud in
     morning's breeze,
     And a low deep voice within me seemed whispering
     words like these:
     "Though thy earth be as the iron, and thy heaven
     a brazen wall,
     Trust still His loving-kindness whose power is over
     all."

     We paused at length, where at my feet the sunlit
     waters broke
     On glaring reach of shining beach, and shingly
     wall of rock;
     The merchant-ships lay idly there, in hard clear
     lines on high,
     Tracing with rope and slender spar their network
     on the sky.

     And there were ancient citizens, cloak-wrapped
     and grave and cold,
     And grim and stout sea-captains with faces bronzed
     and old,
     And on his horse, with Rawson, his cruel clerk at
     hand,
     Sat dark and haughty Endicott, the ruler of the
     land.

     And poisoning with his evil words the ruler's ready
     ear,
     The priest leaned o'er his saddle, with laugh and
     scoff and jeer;
     It stirred my soul, and from my lips the seal of
     silence broke,
     As if through woman's weakness a warning spirit
     spoke.

     I cried, "The Lord rebuke thee, thou smiter of the
     meek,
     Thou robber of the righteous, thou trampler of
     the weak!
     Go light the dark, cold hearth-stones,—go turn
     the prison lock
     Of the poor hearts thou hast hunted, thou wolf
     amid the flock!"

     Dark lowered the brows of Endicott, and with a
     deeper red
     O'er Rawson's wine-empurpled cheek the flush of
     anger spread;
     "Good people," quoth the white-lipped priest,
     "heed not her words so wild,
     Her Master speaks within her,—the Devil owns
     his child!"

     But gray heads shook, and young brows knit, the
     while the sheriff read
     That law the wicked rulers against the poor have
     made,
     Who to their house of Rimmon and idol priesthood
     bring
     No bended knee of worship, nor gainful offering.

     Then to the stout sea-captains the sheriff, turning,
     said,—
     "Which of ye, worthy seamen, will take this
     Quaker maid?
     In the Isle of fair Barbadoes, or on Virginia's
     shore,
     You may hold her at a higher price than Indian
     girl or Moor."

     Grim and silent stood the captains; and when
     again he cried,
     "Speak out, my worthy seamen!"—no voice, no
     sign replied;
     But I felt a hard hand press my own, and kind
     words met my ear,—
     "God bless thee, and preserve thee, my gentle girl
     and dear!"

     A weight seemed lifted from my heart, a pitying
     friend was nigh,—
     I felt it in his hard, rough hand, and saw it in his
     eye;
     And when again the sheriff spoke, that voice, so
     kind to me,
     Growled back its stormy answer like the roaring
     of the sea,—

     "Pile my ship with bars of silver, pack with coins
     of Spanish gold,
     From keel-piece up to deck-plank, the roomage of
     her hold,
     By the living God who made me!—I would sooner
     in your bay
     Sink ship and crew and cargo, than bear this child
     away!"

     "Well answered, worthy captain, shame on their
     cruel laws!"
     Ran through the crowd in murmurs loud the people's
     just applause.
     "Like the herdsman of Tekoa, in Israel of old,
     Shall we see the poor and righteous again for
     silver sold?"

     I looked on haughty Endicott; with weapon half-
     way drawn,
     Swept round the throng his lion glare of bitter hate
     and scorn;
     Fiercely he drew his bridle-rein, and turned in
     silence back,
     And sneering priest and baffled clerk rode
     murmuring in his track.

     Hard after them the sheriff looked, in bitterness of
     soul;
     Thrice smote his staff upon the ground, and
     crushed his parchment roll.
     "Good friends," he said, "since both have fled,
     the ruler and the priest,
     Judge ye, if from their further work I be not well
     released."

     Loud was the cheer which, full and clear, swept
     round the silent bay,
     As, with kind words and kinder looks, he bade me
     go my way;
     For He who turns the courses of the streamlet of
     the glen,
     And the river of great waters, had turned the
     hearts of men.

     Oh, at that hour the very earth seemed changed
     beneath my eye,
     A holier wonder round me rose the blue walls of
     the sky,
     A lovelier light on rock and hill and stream and
     woodland lay,
     And softer lapsed on sunnier sands the waters of
     the bay.

     Thanksgiving to the Lord of life! to Him all
     praises be,
     Who from the hands of evil men hath set his hand-
     maid free;
     All praise to Him before whose power the mighty
     are afraid,
     Who takes the crafty in the snare which for the
     poor is laid!

     Sing, O my soul, rejoicingly, on evening's twilight
     calm
     Uplift the loud thanksgiving, pour forth the grateful
     psalm;
     Let all dear hearts with me rejoice, as did the
     saints of old,
     When of the Lord's good angel the rescued Peter
     told.

     And weep and howl, ye evil priests and mighty
     men of wrong,
     The Lord shall smite the proud, and lay His hand
     upon the strong.
     Woe to the wicked rulers in His avenging hour!
     Woe to the wolves who seek the flocks to raven
     and devour!

     But let the humble ones arise, the poor in heart
     be glad,
     And let the mourning ones again with robes of
     praise be clad.
     For He who cooled the furnace, and smoothed the
     stormy wave,
     And tamed the Chaldean lions, is mighty still to
     save!

     1843.

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