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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 ;— A plaything of the restless wave,

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.

They passed the grey 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:

How pale want alternated
"With plenty's golden smile;

Behold, is it not written
In the annals of the isle?

And yet that isle remaineth

A refuge of the free,
As when true-hearted Macey

Beheld it from the sea.

Free as the winds that winnow
Her shrubless hills of sand —

Free as the waves that batter
Along her yielding land.

Than hers, at duty's summons,

No loftier spirit stirs, — Nor falls o'er human suffering

A readier tear than hers.

God bless the sea-beat island ! —

And grant for evermore,
That charity and freedom dwell,

As now upon her shore!


[the following Ballad is founded upon one of the marvellons legends connected with the famous Gen. M., of Hampton, N. EL, who was regarded by his neighbors as a Yankee Faust, in league with the adversary. I give the story, as I heard it when a child, from a venerable family visitant.]

Dare the balls, 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 grey,
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 grave-yard trees;
And the great sea-waves below,
Like the night's pulse, 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 Hps 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 dack 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!"

While she speaketh, falls the light
O'er her fingers small and white;
Gold and gem, and costly ring
Back the timid lustre fling —
Love's selectest gifts, and rare,
His proud hand had fastened there.

Gratefully she marks the glow
From those tapering lines of snow;
Fondly o'er the sleeper bending
His black hair with golden blending,
In her soft and light caress,
Cheek and lip together pres3.

Ha ! — that start of horror ! — "Why
That wild stare and wilder cry,
Full of terror, full of pain?
Is there madness in her brain?

Hark! that gasping, hoarse and low:
"Spare me — spare me — let me go!"

God have mercy ! — Icy cold
Spectral hands her own enfold,
Drawing silently from them
Love's fair gifts of gold and gem,
"Waken! save me!" still as death
At her side he slumbereth.

Ring and bracelet all are gone,

And that ice-cold hand withdrawn;

But she hears a murmur low,

Full of sweetness, full of woe,

Half a sigh and half a moan:

"Fear not! give the dead her own!"

Ah ! — the dead wife's voice she knows!
That cold hand whose pressure froze,
Once in warmest life had borne
Gem and band her own hath worn.
"Wake thee! wake thee!" Lo, his eyes
Open with a dull surprise.

In his arms the strong man folds her,
Closer to his breast he holds her;
Trembling limbs his own are meeting,
And he feels her heart's quick beating:
"Nay, my dearest, why this fear?"
"Hush!" she saith, "the dead is here!"

"Nay, a dream — an idle dream." But before the lamp's pale gleam Tremblingly her hand she raises,— There no more the diamond blazes, Clasp of pearl, or ring 6f gold,— "Ah!" she sighs, "her hand was cold!"

Broken words of cheer he saith,

But his dark lip quivereth,

And as o'er the past he thinketh,

From, his young wife's arms he shrinketh;

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