"Thus, seamed with many scars, Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended!
There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior's soul, Skoal! to the Northland! Skoal!"
Thus the tale ended.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
F all the rides since the birth of time,
Told in story or sung in rhyme,— On Apuleius's Golden Ass,
Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass, Witch astride, or a human hack, Islam's prophet on Al-Borak,— The strangest ride that ever was sped Was Ireson's out of Marblehead. Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead.
Body of turkey, head of owl,
Wings a-droop, like a rained-on fowl, Feathered and ruffled in every part, Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. Scores of women, old and young, Strong of muscle and glib of tongue, Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, Shouting and singing the shrill refrain; "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd hoort Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead!"
Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, Girls with bloom of cheek and lips, Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase Bacchus round some antique vase, Brief of skirt, with ankles bare, Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,
With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns'
Over and over the Mænads sang;
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd hoort Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead!"
Small pity for him! He sailed away From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay, Sailed away from a sinking wreck,
With his own town's people on her deck. "Lay by! Lay by !" they called to him. Back he answered, "Sink or swim! Brag of your catch of fish again!"
And off he sailed through the fog and rain. Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead.
Fathoms deep, in dark Chaleur
That wreck shall lie forever more, Mother and sister, wife and maid,
Looked from the rocks of Marblehead Over the moaning and rainy sea- Looked for the coming that might not be. What did the winds and the sea-birds say Of the cruel captain who sailed away? Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead.
Through the street on either side Up flew windows, doors flung wide; Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives grey, Treble lent the fish-horn's bray. Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, Hulks of old sailors run aground, Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane, And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain; "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd hoort Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead!"
Sweetly along the Salem road
Bloom of orchard and lilac showed.
Little the wicked skipper knew
Of the fields so green and the sky so blue.
Riding there in his sorry trim
Like an Indian idol, glum and grim.
Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear
Of voices shouting far and near; "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd hoort Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead!"
"Hear me, neighbors!" at last he cried- "What to me is this noisy ride?
What is the shame that clothes the skin To the nameless horror that lives within? Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck
And hear a cry from a reeling deck! Hate me and curse me-I only dread
The hand of God and the face of the dead!" Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead.
Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea Said "God has touched him-why should we?" Said an old wife mourning her only son "Cut the rogue's tether and let him run." So with soft relentings and rude excuse, Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose; And gave him a cloak to hide him in,
And left him alone with his shame and sin. Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblefread.
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
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