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1 The Goody Cole who figures in this poem and 'The Changeling' was Eunice Cole, who for a quarter of a century or more was feared, persecuted, and hated as the witch of Hampton. She lived alone in a hovel a little distant from the spot where the Hampton Academy now stands, and there she died, unattended. When her death was discovered, she was hastily covered up in the earth near by, and a stake driven through her body, to exorcise the evil spirit. Rev. Stephen Bachiler or Batchelder was one of the ablest of the early New England preachers. His marriage late in life to a woman regarded by his church as disreputable induced him to return to England, where he enjoyed the esteem and favor of Oliver Cromwell during the Protectorate. (WHITTIER.)

See also Pickard's Whittier-Land, pp. 88-89.

'Fie on the witch!' cried a merry girl,

As they rounded the point where Goody *Cole

Sat by her door with her wheel atwirl, A bent and blear-eyed poor old soul. 'Oho!' she muttered, ye 're brave today!

But I hear the little waves laugh and say, "The broth will be cold that waits at home;

For it 's one to go, but another to come !'"

'She's cursed,' said the skipper; 'speak her fair:

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I'm scary always to see her shake Her wicked head, with its wild gray hair, And nose like a hawk, and eyes like a snake.'

But merrily still, with laugh and shout, From Hampton River the boat sailed out, Till the huts and the flakes on Star seemed nigh,

And they lost the scent of the pines of Rye.

They dropped their lines in the lazy tide,

Drawing up haddock and mottled cod; 50 They saw not the shadow that walked beside,

They heard not the feet with silence shod. But thicker and thicker a hot mist grew, Shot by the lightnings through and through; And muffled growls, like the growl of a beast,

Ran along the sky from west to east.

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Goody Cole looked out from her door: The Isles of Shoals were drowned and gone,

Scarcely she saw the Head of the Boar

Toss the foam from tusks of stone. She clasped her hands with a grip of pain, The tear on her cheek was not of rain:

They are lost,' she muttered, 'boat and crew!

Lord, forgive me! my words were true!' 80

Suddenly seaward swept the squall;

The low sun smote through cloudy rack; The Shoals stood clear in the light, and all The trend of the coast lay hard and black. But far and wide as eye could reach, No life was seen upon wave or beach; The boat that went out at morning never Sailed back again into Hampton River.

O mower, lean on thy bended snath,

Look from the meadows green and low: The wind of the sea is a waft of death, The waves are singing a song of woe! By silent river, by moaning sea, Long and vain shall thy watching be: Never again shall the sweet voice call, Never the white hand rise and fall!

O Rivermouth Rocks, how sad a sight Ye saw in the light of breaking day! Dead faces looking up cold and white

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From sand and seaweed where they lay. The mad old witch-wife wailed and wept, 101 And cursed the tide as it backward crept: 'Crawl back, crawl back, blue water-snake! Leave your dead for the hearts that break!'

Solemn it was in that old day

In Hampton town and its log-built church, Where side by side the coffins lay

And the mourners stood in aisle and porch.

In the singing-seats young eyes were dim, The voices faltered that raised the hymn, 110 And Father Dalton, grave and stern, Sobbed through his prayer and wept in turn.

But his ancient colleague did not pray;

Under the weight of his fourscore years He stood apart with the iron-gray

Of his strong brows knitted to hide his tears;

And a fair-faced woman of doubtful fame, Linking her own with his honored name,

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Flitting, passing, seen and gone,

1864.

Never reached nor found at rest,
Baffling search, but beckoning on

To the Sunset of the Blest.

1 Whittier wrote to Fields, September 27, 1864: 'I take the liberty of inclosing a little poem of mine which has beguiled some weary hours. I hope thee will like it. How strange it seems not to read it to my sister! If thee have read Schoolcraft thee will remember what he says of the Puck-wud-jinnies, or "Little Vanishers." The legend is very beautiful, and I hope I have done it justice in some sort.'

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1 Written for the celebration of Bryant's seventieth birthday at the Century Club in New York.

2 On hearing the bells ring on the passage of the constitutional amendment abolishing slavery. The resolution was adopted by Congress, January 31, 1865. The ratification by the requisite number of States was announced December 18, 1865. (WHITTIER.)

The suggestion came to the poet as he sat in the Friends' Meeting-house in Amesbury, where he was present at the regular Fifth-day meeting. All sat in silence, but on his return to his home, he recited a portion of the poem, not yet committed to paper, to his housemates in the garden room. It wrote itself, or rather sang itself, while the bells rang,' he wrote to Lucy Larcom. (Cambridge Edition of Whittier.) See also Pickard's Life of Whittier, vol. ii, pp. 488-489.

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