"Oh, let me to my mother say Farewell before I go!" He closer tied her little hands Unto his saddle bow. "Unhand me," cried she piteously, "For thy sweet daughter's sake." "I'll keep my daughter safe," he said, "From the witch of Wenham Lake." "Oh, leave me for my mother's sake, She needs my eyes to see." "Those eyes, young witch, the crows shall peck From off the gallows-tree." He bore her to a farm-house old, And up its stairway long, And closed on her the garret-door With iron bolted strong. The day died out, the night came down Her evening prayer she said, While, through the dark, strange faces seemed To mock her as she prayed. The present horror deepened all The fears her childhood knew; The awe wherewith the air was filled With every breath she drew. And could it be, she trembling asked, Some secret thought or sin Had shut good angels from her heart And let the bad ones in? Had she in some forgotten dream Let go her hold on Heaven, And sold herself unwittingly To spirits unforgiven? Oh, weird and still the dark hours passed; No human sound she heard, But up and down the chimney stack The swallows moaned and stirred. And o'er her, with a dread surmise Of evil sight and sound, The blind bats on their leathern wings Went wheeling round and round. Low hanging in the midnight sky Looked in a half-faced moon. Was it a dream, or did she hear Her lover's whistled tune? She forced the oaken scuttle back; A whisper reached her ear "Slide down the roof to me," it said, "So softly none may hear." She slid along the sloping roof Till from its eaves she hung, And felt the loosened shingles yield To which her fingers clung. Below, her lover stretched his hands And touched her feet so small; "Drop down to me, dear heart," he said, "My arms shall break the fall." He set her on his pillion soft, Her arms about him twined; And, noiseless as if velvet-shod, They left the house behind. But when they reached the open way, Full free the rein he cast; Oh, never through the mirk midnight Rode man and maid more fast. Along the wild wood-paths they sped, The bridgeless streams they swam; At set of moon they passed the Bass, At sunrise Agawam. At high noon on the Merrimac The ancient ferryman Forgot, at times, his idle oars, So fair a freight to scan. And when from off his grounded boat He saw them mount and ride, "God keep her from the evil eye, And harm of witch!" he cried. The maiden laughed, as youth will laugh At all its fears gone by; "He does not know," she whispered low, "A little witch am I."