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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 1. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Narrative and legendary poems (search)
ye, for the night is chill with rain.’ And the goodwife drew the settle, and stirred the fire amain. The maid unclasped her cloak-hood, the firelight glistened fair In her large, moist eyes, and over soft folds of dark brown hair. Dame Garvin looked upon her: ‘It is Mary's self I see! Dear heart!’ she cried, ‘now tell me, has my child come back to me?’ ‘My name indeed is Mary,’ said the stranger sobbing wild; “Will you be to me a mother? I am Mary Garvin's child! She sleeps by wooded Simcoe, but on her dying day She bade my father take me to her kinsfolk far away. And when the priest besought her to do me no such wrong, She said, “May God forgive me! I have closed my heart too long. When I hid me from my father, and shut out my mother's call, I sinned against those dear ones, and the Father of us all. Christ's love rebukes no home-love, breaks no tie of kin apart; Better heresy in doctrine, than heresy of heart. Tell me not the Church must censure: she who wept