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The singing birds, the whispering wind,
She sat beneath the trees.
Sat shaping for her bridal dress
Her mother's wedding gown,
When lo! the marshal, writ in hand,
From Alford hill rode down.
His face was hard with cruel fear,
He grasped the maiden's hands:
“Come with me unto Salem town,
For so the law commands!”
“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.
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