The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 1.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

I looked on haughty Endicott; with weapon halfway drawn,
Swept round the throng his lion glare of bitter hate and scorn;
Fiercely he drew his bridle-rein, and turned in silence back,
And sneering priest and baffled clerk rode murmuring in his track.

Hard after them the sheriff looked, in bitterness of soul;
Thrice smote his staff upon the ground, and crushed his parchment roll.
‘Good friends,’ he said, “since both have fled, the ruler and the priest,
Judge ye, if from their further work I be not well released.”

Loud was the cheer which, full and clear, swept round the silent bay,
As, with kind words and kinder looks, he bade me go my way;
For He who turns the courses of the streamlet of the glen,
And the river of great waters, had turned the hearts of men.

Oh, at that hour the very earth seemed changed beneath my eye,