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

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[71]
Thou robber of the righteous, thou trampler of the weak!
Go light the dark, cold hearth-stones,—go turn the prison lock
Of the poor hearts thou hast hunted, thou wolf amid the flock!”

Dark lowered the brows of Endicott, and with a deeper red
O'er Rawson's wine-empurpled cheek the flush of anger spread;
‘Good people,’ quoth the white-lipped priest, “heed not her words so wild,
Her Master speaks within her,—the Devil owns his child!”

But gray heads shook, and young brows knit, the while the sheriff read
That law the wicked rulers against the poor have made,
Who to their house of Rimmon and idol priest-hood bring
No bended knee of worship, nor gainful offering.

Then to the stout sea-captains the sheriff, turning,said,—
“Which of ye, worthy seamen, will take this Quaker maid?
In the Isle of fair Barbadoes, or on Virginia's shore,
You may hold her at a higher price than Indian girl or Moor.”