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| OF all the rides since the birth of time, | |
| Told in story or sung in rhyme,— | |
| On Apuleius’s Golden Ass, | |
| Or one-eyed Calendar’s horse of brass, | |
| Witch astride of a human back, | 5 |
| Islam’s prophet on Al-Borák,— | |
| The strangest ride that ever was sped | |
| Was Ireson’s, out from Marblehead! | |
| Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, | |
| Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart | 10 |
| By the women of Marblehead! | |
| |
| Body of turkey, head of owl, | |
| Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl, | |
| Feathered and ruffled in every part, | |
| Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. | 15 |
| Scores of women, old and young, | |
| Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue, | |
| Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, | |
| Shouting and singing the shrill refrain: | |
| “Here ’s Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, | 20 |
| Torr’d an’ futherr’d an’ corr’d in a corrt | |
| By the women o’ Morble’ead!” | |
| |
| Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, | |
| Girls in bloom of cheek and lips, | |
| Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase | 25 |
| Bacchus round some antique vase, | |
| Brief of skirt, with ankles bare, | |
| Loose of kerchief and loose of hair, | |
| With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns’ twang, | |
| Over and over the Mænads sang: | 30 |
| “Here ’s Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, | |
| Torr’d an’ futherr’d an’ corr’d in a corrt | |
| By the women o’ Morble’ead!” | |
| |
| Small pity for him!—He sailed away | |
| From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay,— | 35 |
| Sailed away from a sinking wreck, | |
| With his own town’s-people on her deck! | |
| “Lay by! lay by!” they called to him. | |
| Back he answered, “Sink or swim! | |
| Brag of your catch of fish again!” | 40 |
| And off he sailed through the fog and rain! | |
| Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, | |
| Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart | |
| By the women of Marblehead! | |
| |
| Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur | 45 |
| That wreck shall lie forevermore. | |
| Mother and sister, wife and maid, | |
| Looked from the rocks of Marblehead | |
| Over the moaning and rainy sea,— | |
| Looked for the coming that might not be! | 50 |
| What did the winds and the sea-birds say | |
| Of the cruel captain who sailed away?— | |
| Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, | |
| Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart | |
| By the women of Marblehead! | 55 |
| |
| Through the street, on either side, | |
| Up flew windows, doors swung wide; | |
| Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, | |
| Treble lent the fish-horn’s bray. | |
| Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, | 60 |
| Hulks of old sailors run aground, | |
| Shook head and fist and hat and cane, | |
| And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain: | |
| “Here ’s Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, | |
| Torr’d an’ futherr’d an’ corr’d in a corrt | 65 |
| By the women o’ Morble’ead!” | |
| |
| Sweetly along the Salem road | |
| Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. | |
| Little the wicked skipper knew | |
| Of the fields so green and the sky so blue. | 70 |
| Riding there in his sorry trim, | |
| Like an Indian idol glum and grim, | |
| Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear | |
| Of voices shouting, far and near: | |
| “Here ’s Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, | 75 |
| Torr’d an’ futherr’d an’ corr’d in a corrt | |
| By the women o’ Morble’ead!” | |
| |
| “Hear me, neighbors!” at last he cried,— | |
| “What to me is this noisy ride? | |
| What is the shame that clothes the skin | 80 |
| To the nameless horror that lives within? | |
| Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck, | |
| And hear a cry from a reeling deck! | |
| Hate me and curse me,—I only dread | |
| The hand of God and the face of the dead!” | 85 |
| Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, | |
| Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart | |
| By the women of Marblehead! | |
| |
| Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea | |
| Said, “God has touched him!—why should we?” | 90 |
| Said an old wife mourning her only son, | |
| “Cut the rogue’s tether and let him run!” | |
| So with soft relentings and rude excuse, | |
| Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, | |
| And gave him a cloak to hide him in, | 95 |
| And left him alone with his shame and sin. | |
| Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, | |
| Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart | |
| By the women of Marblehead! | |
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