Comfort the soul of thy handmaid, "It's never my own little daughter, Whittier's poem was published in Atlantic in July 1865 to popular response, including praise from his fellow Boston poet Oliver Wendell Holmes. He came to the ferry wide, That, his ongoing fascination with witchcraft, and a friendship with "islad poet" Celia Thaxter all contributed to his choice of topic. It's not the milk from my bosom, Blue eyes, and hair of gold ; He swam to Newbury town, he murmured. And the cloud of her soul was lifted, The legend of the changeling was popular in colonial New England where superstition was an early way to understand confusing occurrences. And Goody Cole at cockcrow Open her prison-door, And left me an imp instead. John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892). Oh, fair on her bridal morning Was the maid who blushed and smiled, The sweetness of the hay. But fairer to Ezra Dalton Turn again to her child. Once more in her right mind. German theologian Martin Luther believed infanticide was a totally appropriate means of disposing of an exchanged child. With more than a lover's fondness All rights reserved. Laid his hand upon her head: For there the child shall lie, Page More Hampton Poetry. The legends provided an acceptable excuse, in some societies, for mistreatment or murder of uncontrollable or handicapped children in a harsher age. What can you do with your online library account? In place of her screeching brat.". Source: Poems of John Greenleaf Whittier, Riverside Edition, 1879. Whittier's poem adds extra twists. He stooped to her worn young face, "The paths to trouble are many And never but one sure way Leads out to the light beyond it: My poor wife, let us pray.". "Blessed be God !" Was the maid who blushed and smiled, This poem has not been translated into any other language yet. The sweetness of the hay. Stories of "exchanged children" persist from the earliest human legends in most cultures up into belief in fairy stories as recently as the 20th century. he murmured. Rest on her little one. "She'll come when she hears it crying,In the shape of an owl or bat,And she'll bring us our darling AnnaIn place of her screeching brat. Cross, and cunning, and old. An American poet and editor, John Greenleaf Whittier was born December 17, 1807, in Haverhill, Massachusetts. "Then he said to the great All-Father,"Thy daughter is weak and blind;Let her sight come back, and clothe herOnce more in her right mind. by John Greenleaf Whittier For the fairest maid in Hampton They needed not to search, Who saw young Anna Favor Come walking into church,-Or bringing from the meadows, At set of harvest-day, The sweetness of the hay. "Thy daughter is weak and blind; Now through the great black woodland, my arms are skin and bone! "The paths to trouble are manyAnd never but one sure wayLeads out to the light beyond it:My poor wife, let us pray. Be the death of Goody Cole !". His horse he saddled and bridled, |And into the night rode he, Now through the great black woodland, Now by the white-beached sea. All poems are shown free of charge for educational purposes only in accordance with fair use guidelines. OUTSIDE LINK: For more on Changelings read this essay by Professor D.L. The Changeling. This is a digital reproduction of an original page in The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier, published in 1900. The Changeling (from The Tent On The Beach) For the fairest maid in Hampton They needed not to search, Who saw young Anna favor Come walking into church, Or bringing from the meadows, At set of harvest-day, The frolic of the blackbirds, The sweetness of the hay. "The Changeling " relates a tale about the beautiful young wife of Ezra Dalton who imagined that her two-year-old daughter Anna had been bewitched by Eunice Goody Cole . From "Narrative and Legendary Poems" by John Greenleaf Whittier. "It's never my own little daughter, She kissed it on cheek and chink We have enlarged and carefully optimized the illustration to present it as a work of art for the modern age. Went sounding like a flail ; Once more in her right mind. Two New England poets were haunted by this tale of an infant possessed by Satan. Thy sorrow is great, O woman! I live, who once was dead. Now the weariest of all mothers, "Rake out the red coals, goodman,--For there the child shall lie,Till the black witch comes to fetch herAnd both up chimney fly. Lit the blue eyes' patient wonder But my blood, that she sucks in. He folded in one embrace. Then he said to the great All-Father, He rode through the silent clearings, She scowls in the face of her husband, And spurns her child aside. Laid his hand upon her head : The poem is written by John Greenleaf Whittier. Updated 2005. Till the black witch comes to fetch her "Comfort the soul of thy handmaid,Open her prison-door,And thine shall be all the gloryAnd praise forevermore.

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