450 66 And so, in grateful interchange Of teacher and of hearer, Their lives their true distinctness keep "And if the husband or the wife In home's strong light discovers 455 Such slight defaults as failed to meet The blinded eyes of lovers, 460 "Why need we care to ask? who dreams Without their thorns of roses, Or wonders that the truest steel The readiest spark discloses? "For still in mutual sufferance lies The secret of true living: Love scarce is love that never knows 465 "We send the Squire to General Court, He takes his young wife thither; 470 No prouder man election day Rides through the sweet June weather. "He sees with eyes of manly trust All hearts to her inclining; Not less for him his household light Thus, while my hostess spake, there grew 475 And outlined with a tenderer grace, 480 The sunset smouldered as we drove Sounding the summer night, the stars Rose o'er the mountain summits, — 485 Until, at last, beneath its bridge, 490 We heard the Bearcamp flowing, And, musing on the tale I heard, If more and more we found the troth 495 And culture's charm and labor's strength In rural homes united, 500 The simple life, the homely hearth, [THIS poem was published in 1875, but it had already appeared in an earlier version in 1860 under the title of The Witch's Daughter, in Home Ballads and other Poems. Mabel Martin is in the same measure as The Witch's Daughter, and many of the verses are the same, but the poet has taken the first draft as a sketch, filled it out, adding verses here and there, altering lines and making an introduction, so that the new version is a third longer than the old. The reader will find it interesting to compare the two poems. The scene is laid on the Merrimack, as Deer Island and Hawkswood near Newburyport intimate. A fruitful comparison might be drawn between the treatment of such sub jects by Whittier and by Hawthorne.] 5 PART I. THE RIVER VALLEY. ACROSS the level tableland, A grassy, rarely trodden way, And stunted growth of cedar, leads To where you see the dull plain fall Sheer off, steep-slanted, ploughed by all The seasons' rainfalls. On its brink With roots half bare the pine-trees cling; 10 And, through the shadow looking west, You see the wavering river flow Along a vale, that far below 15 20 Holds to the sun, the sheltering hills, And fruit-bent orchards grouped around No warmer valley hides behind Yon wind-scourged sand-dunes, cold and bleak The wave-sung welcome of the sea, Or mark the northmost border line 25 Here, ground-fast in their native fields, Untempted by the city's gain, 30 The quiet farmer folk remain Who bear the pleasant name of Friends, In whose neat homesteads woman holds |