Dora Sigerson Shorter (Дора Сигерсон Шортер)
The White Witch
Heaven help your home to-night, MacCormac; for I know A white witch woman is your bride: You married for your woe. You thought her but a simple maid That roamed the mountain-side; She put the witch’s glance on you, And so became your bride. But I have watched her close and long And know her all too well; I never churned before her glance But evil luck befell. Last week the cow beneath my hand Gave out no milk at all; I turned, and saw the pale-haired girl Lean laughing by the wall. “A little sup,” she cried, “for me; The day is hot and dry.” “Begone!” I said, “you witch’s child,” She laughed a loud good-bye. And when the butter in the churn Will never rise, I see Beside the door the white witch girl Has got her eyes on me. At dawn to-day I met her out Upon the mountain-side, And all her slender finger-tips Were each a crimson dyed. Now I had gone to seek a lamb The darkness sent astray: Sore for a lamb the dawning winds And sharp-beaked birds of prey. But when I saw the white witch maid With blood upon her gown, I said, “I’m poorer by a lamb; The witch has dragged it down.” And “Why is this, your hands so red All in the early day?” I seized her by the shoulder fair, She pulled herself away. “It is the raddle on my hands, The raddle all so red, For I have marked MacCormac’s sheep And little lambs,” she said. “And what is this upon your mouth And on your cheek so white?” “Oh, it is but the berries’ stain”; She trembled in her fright. “I swear it is no berries’ stain, Nor raddle all so red;” I laid my hands about her throat, She shook me off, and fled. I had not gone to follow her A step upon the way, When came I to my own lost lamb, That dead and bloody lay. “Come back,” I cried, “you witch’s child, Come back and answer me:” But no maid on the mountain-side Could ever my eyes see. I looked into the glowing east, I looked into the south, But did not see the slim young witch, With crimson on her mouth. Now, though I looked both well and long, And saw no woman there, Out from the bushes by my side There crept a snow-white hare. With knife in hand, I followed it By ditch, by bog, by hill; I said, “Your luck be in your feet, For I shall do you ill. I said, “Come, be you fox or hare, Or be you mountain maid, I’ll cut the witch’s heart from you, For mischief you have made.” She laid her spells upon my path, The brambles held and tore, The pebbles slipped beneath my feet, The briars wounded sore. And then she vanished from my eyes Beside MacCormac’s farm, I ran to catch her in the house And keep the man from harm. She stood with him beside the fire, And when she saw my knife, She flung herself upon his breast And prayed he’d save her life. “The woman is a witch,” I cried, “So cast her off from you;” “She’ll be my wife to-day,” he said, “Be careful what you do!” “The woman is a witch,” I said; He laughed both loud and long: She laid her arms about his neck, Her laugh was like a song. “The woman is a witch,” he mocked, And laughed both long and loud; She bent her head upon his breast, Her hair was like a cloud. I said, “See blood upon her mouth And on each finger tip!” He said, “I see a pretty maid, A rose upon her lip.” He took her slender hand in his To kiss the stain away— Oh, well she cast her spell on him, What could I do but pray? “May heaven guard your house to-night!” I whisper as I go, “For you have won a witch for bride, And married for your woe.
Dora Sigerson Shorter’s other poems:
- The Rape of the Baron’s Wine
- When You Are on the Sea
- My Neighbour’s Garden
- Unknown Ideal
- The Fairy Changeling
Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):
887
