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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420689" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Exiles. 1660</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The goodman sat beside his door<br>One sultry afternoon,<br>With his young wife singing at his side<br>An old and goodly tune.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A glimmer of heat was in the air,-<br>The dark green woods were still;<br>And the skirts of a heavy thunder-cloud<br>Hung over the western hill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Black, thick, and vast arose that cloud<br>Above the wilderness,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As some dark world from upper air<br>Were stooping over this.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At times the solemn thunder pealed,<br>And all was still again,<br>Save a low murmur in the air<br>Of coming wind and rain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just as the first big rain-drop fell,<br>A weary stranger came,<br>And stood before the farmer's door,<br>With travel soiled and lame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sad seemed he, yet sustaining hope<br>Was in his quiet glance,<br>And peace, like autumn's moonlight, clothed<br>His tranquil countenance,-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A look, like that his Master wore<br>In Pilate's council-hall:<br>It told of wrongs, but of a love<br>Meekly forgiving all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Friend! wilt thou give me shelter here?'<br>The stranger meekly said;<br>And, leaning on his oaken staff,<br>The goodman's features read.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'My life is hunted,-evil men<br>Are following in my track;<br>The traces of the torturer's whip<br>Are on my aged back;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And much, I fear, 't will peril thee<br>Within thy doors to take<br>A hunted seeker of the Truth,<br>Oppressed for conscience' sake.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, kindly spoke the goodman's wife,<br>'Come in, old man!' quoth she,<br>'We will not leave thee to the storm,<br>Whoever thou mayst be.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then came the aged wanderer in,<br>And silent sat him down;<br>While all within grew dark as night<br>Beneath the storm-cloud's frown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But while the sudden lightning's blaze<br>Filled every cottage nook,<br>And with the jarring thunder-roll<br>The loosened casements shook,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A heavy tramp of horses' feet<br>Came sounding up the lane,<br>And half a score of horse, or more,<br>Came plunging through the rain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Now, Goodman Macy, ope thy door,-<br>We would not be house-breakers;<br>A rueful deed thou'st done this day,<br>In harboring banished Quakers.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Out looked the cautious goodman then,<br>With much of fear and awe,<br>For there, with broad wig drenched with rain<br>The parish priest he saw.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Open thy door, thou wicked man,<br>And let thy pastor in,<br>And give God thanks, if forty stripes<br>Repay thy deadly sin.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'What seek ye?' quoth the goodman;<br>'The stranger is my guest;<br>He is worn with toil and grievous wrong,-<br>Pray let the old man rest.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Now, out upon thee, canting knave!'<br>And strong hands shook the door.<br>'Believe me, Macy,' quoth the priest,<br>'Thou 'lt rue thy conduct sore.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then kindled Macy's eye of fire<br>'No priest who walks the earth,<br>Shall pluck away the stranger-guest<br>Made welcome to my hearth.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down from his cottage wall he caught<br>The matchlock, hotly tried<br>At Preston-pans and Marston-moor,<br>By fiery Ireton's side;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where Puritan, and Cavalier,<br>With shout and psalm contended;<br>And Rupert's oath, and Cromwell's prayer,<br>With battle-thunder blended.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Up rose the ancient stranger then<br>'My spirit is not free<br>To bring the wrath and violence<br>Of evil men on thee;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And for thyself, I pray forbear,<br>Bethink thee of thy Lord,<br>Who healed again the smitten ear,<br>And sheathed His follower's sword.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I go, as to the slaughter led.<br>Friends of the poor, farewell!'<br>Beneath his hand the oaken door<br>Back on its hinges fell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Come forth, old graybeard, yea and nay,'<br>The reckless scoffers cried,<br>As to a horseman's saddle-bow<br>The old man's arms were tied.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And of his bondage hard and long<br>In Boston's crowded jail,<br>Where suffering woman's prayer was heard,<br>With sickening childhood's wail,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It suits not with our tale to tell;<br>Those scenes have passed away;<br>Let the dim shadows of the past<br>Brood o'er that evil day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Ho, sheriff!' quoth the ardent priest,<br>'Take Goodman Macy too;<br>The sin of this day's heresy<br>His back or purse shall rue.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Now, goodwife, haste thee!' Macy cried.<br>She caught his manly arm;<br>Behind, the parson urged pursuit,<br>With outcry and alarm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ho! speed the Macys, neck or naught,-<br>The river-course was near;<br>The plashing on its pebbled shore<br>Was music to their ear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A gray rock, tasselled o'er with birch,<br>Above the waters hung,<br>And at its base, with every wave,<br>A small light wherry swung.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A leap-they gain the boat-and there<br>The goodman wields his oar;<br>'Ill luck betide them all,' he cried,<br>'The laggards on the shore.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down through the crashing underwood,<br>The burly sheriff came:-<br>'Stand, Goodman Macy, yield thyself;<br>Yield in the King's own name.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Now out upon thy hangman's face!'<br>Bold Macy answered then,-<br>'Whip women, on the village green,<br>But meddle not with men.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The priest came panting to the shore,<br>His grave cocked hat was gone;<br>Behind him, like some owl's nest, hung<br>His wig upon a thorn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Come back,-come back!' the parson cried,<br>'The church's curse beware.'<br>'Curse, an' thou wilt,' said Macy, 'but<br>Thy blessing prithee spare.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Vile scoffer!' cried the baffled priest,<br>'Thou 'lt yet the gallows see.'<br>'Who's born to be hanged will not be drowned,'<br>Quoth Macy, merrily;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And so, sir sheriff and priest, good-by!'<br>He bent him to his oar,<br>And the small boat glided quietly<br>From the twain upon the shore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now in the west, the heavy clouds<br>Scattered and fell asunder,<br>While feebler came the rush of rain,<br>And fainter growled the thunder.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And through the broken clouds, the sun<br>Looked out serene and warm,<br>Painting its holy symbol-light<br>Upon the passing storm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, beautiful! that rainbow span,<br>O'er dim Crane-neck was bended;<br>One bright foot touched the eastern hills,<br>And one with ocean blended.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">By green Pentucket's southern'slope<br>The small boat glided fast;<br>The watchers of the Block-house saw<br>The strangers as they passed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That night a stalwart garrison<br>Sat shaking in their shoes,<br>To hear the dip of Indian oars,<br>The glide of birch canoes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fisher-wives of Salisbury-<br>The men were all away-<br>Looked out to see the stranger oar<br>Upon their waters play.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Deer-Island's rocks and fir-trees threw<br>Their sunset-shadows o'er them,<br>And Newbury's spire and weathercock<br>Peered o'er the pines before them.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Around the Black Rocks, on their left,<br>The marsh lay broad and green;<br>And on their right, with dwarf shrubs crowned,<br>Plum Island's hills were seen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With skilful hand and wary eye<br>The harbor-bar was crossed;<br>A plaything of the restless wave,<br>The boat on ocean tossed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The glory of the sunset heaven<br>On land and water lay;<br>On the steep hills of Agawam,<br>On cape, and bluff, and bay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They passed the gray rocks of Cape Ann,<br>And Gloucester's harbor-bar;<br>The watch-fire of the garrison<br>Shone like a setting star.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How brightly broke the morning<br>On Massachusetts Bay!<br>Blue wave, and bright green island,<br>Rejoicing in the day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On passed the bark in safety<br>Round isle and headland steep;<br>No tempest broke above them,<br>No fog-cloud veiled the deep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far round the bleak and stormy Cape<br>The venturous Macy passed,<br>And on Nantucket's naked isle<br>Drew up his boat at last.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And how, in log-built cabin,<br>They braved the rough sea-weather;<br>And there, in peace and quietness,<br>Went down life's vale together;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How others drew around them,<br>And how their fishing sped,<br>Until to every wind of heaven<br>Nantucket's sails were spread;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How pale Want alternated<br>With Plenty's golden smile;<br>Behold, is it not written<br>In the annals of the isle?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yet that isle remaineth<br>A refuge of the free,<br>As when true-hearted Macy<br>Beheld it from the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Free as the winds that winnow<br>Her shrubless hills of sand,<br>Free as the waves that batter<br>Along her yielding land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Than hers, at duty's summons,<br>No loftier spirit stirs,<br>Nor falls o'er human suffering<br>A readier tear then hers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">God bless the sea-beat island!<br>And grant forevermore,<br>That charity and freedom dwell<br>As now upon her shore!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420689" data-title="The Exiles. 1660 de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="The goodman sat beside his door
One sultry afternoon,
With his young wife singing at his side
An old and goodly tune.

A glimmer of heat was in the air,-
The dark green woods were still;
And the skirts of a heavy thunder-cloud
Hung over the wester..."></div>
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