B. TAYLOR.

Skipper Ireson’s Ride.

  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,
  Islam’s prophet on Al-Borak,—­
  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
      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. 
  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,
    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
  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 Maenads sang: 
    “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,—­
  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!”
  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
  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! 
  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!

  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,
  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
      By the women o’ Morble’ead!”