Skipper Ireson’s Ride.

Skipper Ireson’s Ride.
287.3
BY John Greenleaf Whittier.

Of all the rides since the birth of time,
Told in story or sung in rhyme
On Apulentus’ Golden Ass,
Or one-eved Calendar’s horse of brass,
Witch astride of a human hack,
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 adroop like a rained-on fowl,
Feathered and ruffled in every part,
Skipper Oreson stood in the cart.
Scoros of women, oid 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 Orison, fur his horrid horrt,
Torr’d an’ futherr’d an’ corr’d in a corrt
By the women o’ Morblo’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 Orison, fur his horrid 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-
Salled away from a sinking wreck,
With his own townspeople on her deck!
“Lay byl lay by!” they called to him.
Back he answered, “Sink or swim!
Drag of your catch of fich 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 Marbleheadl

Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur
That wreck shall lle forevermore.
Mother and sister, wife and mald,
Looked from the rocks of Marblehead
Over the moaning and rainy sea-
Looked for the coming that might not bet
What did the winds and the seabirds say
Of the cruel captain who salled 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 elther side,
Up flow windows, doors swung wide;
Sharp tongued spinsters, old wives gray,
Treble lent the horns’ bray.
Senworn grandaires, cripple bound,
Hulks of old sallors run aground,
Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cans,
And cracked with curses the hoarse refraint
“Hero’s Flud Orison, fur his horrid horrt,
Torr’d an’ futherr’d an’ corr’d in a corrt
By the women o’ Morble’ead!”