Post by Juana Cookie on Jul 9, 2006 21:56:39 GMT -5
I grew up in New England, and the lore of Salem and the witch trials was something that we were spoon fed from the time we were children. Martha Corey and her husband were both tried, convicted and executed for being witches.
MARTHA COREY
My name is Martha Corey
And I died on Gallows Hill
On a dark September day
When all the woodlands did stand still.
The creatures stared in disbelief
As I was lifted high
And hung there from the gallows tree
For all to watch me die.
My husband, he was crushed
Beneath a pile of stone,
Though we were not together,
Neither of us died alone.
We held our heads up proudly,
Defiantly, some say,
And embraced the fate cast on us,
That dark September day.
Sometimes I still am troubled,
Wondering how this came to be.
I was just a goodwife,
And I did no harm to thee.
I gathered herbs and berries
From the forest, near this hill,
And following the ways of old,
I healed thee from thine ills.
My friends and I were gentle,
Quiet, in our ways.
We asked no questions of thee
When thou came with much dismay.
We set ourselves to do our best
In comforting thy pain.
Boiling twigs and woodfruits
In water from the rain.
But someone turned against us,
First one, then two, then three.
And before I knew it
I was hanging from this tree.
I stayed here all the day long,
But when the moon shone down,
Some kind and trusted brethren
Came and took me from this town.
Many thought we'd be forgotten,
Our names spoken nevermore.
But we haunt the streets of Salem,
our memory's at its core.
And I silently watch smiling
As the chosen ones do come
And gather in the moonlight,
As my friends and I had done.
I see them in small circles
Cloaked figures in the night.
My heart soars as in days past
When I see the fire's light.
And if you listen closely,
You can hear us still...
The souls that wander through those trees
That border Gallows Hill.
My name is Martha Corey
And I died on Gallows Hill
On a dark September day
When all the woodlands did stand still.
The creatures stared in disbelief
As I was lifted high,
And hung there from the Gallows tree
For all to watch me die.
©Josie-Lynn Belmont
My name is Martha Corey
And I died on Gallows Hill
On a dark September day
When all the woodlands did stand still.
The creatures stared in disbelief
As I was lifted high
And hung there from the gallows tree
For all to watch me die.
My husband, he was crushed
Beneath a pile of stone,
Though we were not together,
Neither of us died alone.
We held our heads up proudly,
Defiantly, some say,
And embraced the fate cast on us,
That dark September day.
Sometimes I still am troubled,
Wondering how this came to be.
I was just a goodwife,
And I did no harm to thee.
I gathered herbs and berries
From the forest, near this hill,
And following the ways of old,
I healed thee from thine ills.
My friends and I were gentle,
Quiet, in our ways.
We asked no questions of thee
When thou came with much dismay.
We set ourselves to do our best
In comforting thy pain.
Boiling twigs and woodfruits
In water from the rain.
But someone turned against us,
First one, then two, then three.
And before I knew it
I was hanging from this tree.
I stayed here all the day long,
But when the moon shone down,
Some kind and trusted brethren
Came and took me from this town.
Many thought we'd be forgotten,
Our names spoken nevermore.
But we haunt the streets of Salem,
our memory's at its core.
And I silently watch smiling
As the chosen ones do come
And gather in the moonlight,
As my friends and I had done.
I see them in small circles
Cloaked figures in the night.
My heart soars as in days past
When I see the fire's light.
And if you listen closely,
You can hear us still...
The souls that wander through those trees
That border Gallows Hill.
My name is Martha Corey
And I died on Gallows Hill
On a dark September day
When all the woodlands did stand still.
The creatures stared in disbelief
As I was lifted high,
And hung there from the Gallows tree
For all to watch me die.
©Josie-Lynn Belmont
