Classic and Contemporary Poetry
IPSWICH TOWN, by JAMES APPLETON MORGAN First Line: I love to think of old ipswich town Last Line: You are pulling back to ipswich town. Alternate Author Name(s): Morgan, J. A. Subject(s): Ipswich, Massachusetts | ||||||||
I LOVE to think of old Ipswich town, Old Ipswich town in the East countree, Whence, on the tide, you can float down Through the long salt grass to the wailing sea, Where the Mayflower drifted off the bar, Sea-worn and weary, long years ago, And dared not enter, but sailed away Till she landed her boats in Plymouth Bay. I love to think of old Ipswich town; Where Whitfield preached in the church on the hill, Driving out the devil till he leaped down From the steeple's top, where they show you still, Imbedded deep in the solid rock, The indelible print of his cloven hoof, And tell you the devil has never shown Face or hoof since that day in the honest town. I love to think of old Ipswich town; Where they shut up the witches until the day When they should be roasted so thoroughly brown, In Salem village, twelve miles away; They've moved it off for a stable now; But there are the holes where the stout jail stood, And at night, they say, that over the holes You can see the ghost of Goody Coles. I love to think of old Ipswich town; That house to your right, a rod or more, Where the stern old elm-trees seem to frown If you peer too hard through the open door, Sheltered the regicide judges three When the royal sheriffs were after them, And a queer old villager once I met, Who says in the cellar they're living yet. I love to think of old Ipswich town; Harry Main -- you have heard the tale -- lived there: He blasphemed God, so they put him down With an iron shovel, at Ipswich Bar; They chained him there for a thousand years, As the sea rolls up to shovel it back; So, when the sea cries, the goodwives say "Harry Main growls at his work to-day." I love to think of old Ipswich town; There's a graveyard up on the old High Street, Where ten generations are looking down On the one that is toiling at their feet: Where the stones stand shoulder to shoulder, like troops Drawn up to receive a cavalry charge, And graves have been dug in graves, till the sod Is the mould of good men gone to God. I love to think of old Ipswich town, Old Ipswich town in the East countree, Whence, on the tide, you can float down Through the long salt grass to the wailing sea, And lie all day on the glassy beach, And learn the lesson the green waves teach, Till at sunset, from surf and seaweed brown, You are pulling back to Ipswich town. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 3. AMARYLLIS by THOMAS CAMPION THE SONG OF THE SMOKE by WILLIAM EDWARD BURGHARDT DU BOIS TO HIS DYING BROTHER, MASTER WILLIAM HERRICK by ROBERT HERRICK ESCAPE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON S. BARNABAS by JOSEPH BEAUMONT AUTUMN TINTS by MATHILDE BLIND |
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