To carry back thy heresy and thee.”
XI.
Williams replied, “Thy message is unkind,—
In sooth, I think it even somewhat rude;
The snow falls fast, and searching is the wind
And wildly howls through the benighted wood.
The path to Boston is a little blind,
Nor are my nerves in their robuster mood;—
My soul has seldom at her lot repined,—
But to submission now she’s disinclined.