The Witch At Arbor Low Poem by David Lewis Paget

Annie Trembles had met the witch
As she sat at Arbor Low,
Her tears were thick and her heart was sick,
She had no place to go,
She'd sought the old Stone Circle out,
And thought to divine the lore
Of the old Brigantes with their Druid chants;
Then she met Susannah Straw.

Susannah Straw was a wily witch
Who lived by her wits, and spells,
She kept the faith of her pagan race
Designing and dressing wells.
She'd conjure the odd love potion,
And she'd make the kine run dry,
If a body was too outspoken
She would give them the evil eye!

Annie had been heartbroken when
She heard that the blacksmith, Tom,
Announced he was marrying Rachel Greene,
The girl from the Nether Farm,
She'd worshipped Tom from a distance
Since he'd kissed her, under the tree,
But that was back in a Christmastime,
And she'd thought: ‘He doesn't love me! '

She opened her heart to Susannah Straw
By the stones of Arbor Low,
With a flood of tears she unburdened years
Of a passion that hurt her so,
The witch had gathered the mandrake root
Some orange to make it sweet,
The heart of a dove, some powdered blood
And a smidgin of ambergris!

‘You need to feed him the potion soon,
Two days is all it will keep,
Then once he's fed it will turn his head,
It will make his Rachel weep! '
So Annie went to the Inn that night
And tipped it into his jar,
And Tom had quaffed in a single draught
Then fallen over the bar!

He'd worked at the forge that Saturday,
But felt so queer in his head,
He pumped away at the bellows ‘til
The coals were glowing red,
Then Rachel called for a sweet caress
From the lips of her dear betrothed,
But Tom recoiled as his lips were soiled
By the woman he suddenly loathed!

His hammer lay on the anvil there,
He seized, and he raised it high,
Then split the head of the girl he'd said
Was to be his beautiful bride,
She lay on the floor, unmoving
So he hid her, under the hay,
Then tucked the hammer beneath his belt,
And some rope for the come-what-may!

His steps soon led him to Arbor Low
By the time that the sun was high,
And Annie Trembles looked up to smile:
‘My Tom! Oh my, Oh my! '
But Tom was surfacing out of his trance
And he seized poor Ann by the hair,
Then cried as he brought the hammer down:
‘I am lost in the pit of despair! '

He turned to the gibbering Arbor Witch,
And dragged her over the hill,
Then hung her high on the nearest tree
As she kicked, and squirmed, and squealed.
Once back at the forge, he cut his throat
And lay by his lost love's side,
Where his blood was wedded to hers at last,
The groom, and his cold, dead bride!