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Unformatted text preview: Page 1 The Changeling The Changeling The Changeling The Changeling John Greenleaf Whittier For the fairest maid in Hampton They needed not to search, Who saw young Anna Favor Come walking into church,-- Or bringing from the meadows, At set of harvest-day, The sweetness of the hay. Now the weariest of all mothers, The saddest two years' bride, She scowls in the face of her husband, And spurns her child aside. "Rake out the red coals, goodman,- For there the child shall lie, Till the black witch comes to fetch her And both up chimney fly. "It's never my own little daughter, It's never my own," she said ; "The witches have stolen my Anna, And left me an imp instead. "Oh, fair and sweet was my baby, Blue eyes, and hair of gold ; But this is ugly and wrinkled, Cross, and cunning, and old. "I hate the touch of her fingers, I hate the feel of her skin ; It's not the milk from my bosom, But my blood, that she sucks in....
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This note was uploaded on 10/18/2010 for the course ENGL 4w taught by Professor Helton during the Spring '10 term at UCLA.
- Spring '10