There is no evidence to suggest that this poem is in fact about Mercy Brown, other than the fact that it was found in the Pawtuxet Valley Geaner, exactly one month following Mercy's death and the fact that it seems to chronicle a young woman's struggle with a consumptive type disease that ends with surrender to diabolical forces. As you read about the events that occurred in 1892 if you ask yourself " Why did this happen? What were they thinking?" You may want to consider this poem.

A Reminiscence

She was dying: I turned her so that she could see the mountains and a smile illuminated her face...
Fair was the morn that hailed her birth and bright her girlhood's sunny hours. Benignant stars her lot fortold in marble halls and golden bowers.
But ere the noon of life was reached, athwart the sky a storm cloud passed. And onward rushed the dread cyclone.
Around the altar of her love, over affections sacred shrine, the tempest raged and havoc made, of objects deemed almost divine.
Thus she was doomed to struggle on, with saddened thoughts and broken health, though still remained at her command a lavished store of treasured wealth.
The glowing cheeks, the lustrous eyes, and smiles which had her youth adorned were now replaced by lines and hues that come to those who long have mourned.
The sprightly step, the glance alert, the supple limbs, the form of grace were now exchanged for movements slow, a listless mien and and haltering pace.
Unsparing ills struck fearful blows, and deep her tender bosom clove. In pain she bowed , in anguish writhed, but still for life most bravely strove.
Across the oceans and the seas, she looked for health in every clime. Along the rivers and the vales and on the mountains bright sublime.
Where brilliant suns forever shine, and vivid make unclouded skies, she paused awhile in sweet repose, and heavenward cast imploring eyes.
Where tropic isles begem the sea and veroant shores embrace the wave, she lingered long returning pangs and morbid wounds to soothe and lave.
Before her all unruffled lay, the hyaline expanse serene, and from something depth upshone, various shells and plants marine.
Delicious winds from orange groves, with spicy odors richly wraught, allayed the fever of her brow and calmness to her bosom brought.
Though youthful health was not retrieved, and adverse last still her pursued... her grateful heart delighted was when natures scenic charms she viewed.
The healing power of climes benign and founts renewed in days of yore, she had invoked with slight relief and baffled hope to cheer forbore.
But faith which in her soul abode, said upward look and never fear. The murmuring waves and moaning winds, sighed never in life...night is near.
Beneath the stars in midnight gloom, she knelt despondingly, forlorn; A voice resounding from above, After the night there is a dawn.
Around her couch the deathwatch beat, bodings dark came with the morrow; She struggled on, surpressed her pain and subjugated her sorrow.
The search for health abandoned was, though hope revived would further roam, her something limbs, declining strength and fading heart cried friends and home.
A shelter near the mountainside, the needed shelter promptly gave and friendly hands endeavor made, the flickering flame of life to save.
But stars malignant used their fires and baleful rays shot fiercy round. The gates of hell were shook ajar, and fiends rushed forth to stay and wound.
Masked in esculaplan guise; Cloaked in love's bewildering lure, and simulating angels grace, their triumph was certain and sure.
And poisened draught, fair to behold, concocted with infernal art , the means supplied that treachery willed should pierce a found conflicted heart.
The hellish deed effective was and torture racked the shattered frame. Melting pity poured forth her tears and Mercy veiled her eyes in shame.
Imps of darkness chuckeled "Ha Ha" and demons stern were struck aghast. Their archives old no record afore so diabolic as the last.
An ingrate knave who fed and throve on bounties that her wealth supplied, conceived the crime, the means, the mode, that would his guilty presence hide.
And what of skill or force he lacked, was furnished by Satanic kin. Ghoulish instincts, suggest such schemes. Devils assist and laud the sin.
Although convulsed with direful throes, the dying victim fiercy strove to calmly meet her cruel fate, forgiving all for Christ and love.
And when she to the mountain turned, over her countenance glowing appeared the aura that angels were into her soul bestowing.
While deeply grieved we are assured.. the better land is now her joy.. where stealthy knaves assassins bold, nor God nor angels shall annoy.
In times when women all were true..and men were gallant, brave and strong..a score of swords had quickly flashed..to have avenged that horrid wrong.
This later age brings to our view..simmering women fallen low..that crimes excuse and to culprits...fondness and admiration show.
Degraded men whose craven hearts, the innocent and suffering scorn. and the vilest cirminal praise..for acts to malice bred and born.
A flood of ill shall soon befall..the land where crime is oft condoned...and felons shine in social spheres..there deeds unnoted and unstoned.
Already there are chances seen where evil only shall arise. Corruption struts where once it crouched and justice hath unbandaged eyes...
The lust of wealth so wide prevails. Its right and wrong is deemed the same.. And once attained-though foul the means...Its brazen glare conceals the means..
But still we hope and half believe... the latter ways are for the best and moral sense veers with the times to sanctioned vice the false attest.
Warwick Neck ....S.T.