Through all the long, long winter's day,
And half the dreary night,
We churned, and yet no butter came:
The cream looked thin and white.
Next morning, with our hopes renewed,
The task began again;
We churned, and churned, till back and arms
And head did ache with pain.
The cream rose up, then sulking fell,
Grew thick, and then grew thin;
It splashed and spattered in our eyes,
On clothes, and nose, and chin.
We churned it fast, and churned it slow,
And stirred it round and round;
Yet all the livelong, weary day,
Was heard the dasher's sound.
The sun sank in the gloomy west,
The moon rose ghastly pale;
And still we churned, with courage low,
And hopes about to fail,--
When in walked Granny Dean, who heard,
With wonder and amaze,
Our troubles, as she crossed herself,
And in the fire did gaze.
"Lord, help us all!" she quickly said,
And covered up her face;
"Lord, help us all! for, as you live,
There's witches in the place!
"There's witches here within this churn,
That have possessed the cream.
Go, bring the horse-shoe that I saw
Hang on the cellar-beam."
The shoe was brought, when, round and round,
She twirled it o'er her head;
"Go, drive the witches from that cream!"
In solemn voice she said;--
Then tossed it in the fire, till red
With heat it soon did turn,
And dropped among the witches dread,
That hid within the churn.
Once more the dasher's sound was heard,--
Have patience with my rhyme,--
For, sure enough, the butter came
In twenty minutes' time.
Some say the temperature was changed
With horse-shoe glowing red;
But when we ask old Granny Dean,
She only shakes her head.--_Hearth and Home._