PS 1929 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 DOODE'iDDbfiB 
 

 
 
 
 
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CONSTANCE 
 
 POETICAL ROMANCE, 
 
 -BY- 
 
 HoRACE Hills, Jr, 
 
 , 6 . 
 
 WILLIAMSPORT : 
 
 THE TIMES PRINTING HOUSE. 
 
 1877. 
 

INDEX. 
 
 — o— 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 CANTO I. The Meeting 9 
 
 CANTO II. The Bower 33 
 
 CANTO III. The Minstrel 71 
 
 CANTO IV. The Disclosure 101 
 
 CANTO V. The Chase 129 
 
PRKF ACE. 
 
 — o— 
 
 The scene of the following story is laid in Vir- 
 ginia, during the summer and fall of 1781, the last 
 year of the American Revolution. The historical 
 events narrated are in the main true, though some 
 slight liberties have been taken for the convenience 
 of the narrative. Stratford House, the home of the 
 heroine, is the old family mansion that once stood 
 on the southern bank of the Potomac, in Westmore- 
 land county, Va., supposed to have been built by 
 Richard Lee, sometime during the sixteenth cen- 
 tury. It was destroyed by Are early in the eighteenth 
 century ; but soon rebuilt, and now stands, a stately 
 manor house of the olden time. 
 
 In conclusion, the author submits this little work, 
 hoping that its demerits may be overlooked, and 
 that it may receive some slight portion of that kindly 
 favor so grateful to the heart of every writer. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 1. 
 
 Long years had passed. Fair Peace, with gentle reign 
 Ruled o'er the land, in willing bondage held ; 
 
 While, from the borders of her vast domain 
 Were' linked the golden fetters, that of eld, 
 Forged by the cunning wisdom that could weld 
 
 The souls of men by fire of eloquence. 
 
 Made of her sons' true hearts her sure defence. 
 
 2. 
 
 O land of happy memories ! how blest 
 Of Heaven ! O land to patriot hearts how dear ! 
 
 On thee, O sunny haven of the West ! 
 From budding Spring, the opening of the year, 
 Till Autumn crowns her glorious career. 
 
 Doth nature, with unrivalled splendor, pour 
 
 Her choicest blessings from her boundless store. 
 
 3. 
 
 And sped to distant land, on eastern gales, 
 The news of thy fair Paradise ; and came 
 
 Full many an argosy, with swelling sails, 
 Their lordship o'er the envied realm to claim ; 
 And plant their standards, in the royal name. 
 
PONSTANCE. 
 
 In soil to Freedom consecrate alone ; 
 Who other sovereign aye refused to own. 
 
 4. 
 
 Then drifting clouds the brightness of her sky 
 Began to dim, and distant thundering 
 
 Announced that war, witii dread approach was nigh. 
 And last, fair Peace, unsoiled her snowy wing, 
 Flew back to Heaven's high courts, and wondering 
 
 Looked down, the while her pitying tear-drops fell, 
 
 If aught so pure war's tempest might dispel. 
 
 5. 
 
 But fiercely burst the storm, and discord reigned — 
 Yet lived there noble hearts amid those days ; 
 
 Who 'mid all change, unchanging still remained. 
 For these, 0, tuneful muse ! I bid thee raise, 
 In sweetest strain, thy loftiest notes of praise : 
 
 In name of Honor, and in gentler name 
 
 Of deathless love, through adverse fate the same. 
 
 6. 
 
 The unseen minstrel long had silent been ; 
 But at the well-known themes her hidden fire 
 
 Awoke once more ; and trembling within. 
 Like winds that breathe through an ^olian lyre, 
 Grew deep and strong with passionate desire; 
 
 And to her sounding harp once more she sang, 
 
 Till rock and wood with sweetest echoes rang. 
 
CANTO Z. 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 I. 
 
 The setting sun with level ray, 
 As all too short his welcome stay, 
 Paused, gilding with a fiery flood 
 High towering hills and bordering wood, 
 Where wound its way with babbling song 
 A mountain brook, that gleamed among 
 The emerald hills, a silver chain, 
 'Twixt upland height and lowland plain. 
 
 II. 
 Where first the hilltops came to view 
 A noble boundary line they drew, 
 That arched the heavens with mighty span 
 To where the lowlier woods began. 
 These, in their turn, enriched the scene 
 With darker hues of rustling green ; 
 
lO pONSTANCE. 
 
 Then merged in meadows broad and fair, 
 Whose silken banners waved in air 
 Did homage to tlie passing breeze, 
 And nodded to the whispering trees. 
 
 The laughing brook here spent its force, 
 And holding still its wayward course, 
 Yet widened to a broader bed, 
 With sluggish current overspread, 
 Whose pebbly bottom gleaming through 
 Each nook and shoal revealed anew. 
 Where hid the angler's speckled prey, 
 Or shot like light upon his way. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Here crossed a narrow lane, that wound 
 Far upward o'er th' uneven ground. 
 Till on the mountain's topmost height, 
 By copseand brush 'twas hid from sight. 
 No foot had trod its pathway bare 
 Since last the sunlight lingered there ; 
 Nor, from the earliest gleam of dawn. 
 Had timid deer or startled fawn 
 Crossed the wide mead, or at the brink 
 Of the clear water stooped to drink. 
 
PONSTANCE. 
 
 But nature, undisturbed that day, 
 Had dreamed the golden hours away. 
 
 V. 
 
 Now, through the richly glowing light, 
 A single horseman came in sight; 
 Distant at first, then drawing near. 
 And urging on in full career 
 His noble steed, that lightly flew, 
 As near, and nearer still he drew; 
 Crossed the wide brook with easy bound, 
 And galloped o'er th' uprising ground. 
 Intent to reach the distant height 
 Ere fell th' approaching shades of night. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The rider's nodding plume and blade 
 Of war's pursuit confession made. 
 Not many years had passed him o'er. 
 Though manhood's fullest prime he bore ; 
 And though life's care had left impress, 
 'Twas scarcely more than light caress 
 In passing; as her hand had stayed 
 Ere mark indelible was made. 
 And bade him still youth's honors wear, 
 Who their light weight so well could bear. 
 
 VII, 
 
 Now up the steep ascent they pressed, 
 Nor paused to breathe, nor stopped to rest, 
 
12 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Until, the lofty summit gained, 
 
 His horse the rider lightly reined. 
 
 And leaping from the saddle stood 
 
 To view the leafy solitude, 
 
 Where nature's lavish hand displayed 
 
 What store her boundless wealth had made. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 On either hand, like walls of strength, 
 
 The hills drew out their endless length. 
 
 Opposing ranges dimly seen 
 
 At distance were ; while lay between 
 
 A fertile vale of wide extent. 
 
 With summer's growth luxuriant. 
 
 The brooklet from the mountain side 
 
 Swelled a deep river's flowing tide. 
 
 That through broad mead and verdant lea 
 
 Stretched onward to the distant sea. 
 
 IX. 
 
 On nearer side, a rocky ledge 
 
 Sought with bold sweep the water's edge ; 
 
 Then back retiring left a plain. 
 
 Or table, in the mountain chain, 
 
 That seemed by natural fitness made 
 
 For garrison or ambuscade. 
 
 Pursuing here bis endless round, 
 
 A single sentry paced the ground. ' 
 
PONSTANCE 
 
 Beneath, a mighty army lay, 
 Whose tents in orderly array 
 The level meadow dotted o'er. 
 From mountain range to sloping shore. 
 
 X. 
 
 Anon was heard the soldiers' song, 
 Whose chorus reached his listening ear, 
 
 Like Alpine echoes, borne along 
 By varying winds, now far now near. 
 
 SOLDIERS' SONG. 
 
 1. 
 When ceased the battle's roar, 
 War's thunders heard no more, 
 For briefest holiday. 
 Idly the soldier may 
 
 Rest— idly rest. 
 Ring out a merry shout ! 
 
 Tell in gallant measure, 
 'Twixt strife the soldier's life 
 
 Still is life of pleasure. 
 
 When beats the light reveille. 
 Soldier snd sentinel 
 
14 PONSTANCE. 
 
 Quick to their stations come, 
 And, at the tap of drum 
 
 Stand— ready stand. 
 Ring out with fearless shout 
 
 Challenge to the foeman ! 
 At dawn with weapons drawn 
 
 Ptands each sturdy yeoman. 
 
 Then at the trumpet's sound, 
 Shakes 'neath their tread the ground ; 
 Footmen and cavalry, 
 Lancers, artillery, 
 
 March— onward march. 
 Ring out inspiring shout ! 
 
 And with war drum's rattle, 
 Swell high the loyal cry, 
 
 Signal for the battle. 
 
 Now in the deadly front, 
 Bearing the battle's brunt. 
 But with undaunted will, 
 Bravely the soldier still 
 
 On— presses on. 
 Ring out victorious shout ! 
 
 Tell the noble story ; 
 
PONSTANCE. 15 
 
 'Mid Strife the soldier's life 
 Still is life of glory. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Low in the western heaven the sun. 
 Still lingering ere his race was run, 
 A flood of golden snlendor poured 
 O'er the rich vale and teeming sward ; 
 Then sank from view, as loudly spoke 
 The evening gun, and straight awoke 
 The rattling echoes' sharper sound, 
 From hill to hill with quick rebound ; 
 As viewless elves that slumbered there, 
 Had waked to revel in the air. 
 
 XII, 
 
 Scarce was the first loud echo heard, 
 Ere from its staff, like wounded bird. 
 That folds its wings and stoops to die. 
 Slid down the silken canopy, 
 That high in air, with breezy play, 
 Had floated since the dawn of day. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Then dimmed by distance came the tramp 
 Of warder marching through the camp ; 
 While hoarse command and clang of arms. 
 Rang through the air their loud alarms. 
 
l6 pCNSTANCE. 
 
 As watch was set 'gainst nightly foes, 
 Ere sought the soldier his repose. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Then night, with silver studded pall 
 Descended on the earth, and all 
 Its sounds were hushed, its voices still, 
 Save that the plaintive whippoorwill, 
 With tender, melancholy lay 
 Beguiled the darkling hours away. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Now roused the traveller from his rest. 
 And to his further way addressed 
 His thoughts ; the while his gallant steed _ 
 Slacked somewhat of his former speed. 
 Yet onward pressed with steady pace, 
 Not unfamiliar with the place. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The road soon wide and wider grew. 
 And tokens gave, though faint and few, 
 That hand of man had once essayed 
 Fair nature's handiwork to aid. 
 And keep with artificial care 
 The natural roadway in repair. 
 Here, trace of woodman's axe was seen, 
 Where stripped of all its vestments green, 
 
PONSTANCE. 17 
 
 Some lofty monarch of the wood, 
 That long in towering pride had stood. 
 Now prone on earth forgotten lay, 
 And crumbled into dust away. 
 
 There massive stones were widely strewn, 
 
 As if some Titan force had hewn 
 
 The mountain, and unearthed its store, 
 
 In fruitless search of hidden ore. 
 
 Vet piled like ruined castle wall, 
 
 That at no distant day must fall, 
 
 A few in loose confusion lay 
 
 Near ravine's edge, and warned away 
 
 The traveller's steps, who unaware 
 
 Might plunge in deep destruction there, 
 
 XVII. 
 
 At length low copse and shrubs gave place 
 To trees, that rose with stately grace, 
 While high above, like gothic fane. 
 Their leafy arms entwined again, 
 Moved softly, at the gentle hest 
 Of zephyrs laden with the blest 
 Perfume of those night blooming flowers, 
 That sleep through day's long, sunny hours. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Though dark the shadows of the night, 
 And Heaven bestowed but little light, 
 
l8 "'^'^' "'" pONSTANCE. 
 
 Yet myriad fire-flies lined the way, 
 
 And danced in evanscent play ; 
 
 Like sparks from glowing forge that fly, 
 
 And in one moment live and die. 
 
 T hen bright Aurora from the North. 
 
 Led all her gleaming banners forth, 
 
 And piled the blazing Heavens with flame; 
 
 With glittering tongues that went and came ; 
 
 And shimmering clouds that hid the skies, 
 
 While diamond stars, like houri's eyes, 
 
 Peeped through the luminous veil, to see 
 
 The world that slept so silently. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 On through the fragrant forest rode 
 The traveller; while the horse he strode, 
 Conscious the goal Avas well nigh made, 
 Snuffed the fresh air, and loudly neighed. 
 For answer came, with lengthened sound. 
 The distant baying of a hound. 
 "Ha, Jura, well thy voice I know : 
 A faithful creature thou, although, 
 Thy days of active service o'er, 
 Thou'lt course the fleeting stag no more." 
 
 XX. 
 
 He spoke, and reached an outer gate. 
 Where stood an aged man to wait; 
 
pONSTANCE. 19 
 
 Whom sound of footsteps summoned here, 
 
 To learn if friend or foe were near. 
 
 "Who comes?" " 'Tis I.goodPaul." "St. John r' 
 
 "The same." "Then all my fears begone ; 
 
 That name is symbol of good cheer, 
 
 And thou art ever welcome here." 
 
 With ready hand the bolt he drew. 
 And let the weary traveller through. 
 He lightly leaping to the ground 
 Cast one impatient glance around. 
 Then gave his hand, with kindly word 
 To Paul, who scarce his greeting heard, 
 But stood, with wonder and amaze 
 Depicted in bis steadfast gaze. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 At length, "Scarce seems it true," cried he, 
 "That thou in life and health shouldst be ; 
 For three days since we heard from far 
 That thou hadst fallen in the war ; 
 And though we hoped, 'gainst hope, again 
 To see thy living form, since then 
 Have doubt and sorrow ruled each day 
 The tardy hours—but come ; away 
 
20 pONSTANCE. 
 
 To meet thine honored host ; the road 
 Full well though know'st to his abode ; 
 And I thy charger here will lead 
 Where rest and food, bis well earned meed 
 Await." Then on with eager trea:l, 
 O'er a well ordered pathway, sped 
 St. John, while Jura, faithful hound, 
 Attended, and with frisk and bound 
 Expressive welcome sought to show ; 
 But stiff with age, soon to forego 
 The task compelled, though scarce resigned. 
 Came panting slowly on behind. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 In stately height before, appeared 
 A noble mansion, that had reared 
 Its crest the proudest in the land. 
 Till war's all desolating hand 
 Plucked half its massive walls away, 
 That now in mournful ruin lay. 
 There oft the so'ind of music sweet 
 Had timed the merry dancer's feet ; 
 And gallant men and ladies fair. 
 Had met in stately revel there. 
 But now that brilliant throng was fled ; 
 And, like a city of the dead. 
 Its halls in silence seemed to mourn 
 The pomp and splendor, proudly borne 
 
PONSTANCE. 
 
 In days that owned the gentle reign 
 Of peace, with all her prosperous train. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Yet not all given to decay — 
 The ruthless hands that plucked away 
 The northern walls, as shame had taught 
 Repentance, ere destruction wrought 
 Her work complete, one part had left ; 
 That of its twin companion reft, 
 Like sentinel, seemed watching o'er 
 A fallen comrade, now no more. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Here dwelt, in lonely grandeur still. 
 The mansion's lord ; whose iron will 
 Upholding truth with loyal zeal, 
 And braving death by fire and steel. 
 Him mark for wanton foes had made, 
 And lawless trespassers, who preyed 
 On whom to greater force must yield, 
 But shunned fair fight in open field. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 With him an only grandchild shared 
 The dangers he so boldly dared ; 
 And of retainers faithful few 
 Eemained to render service due. 
 
12 pONSTANCE. 
 
 The rest their several ways had ta'eu^ 
 And some on battle field were slain. 
 
 Now in the vaulted entrance rung 
 The soldier's step ; wide open flung 
 The door, was Percival revealed ; 
 Who, though the snows of age concealed 
 A brow deep lined with care, yet stood 
 Erect and firm, as in the wood 
 Some sturdy oak uprears its form, 
 And bids defiance to the storm. 
 
 With glance that kindly was, yet keen,. 
 He viewed the stranger, and had seen 
 His bushy J)eard and well bronzed face 
 One moment, ere his eye could trace 
 Remembrance— then the well-known name. 
 In flash of recollection came. 
 "My son ! almost as dear to me 
 As if my life blood flowed in thee. 
 Thrice happy welcome ! for indeed 
 The old man's heart hath had sore need 
 To meet thee once again ; for come 
 Misfortunes thickly ; and though dumb 
 Before yon traitorous hosts, within 
 The mind's still chambers there hath beert 
 
PONSTANCE. 23 
 
 At times deep sense of sorrow felt ; 
 Though not on themes like these have dwelt 
 My thoughts too oft— but welcome now ; 
 And welcome yet again, for thou, 
 Like first bright' harbinger of spring, 
 Dost happy omen with thee bring." 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Then ushered Percival his guest 
 Within, and turned with brief behest 
 To servitor, Avho at his call 
 Came forward from an inner hall. 
 Then to his son once more, "And now, 
 Amidst that bloody battle how 
 With life thou did'st escape, when fell 
 So many gallant men, first tell. 
 For even now 'tis scarcely clear 
 That though before me dost appear. 
 In thine own person ; whom to see 
 Again I scarce dared hope." Then he, 
 '* 'Tis true I fell ; o'erwhelmed by force 
 Resistless of the foemen's horse. 
 Who came like whirlwind, ere our line 
 Their scattered columns could combine 
 To stem the torrent. But reprise 
 Came swiftly ; for as eagle flies 
 To meet her foe, with deadly aim. 
 So on, with thundering chargers, came 
 
24 pCNSTANCE, 
 
 My own brigarle, who turned the tide 
 Of war, and scattered far and wide 
 Our rude assailants ; left they none 
 Who could the tale relate, save one, 
 Whom prisoner there we took. Unarmed 
 By forceful shock, but all unharmed 
 Myself arose." "And thou didst make 
 Most narrow 'scape ; e'en now awake 
 Mine apprehensive thoughts to hear 
 Its bare recital. But what cheer 
 With thy most noble general ; fares 
 He well, who still so bravely shares 
 The thickest of yon fight ?' ' His name, 
 Emblazoned on the scroll of fame, 
 Shines brighter every day. 'Tis said 
 By some within the camp, that led 
 By such a general none can fail 
 But in the battle must prevail 
 
 Our forces." 
 
 f 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Thus St. John, and turned, 
 Where in the open chimney burned 
 A light, yet cheerful blaze ; whose flame 
 Fed by the odorous pine that came 
 From woods near by, with grateful sense 
 Of fragrant warmth, not too intense, 
 Filled all the room. Through open door 
 Meantime, came servitors, who bore 
 
PONSTANCE 35 
 
 A bountiful repast, displayed 
 On ample trays ; which duly laid 
 Themselves retired. A lighter tread 
 Succeeding, raised St. John his head, 
 And there beheld, not all unknown, 
 A youthful maiden, who, alone, 
 With graceful dignity advanced ; 
 While from her eyes the light that glanced 
 Had somewhat of remembrance too ; 
 As if his face and form she knew, 
 Yet scarce her memory could invest 
 With title of the stranger guest. 
 
 Then spoke, with all a father's pride. 
 The host. "St. John, the years that glide 
 So swiftly past, make ample note 
 Of their departure, as they wrote 
 Each year, with added growth a line 
 To mark their flight ; so, as decline 
 My years, of half their length beguiled. 
 Each lives again in this my child ; 
 Whom thou as little Constance knew, 
 Thou dost remember? " " Aye ! 'tis true, 
 Right well do I," St. John exclaimed ; 
 "And ever hath her memory claimed 
 
26 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Most welcome place within my heart, 
 That scarce from one so fair could part." 
 
 xxxir. 
 Then Constance, blushing, as she heard 
 His words of gallantry, averred 
 With all sincerity, as might 
 His faith avow some olden knight, 
 Made answer, modestly expressed : 
 "And to my mind, at glad behest 
 Of wakened memory, comes the name 
 That thou, mine old time friend, dosl claim ; 
 And though somewhat hath time his hand 
 Impressed on both, unaltered stand 
 Those kind remembrances, that trace 
 Of time or age can ne'er efface.'' 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 As thus they .spoke, from outer hall 
 
 Appearing at the door, old Paul 
 
 Announced a stranger at the gate ; 
 
 Who, since the hour was waxing late. 
 
 With weariness and travel worn, 
 
 Asked rest and shelter till the morn. 
 
 " Admit him then," replied the host; 
 
 " Yet hearken, Paul, full well thou know'st 
 
 The life of peril that we lead ; 
 
 Of his appearance take good heed ; 
 
 Let nothing 'scape thy watchful eyes. 
 
PONSTANCE. 27 
 
 For in these troublous times surprise 
 Comes o^4n friendly shape." Away 
 He hastened, and with brief delay 
 Ushered the stranger to the hall, 
 And welcome gave in name of all. 
 
 When first the soldier's form he saw, 
 
 His step was cheeked, as to withdraw ; 
 
 Yet on the instant reassured, 
 
 As if to self command inured, 
 
 Advancing with uncovered he id, 
 
 He graceful reverence made, and said : 
 
 " Benighted here I lost my way ; 
 
 And, lest the darkness should betray 
 
 My steps to paths unknown, I gave 
 
 My horse the rein, and here, to crave 
 
 Your hospitality soon came." 
 
 " And that hath been a sacred claim 
 
 With me, since first myself had need 
 
 To sue for hospitable deed," 
 
 Made answer to the stranger's quest 
 
 The host, with courteous word expressed ; 
 
 " And though 'tis time of war and foe 
 
 From friend at times we scarcely know : 
 
38 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Yet shall my kindly care be free, 
 And ample as thy need may be." 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Scarce had he ceased, ere quick replied 
 The stranger, yet with stately pride : 
 " Nor seek I aught at stranger's hand 
 Save what mine urgent needs demand : 
 Eest, food and shelter, that anew 
 My strength returned, I may pursue 
 My journey ; and though long unknown 
 This land to me, and I, alone. 
 With prudence may not now disclose 
 My name and errand, yet thy foes 
 Are mine," " Nor do I seek to know 
 More than thyself art pleased to show," 
 Eeplied the host. " And now, that care 
 Thy wasted strength may soon repair, 
 Due preparation here is made, 
 And in the task ourselves will aid." 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Then, with high courtesy that became 
 His reverend years, he first the name 
 Of Constance gave ; then of St. John. 
 As him the stranger looked upon. 
 Again was checked his onward move. 
 As if he vainly sought to prove 
 
pONSTANCE. 9g 
 
 Some feeling of distrust, that o'er 
 Like passing cloud returned no more. 
 
 Then seated round the ample board, 
 From well filled flask the master poured ; 
 And as the host's kind pledge he made, 
 Each guest the generous tribute paid. 
 And lightly passed the social hour ; 
 Each owned and felt its pleasing power, 
 Save that alone the stranger seemed 
 Oblivious, and like one that dreamed, 
 "With brow o'ercast, in silent thought, 
 Remained ; as weighty care had brought 
 Of deepest import to his mind, 
 Some theme that could not be resigne 1. 
 Yet oft his questioning eye was staid 
 On Constance's face, as if the maid 
 Sometimes had mingled in the train 
 Of thought that occupied his brain. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 And seldom could the eye of man, 
 Though fairest beauties used to gcan, 
 More pleasing form or features see 
 Than hers ; by Nature made to be 
 That rarer type of human mould 
 Whose graces from within unfold, 
 
30 pONSTANCE. 
 
 And blossom brightest when is nigh 
 Congenial friend ; whose sympathy, 
 Like summer sun's enlivening ray, 
 Calls forth new beauties every day. 
 
 Not long had she the mantle borne 
 
 Of womanhood ; so lightly worn, 
 
 That now scarce more than child she seemed, 
 
 But for the graver light that beamed 
 
 At times, from eyes, whose depths could tell 
 
 The soul's deep history passing well. 
 
 Yet not all grave ; full well she knew 
 
 When to be gay, when pensive too. 
 
 "Well read in wisdom's learned page. 
 
 Could reason like some hoary sage ; 
 
 Yet with her sex's dainty art, 
 
 Some subtle witchery could impart 
 
 E'en to the fluttering ribbon, where 
 
 It scarce confined her waving hair. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Of care maternal early reft. 
 Her grandsire's sole companion left, 
 Till now she lived for him alone ; 
 And was her rare affection shown 
 
PONSTANCE. 
 
 By every art, that love could move 
 A daughter's willing heart to prove. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 At length the silent stranger rose, 
 
 And pleading need of long repose, 
 
 Withdrew, where for his weary head 
 
 Refreshing coach before was spread. 
 
 Then Percival, "St. John, know'st aught 
 
 Of yonder stranger? for methought 
 
 His looks twice on thy features fell, 
 
 As if thy name he fain would tell." 
 
 "Until this night his face to me 
 
 Hath stranger been." " Then, sooth, hath he 
 
 Some likeness to an absent friend 
 
 In thee discerned ; doth Nature send 
 
 Oftimes the like reminders— most, 
 
 When least expected," said the host 
 
 Then in long converse swiftly sped 
 
 The hours away, till silence spread 
 
 Oblivious mantle o'er the manse. 
 
 And slumber wrapped in dreamless trance 
 
 Its inmates— all save one, who paced 
 
 In silence to and fro, and traced. 
 
 With finger on the window-pane, 
 
 Two words, that one had sought in vain 
 
32 pONSTANCE. 
 
 To read ; then breathed them o'er and o'er, 
 While pacing still the chamber floor, 
 Till, echoed like a weary moan, 
 The walls gave back, " Displaced— unknown. 
 
 XLiir. 
 Then passing through the gallery wide, 
 At length he stood the couch beside 
 Where lay St. John in sleep profound. 
 In heavy folds the drapery round 
 Had hung, but stole the curtain through 
 The night air, laden with the dew, 
 Soft lifting from the soldier's brov/ 
 A fallen lock ; revealing now 
 A scar his temple that defaced ; 
 Yet for 'twas wound of honor, graced 
 His head more than could costly gem, 
 Though set in royal diadem. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 The wind passed by, unseen, unheard. 
 The parted curtain lightly stirred ; 
 And shook, as when doth breast the storm 
 Some sturdy oak, the stranger's form. • 
 Then turning from the sleeper's side 
 His couch he sought ; nor sleep denied 
 Her solace then, but charmed away 
 All waking thoughts till dawned the day. 
 
€ANTO II, 
 
 THE BOWER. 
 I. 
 
 The minstrel tuned her harp to gentlest lay ; 
 Nor soared on tireless wing to loftier theme ; 
 
 But Avith the languor of a summer's day, 
 Her vagrant fancies left at will to dream, 
 As might with sweet forgetfulness beseem 
 
 An idle hour. And whither led they then ? 
 
 O list the gentle dreamer's song again. 
 
 IL 
 
 Now morn lifts up his radiant head. 
 With crimson canopy o'erspread. 
 High arching Heaven proclaims the day, 
 And vanquished night flits silently away. 
 
 III. 
 As minstrel harp of old awoke 
 To arms, when morn of battle broke ; 
 So now, aroused by gentler lay. 
 Stepped forth to meet the opening day 
 
34 PONSTANCE. 
 
 St. John ; to whose attentive ear 
 Came with low cadence, soft and clear, 
 The burden of a well-known song, 
 Borne on the freshening breeze along. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1. 
 Hail ! The morn, with beauty laden. 
 Bringing joy to youth and maiden. 
 Now on rosy wings advances, 
 Scatters darkness with his glances : 
 
 Veils her head 
 The silent night ; 
 
 Steals with tread 
 As fairy's light 
 
 Far away. 
 
 Conquered by victorious day. 
 
 2. 
 Earth exultantly rejoices ; 
 Wake her myriad tongues and voices,. 
 In triumphant chorus blending ; 
 While to loftier place ascending, 
 
 Rears his head 
 The glorious morn ; 
 
 Moves with tread 
 Like ujonarch's born, 
 
PONSTANCE. - 35 
 
 Through the skj' ; 
 
 Mounting to his throne on high. 
 
 IV. 
 
 At times some old, familiar air 
 Or tone, or scent of flower, lays bare 
 The past ; and recollection brings, 
 On mighty rush of countless wings, 
 A host of memories, that arise 
 Like sunset clouds in Autumn skies, 
 So warm with life's own ruddy hue ; 
 Then slowly, like the morning dew, 
 Or mist before the midday sun. 
 They pass, and vanish, one by one. 
 
 V. 
 
 So now the song, a kindred strain 
 
 Waked in his heart, that thrilled again ; 
 
 And back, like ocean's surging tide, 
 
 With force resistless, that defied 
 
 All barriers, swept each hurrying thought ; 
 
 And to his mental vision brought 
 
 Swift glances of the past, wlien he, 
 
 Well used to art of minstrelsy, 
 
 The tuneful Goddess here had wooed, 
 
 When wandering forth in idle mood. 
 
 VI.' 
 
 The vision past, like one that dreams, 
 
 And wakes from sleep, while scarcely seems 
 
3 6 PONSTANCE. 
 
 The present moment real, he stood ; 
 
 Then turned, and toward a neighboring wood 
 
 His footsteps bent ; in whose deep shade 
 
 Ofttimes before himself had strayed. 
 
 Not far he went, ere, as he held 
 
 Some fairy talisman of eld. 
 
 That guided by its secret clue 
 
 Straight to the spot he wished to view, 
 
 A sudden turn the source revealed, 
 
 Like Delphic oracle concealed, 
 
 Whence floated on the morning air 
 
 The harmonies that drew him there. 
 
 Beneath the trees, whose leafy dress 
 In all its summer loveliness, 
 Reflected back the rays of mom, 
 "With thousand sparkles newly born. 
 The songstress stood ; and ceasing now. 
 Bent low beside an alder bough. 
 On which a dove its nest had made ; 
 Whose downy fledgelings, undismayed. 
 Cooed soft delight, while scarcely stirred 
 From neighboring branch the mother bird. 
 
 Well might St. John his steps arrest, 
 And gaze with wonder scarce represt ; 
 
PONSTANCE. 3 7 
 
 For could no lovelier vision grace 
 
 The sylvan beauty of the place; 
 
 And though last eve confessed her fair, 
 
 This morning she seemed beyond compare 
 
 The purest, brightest, that could claim 
 
 Her own, a mortal maiden's name. 
 
 Though lightly pressed his foot the ground, 
 Too soon her quick ear caught the sound; 
 And turning, like the startled deer, 
 Roused from her lair by sudden fear. 
 She met his gaze ; and half in shame 
 For causeless fright, pronounced his name, 
 And gave him welcome while he spoke : 
 "When first this morning I awoke, 
 Came through the casement to mine ear 
 Soft strains that once I loved to hear ; 
 (Though late too well have I been used 
 To battle's din and noise confused) 
 And brought sweet memories in their train, 
 Like violet's breath 'neath summer rain. 
 At once, obedient to the sound, 
 My steps directed here, I found— 
 A fairy, on enchanted ground." 
 Then, in gay humor, answered she, 
 " And to the fairy's bower with me 
 
38 PONSTANCE. 
 
 Now Shalt thou come ; for here, to all 
 'Tis free ; but her enchanted hall 
 Nor man nor maid hath ever seen, 
 Unbidden by the fairy queen." 
 
 X. 
 
 Then followed he where swiftly led 
 His woodland guide ; who lightly sped 
 Through winding paths and hidden ways, 
 Well used to thread the forest maze. 
 At length was faintly heard the sound 
 Of water ; glancing then around, 
 Her finger on her lip she laid, 
 And with mute gesture softly staid 
 His steps ; then pushed aside a screen 
 Of matted vines, that hung between 
 Tall trees, and entered ; close beside 
 He following, there a spot descried 
 That fairies well for haunt might choose. 
 Or secret hiding place to use. 
 
 XI. 
 
 A single oak of giant size 
 
 Shot up, as if to meet the skies, 
 
 Whose myriad branches widely spread, 
 
 Made heaviest canopy o'erhead 
 
 Of curtained green, through which the sun 
 
 Cast slanting beams, that one by one 
 
PONSTANCE. 39 
 
 Their pathway marked, like bars of gold 
 On emerald ground : so knight of old 
 Might blazon on his crested shield 
 Device of gold on darker field. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Around this monarch of the wood 
 Of smaller trees a few there stood, 
 So placed as if the hand of man 
 Designed for them so*nae artful plan. 
 So even were the lines they drew 
 Of spreading circle, where they grew 
 From central oak on either hand. 
 So might some living monarch stand, 
 Surrounded by his court, who wait 
 To swell the retinues of state.' 
 Between the trees, like streamers, hung 
 Dependent vines, that lightly swung 
 With every breath of wind that strayed 
 On errant pathway through the glade. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 From farther side its waters poured 
 A rapid brook, that fiercely roared. 
 As downward from a rocky steep 
 It plunged in one impetuous leap ; 
 Then foamed away on either side, 
 To meet not far below, in tide 
 
40 pONSTANCE. 
 
 That through the woodland bore along, 
 A torttious torrent, swift and strong. 
 Within, as from its rocky bed, 
 A few loose stones, moss carpeted, 
 For rustic seats recumbent lay ; 
 While Flora's hand, as if in play. 
 Her fragrant stores had widely strewn, 
 With all the lavish wealth of June. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 In silent admiration stood 
 
 St. John ; while she in merry mood 
 
 Then said, enjoying his surprise, 
 
 " Not oft is shown to curious eyes 
 
 This spot, my own retiring -place ; 
 
 Where, wearied in the toilsome chase 
 
 For learning, oft to rest I come ; 
 
 And seems it like some hallowed home. 
 
 Where, with unwonted power to bless, 
 
 Dwells source of purest happiness." 
 
 "And yet, methinks," St. John replied, 
 
 " That happiness should e'er abide 
 
 In breast so fair." " Ah, none can tell ; 
 
 Hath grief at times cast wizard spell 
 
 Upon me, since my heart hath known 
 
 The ills of war ; and oft have flown 
 
 My thoughts to distant fields, dear bought 
 
 With blood of those who bravely fought. 
 
PONSTANCE. 41 
 
 But now, while briefly here we wait, 
 Thine own experience relate ; 
 What battles thou hast fought and won, 
 What deeds of heroism done." 
 " Long were the tale, and short my stay ; 
 For on this very morn away 
 We must depart from yon bright vale, 
 Where peace and freedom now prevail, 
 To lands where southern suns intense 
 Their glowing light and heat dispense. 
 Yet, Constance, ere again we part. 
 One tale there is that long my heart 
 Hath kept, till time on lagging wing 
 Fit opportunity should bring 
 For its relation. Soon 'tis told ; 
 Yet its short length will I withhold 
 Should it prove wearisome." No word 
 Spoke Constance, as his voice she heard ; 
 But once, with questioning eye she sought 
 His face, as if to read his thought ; 
 Then on the ground her glances bent. 
 And sat, with listening ear intent. 
 One moment paused he, then began 
 His tale, and thus its purport ran ; 
 
 XV. 
 
 " 'Twas where the balmy south wind blows, 
 At Christmas tide where blooms the rose. 
 
42. pONSTANCE, 
 
 There Eden's bird, of gorgeous wing, 
 Eesplendent, like a jeweled thing, 
 From bough to bough, with airy tread. 
 Flits like a meteor overhead : 
 And orange groves, with fragrant balm 
 Fill all the air ; like holy psalm, 
 When on devotion's wings it flies. 
 And wafts its incense to the skies." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "There lived a maid, in whose pure heart 
 
 Nor sin nor evil e'er had part. 
 
 As free her life from thought of care 
 
 As birds' that skim the summer air. 
 
 Each day, more happy than the last, 
 
 So quickly came and quickly passed. 
 
 That scarce had waked the rising sun, 
 
 Ere his victorious course was run. 
 
 By chance came to her father's door 
 
 A stranger from some distant shore. 
 
 The old man welcomed him, as one 
 
 In likeness of his long lost son. 
 
 (Fighting in foreign lands he fell, 
 
 Nor lived the dreadful tale to tell). 
 
 Long time the stranger lingered there, 
 
 Cheered by his hospitable care. 
 
 And soon the little maid became 
 
 His constant friend, and learned his name, 
 
pONSTANCE. 45 
 
 That sounded sweeter when she spoke 
 Than sweetest music, that awoke 
 When bard of old his harp had strung 
 And loud its mystic numbers rung." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Like cloudless calm of summer's day, 
 Too quickly passed the years away. 
 When fell the sun's intensest heat, 
 Far to the north they fled, to meet 
 The cooler gales that circling there 
 Revived again the sultry air ; 
 Then came, nor further wished to roam, 
 Back to their sunny. Southern home." 
 
 XVIII, 
 
 *' At length dread sounds of war arose, 
 The nation armed to meet its foes ; 
 And he, though stranger in the land. 
 With willing heart and ready hand 
 Went forth, to fight 'gainst foemen's steel 
 For his adopted country's weal," 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " The maiden mourned, with childish grief 
 Their severed iriendship, all too brief; 
 Then laughed again with joy, to see 
 The glittering pomp and pageantry 
 
44 PONSTANCE. 
 
 That rode in war's attendant train, 
 And wished him safe return again," 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Through all the soldier's busy life, 
 In camp, on march, 'mid deadly strife, 
 To cheer his lonely heart there came 
 The memory of one face : the same 
 From day to day ; no change could mar, 
 Its glad, bright beauty ; like that star. 
 Born of the sun's departing light, 
 That shines unchanging through the night. 
 And as each morn it came anew, 
 Still dearer to his heart it grew ; 
 Till with the gentle memory came 
 The whisper of a saintly name." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Three years had dragged their length aw^ay, 
 There came one memorable day, 
 When two contending armies fought, 
 From early morn, till evening brought 
 It's friendly shadows, and concealed 
 From each the foe that would not yield. 
 The soldier, who a charmed life 
 Before had borne, fell in that strife. 
 Pierced by a ball, whose deadly course 
 Had well nigh reached of life the source. 
 All night he lay 'mid heaps of slain, 
 
PONSTANCE. 45 
 
 And strove to summon aid ; but vain 
 His feeble cry, until the day- 
 Had chased night's gloomy shades away, 
 When welcome succor staid the tide 
 Of life fast ebbing from his side. 
 Then reason's light with flickering ray 
 Now went, now came, from day to day. 
 'Twixt life and death so even hung 
 The scale, that lightest breath had swung 
 The balance down ; but slow returned 
 The light of life, so low that burned. 
 Came back from shadowy realms unknown 
 The spirit that had well nigh flown 
 Forever. With the dawning light 
 Of reason, came like angel bright, 
 Once more the same fair face that beamed 
 Upon the soldier, when he dreamed 
 Of home. Enfeebled yet his mind, 
 Still in those lineaments he devined 
 A something strangely new ; a grave 
 Yet gentle look her eyes that gave, 
 While in their depths, untroubled still 
 By any touch of human ill. 
 There seemed, as it had buried lain. 
 Now rising into life again, 
 A purer, nobler soul than knew 
 The child, ere she to maiden grew," 
 
46 pONSTANCE. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Fair Constance heard, with bended, head 
 And folded hands, the words he said ; 
 While mantling blushes well confessed 
 What deep emotions stirred her breast ; 
 As back her willing memory strayed 
 And each familiar scene portrayed, 
 That oft like well learned task, before 
 Her mind in secret had conned o'er. 
 And dimly, as beneath a veil, 
 Was mirrored in the simple tale 
 What scarce she could as truth receive, 
 Yet scarcely dared to disbelieve. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 St. John had paused, but now resumed, 
 
 The while a graver light illumed 
 
 His features, like the misty play 
 
 Of sunbeams on November day. 
 
 '• The soldier from his bed at length 
 
 Eecovered, rose : new health and strength 
 
 Came, like reviving breath at morn 
 
 Of life, to infant newly born. 
 
 His heart comi^anion now no more 
 
 Her gentle presence as of yore 
 
 Bestowed, but seemed to distance gone ; 
 
 Yet dimly seen still beckoned oil, 
 
 Came to the soldier's bosom now, 
 
 He knew not whence, and knew not how, 
 
pONSTANCE. 47 
 
 Love, with her varying doubts and fears, 
 Her strength and weakness, smiles and tears ; 
 Yet tenderly she nestled there, 
 As benison of saintly prayer, 
 That falls in some thrice-hallowed hour, 
 To bless the soul with unaccustomed power. 
 Then, with new purpose armed he came 
 Back to the olden home ; his name 
 In tendercst memory found enshrined ; 
 Each friend the same, each welcome kind, 
 And her's most kind of all ; yet vain 
 Now seemed his love ; his tongue that fain 
 Would speak, was held in mute surprise. 
 A woman's soul beamed in her eyes, 
 The child, the maiden, gone ; as far 
 She seemed removed as some bright star 
 That men would fain to grasp." Once more 
 The soldier paused ; but not before 
 His secret had the maiden guessed, 
 For deep within her own fair breast 
 Too well the lesson had been learned 
 To love. Yet whom ? She slightly turned 
 Her head, no word to loose. St. John, 
 Who marked the slightest move, spoke on ; 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 "Constance, that merry maid art thou— 
 And I the stranger ; yet, e'en now, 
 
48 pONSTANCE. 
 
 When most their eloquence I need, 
 
 My suit in words I cannot plead ; 
 
 For stronger than I may control, 
 
 Speaks the deep language of my soul. 
 
 That armed withFmighty love, to thine 
 
 Goes forth." He ceased ; no answering sign 
 
 Gave'^Constance, as like beauteous flower 
 
 That droops^beneath the summer's shower. 
 
 She sat ; her hands still clasped, her head 
 
 Still bended ; while all words seemed fled. 
 
 Almost her beating heart was stilled. 
 
 While every word he uttered thrilled 
 
 Its chords, as master hand had played 
 
 On some sweet instrument, that made 
 
 For harmony, till that blest hour. 
 
 Ne'er knew, ne'er dreamed its wondrous power. 
 
 XV. 
 
 At length, with broken words and slow, 
 
 Came utterance : " Scarce I thought to know 
 
 So soon the mystery of love. 
 
 For, till long absence came to prove 
 
 My heart, each merry, idle day. 
 
 All unremembered passed away ; 
 
 But memory faithful proved— and strong. 
 
 And in my soul to love, ere long 
 
 Was turned; for in thy heart is shown 
 
 A faithful mirror of my own." 
 
PONSTANCE. 49 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 O love ! if e'er on holy wing, 
 Descending angel comes, to bring 
 Some guerdon from the realms of bliss, 
 To link that brighter world with this ; 
 'Tis when thine own soft influence steals 
 From heart to heart, and each reveals 
 To other, as with lifted veil. 
 
 Where now annointed eyes may see, 
 In circlet of its hallowed pale, 
 
 A world of untold ecstasy. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Withdraw we then, with silent tread. 
 
 'Tis holy ground, inhabited 
 
 By spirits pure. Ill it beseems 
 
 To mingle with love's early dreams 
 
 Thought of the world. Our steps away, 
 
 Now leads the purport of our lay. 
 
 To different scene, that horseman bold, 
 
 In six hours' riding might behold. 
 
 Here lay a deep and dark ravine, 
 
 Where scarce, the towering cliffs between, 
 
 Could penetrate with cheering ray. 
 
 The welcome sun, save at mid-day ; 
 
 When from sheer height descending down, 
 
 His beams first tipped the mountain's crown, 
 
 And silvering o'er a light cascade, 
 
50 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Upon its rippling waters played ; 
 Then downward, with unbroken sweep, 
 Sought the sheer depth in one bold leap, 
 To light with unaccustomed glow, 
 The dimness of the vale below. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Here might be seen a scattered band 
 Of lawless men, who scarce command 
 Of leader owned, save that more bold, 
 His haughty spirit their's controlled 
 By deeds of daring, that defied 
 Their wildest moods, and roused their pride 
 In such a chief; though scarce they knew 
 If fear or hate were most his due. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Some, shrouded still in heavy sleep, 
 'Neath influence of potations deep, 
 In silence lay : their morning fare 
 The rest had gathered to prepare. 
 O'er criickling blaze, that fitful shone 
 Their ever moving forms upon, 
 And on the rocks rude palisade. 
 In strange, fantastic shadows played. 
 Nor feared they of their hidden dell 
 That aught the rising smoke could tell : 
 Invisible, it passed away. 
 Long ere it reached the upper day. 
 
PONSTANCE. 5 
 
 Their well groomed steeds secure were bound, 
 Where'er convenient place was found ; 
 And burnished arms Avere scattered o'er, 
 In varied heaps, the earthy floor. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 In gloomy dignity, apart 
 
 Their leader stood ; m hile o'er his heart. 
 
 As in a fateful mirror glassed, 
 
 A crowd of strange emotions passed ; 
 
 And goaded almost to despair, 
 
 A nature, well inured to bear 
 
 Life's varied fortunes. Rumor said 
 
 That, long before, he sought to wed 
 
 A maiden, Avho her choice bestowed 
 
 On one, who till that hour had been 
 His dearest friend— aye, brother : flowed 
 
 The selfsame stream their veins within. 
 One mother bore them ; though each name 
 From different sires descended came. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 What friendship can sustain that test, 
 To offer what the heart loves best 
 On friendship's altar? He was sprung 
 Of sires, who, gifted with the tongue 
 Of eloquence, and wise debate. 
 Had in the councils of the State 
 Won high renown. His rival came 
 
52 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Of ancient race that lived in fame ; 
 In England's royal wars that fought, 
 And, fired with sacred zeal, that sought 
 In distant lands, the Holy Grave, 
 From Turkish infidels to save. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Now brothers' love to deepest hate 
 Was turned. He sought to instigate 
 The maiden's sire that suit to spurn 
 His rival urged ; and more to turn 
 His rage against that rival, spoke 
 Of his high lineage. Fiercely broke 
 The old man forth, and deeply swore 
 That none who name of England bore, 
 How'er remote, his child should wed. 
 Of Puritan forefathers, bred 
 In tents of their sternest school. 
 Himself deep hated kingly rule, 
 And bade his daughter now refuse 
 Her suitor, while himself would choose 
 One worthy of her heart and hand. 
 Regardless of the stern command. 
 A secret marriage sealed their troth ; 
 But soon, perforce, revealed, on both 
 His anger fell ; yet while he planned 
 Revenge, by fell assassin's hand. 
 Himself was slain : his wealth the meed. 
 That prompted to the murderous deed. 
 
PONSTANCE. 53 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Now sought, with fiendish design, 
 
 His favored rival to malign, 
 
 The suitor, whose rejected claim 
 
 Still rankled, like the deadly aim 
 
 Of poisoned dart. Like thistles, sown 
 
 How, none can tell, by wild winds blown 
 
 At random, fell in evil hour 
 
 A few light words, whose venomed power 
 
 Suspicion armed, the hated name 
 
 Of favored rival to defame. 
 
 He for his life was forced to fly. 
 
 And died 'neath Italy's soft sky ;— 
 
 So came report ; but not before 
 
 His wife, who with the child she bore 
 
 Departed. Could such v(^eight of ill, 
 
 In any human bosom fill 
 
 The measure of revenge, to sate 
 
 The demon of incarnate hate ? 
 
 None ever knew. His heart was sealed 
 
 To human eye, and nought revealed 
 
 That passed within. Ambition led 
 
 Through varied scenes with eager tread. 
 
 Success bestowed her brightest crown : 
 
 Came every varied blessing down, 
 
 On Heaven's most favored that descends ; 
 
 Who with impartial wisdom sends 
 
 To all alike. Now groaned the laad 
 
54 pONSTANCE 
 
 'Neath dreadful war's oppressive hand 
 And well his bold, ambitious mind 
 For deed of battle seemed designed. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Not war his fiery soul could tame. 
 Whose never sated thirst for fame 
 Led on, through danger, toil, and pain. 
 The still receding prize to gain. 
 And fortune, e'en till now, had smiled 
 On him, who seemed her favored child; 
 But, at the last, with base defeat 
 Had dashed his hopes, and in retreat. 
 Himself, with followers that remained, 
 Had scarce this spot of safety gained. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Well might the soldier chafe and swell. 
 And on the nights's misfortunes dwell. 
 His arms dispersed ; his followers slain ; 
 But half their numbers now remain : 
 And added to the deep disgrace, 
 Most keenly ftlt by mind, though base 
 And sordid too, yet whose vast pride 
 Had swallowed every thought beside, 
 The bitter memory of past deeds 
 Obtrusive came ; whose baleful seeds 
 Sown and forgotten, now to yield 
 Their harvest growth began : like field 
 
PONSTANCE. 55 
 
 "Whose fruitful soil all barren seems, 
 Yet with a buried harvest teems, 
 That into life, with sturdy might. 
 Springs upward in a single night. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Swift visions flitted o'er his brain. 
 And 'mid the oft recurring train 
 Of forms and faces, came there one 
 Who long had perished 'neath the sun 
 Of other lands ; whose name was dead, 
 To him by whose own act was sped 
 The deed. At length, as loth to bear 
 The thought, with an impatient air. 
 And gesture of disdain, he said 
 His thought aloud : " 'Tis false! the dead 
 Return not from their graves : he lives 
 But in this troubled dream, that gives 
 Its coloring to my thoughts, Away ! 
 Before the gladdening light of day, 
 Ye base-born visions of the night. 
 Begone ! nor e'er return to fright 
 My soul with baleful thought again. 
 What ho ! De Hass, hast through the glen 
 Yet heard Le Claire's shrill signal horn?" 
 " E'en now I hear its echoes borne 
 From far— and by the sound he fares 
 
56 pONSTANCE. 
 
 From Westmoreland. Would that he bears 
 Good news ; for ne'er before such plight 
 Had been my lot, till yesternight." 
 Thus muttering, he his arms began 
 With careful dilligence to scan. 
 For well the temper of each blade 
 In that fierce fight had been essayed. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Long were the lingering echoes flown, 
 Ere on the mountain side was shown 
 An active form approaching near, 
 With nimble step like mountain deer. 
 Towards whom a murmuring welcome ran 
 Throughout the band, from man to man ; 
 As every eye, with gaze intent, 
 The progress marked of his descent. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The scout, for such the name he bore, 
 
 Like one who oft had trod before 
 
 The selfsame path, though scarce could spy 
 
 Its windings an unpracticed eye. 
 
 Soon cleared the intervening ground, 
 
 And reached the spot, with lightsome bound, 
 
 And to the chief his errand gave : 
 
 " Sir Henry* toward Manhattan's wave, 
 
 From Southern victory now speeds. 
 
 Report hath reached him of thy deeds, 
 
 « Clinton. 
 
PONSTANCE. 57 
 
 That have his commendation won ; 
 Who bids thee, ere this day is done, 
 Witla all the force thou hast, repair 
 To Gloucester's Point to meet him there." 
 " Small force," with bitter tone he said, 
 " Is left. My bravest men lie dead 
 Along the sanguinary shore 
 Where Cappahossack's waters pour. 
 Long shall her waves the story tell 
 Of gallant soldiers there that fell." 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 He paused, with melancholy air ; 
 
 Then said in lower tone, " Le Claire, 
 
 Hast aught of import now to tell 
 
 Of those in yonder manse who dwell?" 
 
 " Last night the son returned. We know 
 
 Him well for honorable foe. 
 
 And later, clad in friendly guise, 
 
 A stranger came ; who to mine eyes 
 
 Appeared like one who long abroad 
 
 Had dwelt, now pressed his native sod 
 
 With gladsome tread." " Ah," Glenwood mused, 
 
 " It may well bfe : though long unused, 
 
 The foot on native soil may spring. 
 
 As light as swallow on the wing.— 
 
 And yet, the son ; in arms hath he 
 
 Maintained his cause right valiantly ; 
 
 And doth our honor well behoove 
 
58 pONSTANCE. 
 
 That knowledge of his further move 
 We gain ; but now in haste away, 
 Sir Henry's summons to obey." 
 
 XL. 
 
 Meantime, long ere his heia:ht attained 
 The sun, St. John the spot had gained 
 Where he had stood at eve's decline, 
 And viewed the long, unbroken line 
 Of snowy tents, that lay beneath, 
 Eeposing on the tufted heath. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 When the last rays of sunlight fell 
 Reigned silence, as enchantress' spell, 
 With force invisible had sealed 
 Her best on bloodless battle field. 
 But now the glowing pulse of morn, 
 
 Roused to new life by radiant beam. 
 Cast off the fetters night had w^orn ; 
 
 Leaped through her veins in gladdening stream 
 And waked the sleeping earth again, 
 As fair and beautiful as when 
 Even and morn became the day, 
 And reigned where chaos first held sway. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 And waked, like living harvest, grown 
 From seed in earth's broad bosom sown, 
 That mighty army : tent on tent 
 
PONSTANCE. 59 
 
 O'erthrown, its teeming numbers lent 
 
 To swell the concourse. Soon the plain 
 
 With surging life, like ocean's main, 
 
 Storm tossed, appeared. Confusion reigned ; 
 
 Or seemed it thus, to mind untrained 
 
 In art of war ; yet with the thought, 
 
 As if some master mind had wrought 
 
 His will unseen, swift order came : 
 
 The countless legions, each by name, 
 
 Their standards sought; whose folds wide flung 
 
 Waved in the passing breeze, or hung 
 
 All motionless; like idle sails, 
 
 Deserted by the truant gales. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Then moving o'er the level ground. 
 Inspired by martial trumpet's sound, 
 The vast imposing cavalcade, 
 In glittering pomp of war arrayed. 
 Swept onward ; passed the mountain's bend ; 
 And turning southward, where descend 
 Broad Rappahannock's waves, passed on ; 
 And from the gazer's view were gone. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 "A goodly sight: yet well I ween 
 Stern war yon f-oldiery have seen. 
 Who seem with gallant bearirg now 
 To make but sport of arms." "I trow 
 
60 PONSTANCE. 
 
 Thou speak'st but truth," St. John replied, 
 With all a soldier's native pride ; 
 And turned, while with instinctive hand 
 He sought where hung his trusty brand ; 
 Yet ere upon the hilt was laid 
 His ready grasp, the act was staid : 
 For in the questioner's noble mein 
 The stranger of last night was seen. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Acknowledging the grave surprise 
 That spoke from his companion's eyes, 
 "Scarce had I hoped," he said, "to find 
 So soon a comrade to my mind ; 
 For when this morn from yon abode, 
 To seek my further way I rode, 
 I found that thou wert lately gone, 
 In whom to speed mine errand on, 
 Though scarcely known, my heart full well 
 Did ready confidence compel. 
 But since kind heaven hath thus ordained 
 We meet, my suit shall be explained 
 While fare we on : for echoing still 
 From battlements of yonder hill 
 The trumpet notes assail mine ear, 
 That well I reck thyself dost hear, 
 With stirring impulse to begone 
 Where glorious war doth beck thee on," 
 
pONSTANCE. 61 
 
 XLVI. 
 "Now by my troth," St. John exclaimed, 
 "Thy words the very thought have named 
 That filled my heart. On speed we then, 
 While with attentive ear again 
 I list, if aught in honor true 
 With ready hand I now may do 
 For comrade's need :" "No irksome task, 
 But little at thy hand I ask." 
 An exile from my native soil, 
 A prisoner, doomed to weary toil; 
 But late returned, my worthless life 
 To aid my country in the strife 
 I now would <?ive : say, cans' t thou lead, 
 Where with my trusty sword good deed 
 Of valor I may show ?" "Right well 
 I can : and would that might dispel 
 Stout arms and loyal hearts, ere long. 
 These heavy clouds of war that wrong 
 Our country ; that with generous hand 
 Returning Peace might bless the land." 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Then turning where a path, scarce seen, 
 
 So overhung with matted green, 
 
 Led through the wood, a different way 
 
 From that he followed yesterday. 
 
 And spurring on his mettled steed, 
 
 Through brush and brier he took the lead ; 
 
62 pONSTANCE. 
 
 And galloped hard for many a mile, 
 
 Till gained a narrow, long defile, 
 
 That seemed to pierce the mountain through, 
 
 At length the bridle rein he drew ; 
 
 And pointing forvrard, "Soon, said he, 
 
 Our army's van guard we may see. 
 
 At noon they halt one hour, beside 
 
 The Rappahannopk's flowing tide. 
 
 Now niay'st thou see its waters gleam, 
 
 Where glints the sunlight on the stream.'' 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 The spot soon reached, they looked in vain 
 For sign of life : the open plain ; 
 The silent stream that onward flowed ; 
 Bush, tree, or mountain, nothing showed 
 That, since the morn was ushered in, 
 One living creature there had been. 
 Yet could they penetrate the shade 
 
 That clothed the mountain, they had seen, 
 Mounted and armed, a cavalcade. 
 
 That towards them came ; whose sabres keen 
 Sent flashing back each truant ray, 
 That through the branches found its way. 
 Their well trained chargers noiseless trod 
 The pathway, where fresh springing sod, 
 Or softer bed of fallen pine, 
 A carpet made that gave no sign 
 
PONSTANCE. 63 
 
 Of falling footsteps. Foremost, led 
 The wary scout, with rapid tread ; 
 Whose watchful ej'e ere long discerned 
 The horsemen, wlio their steps had turned, 
 And slow along the river's side 
 Moved downward with its flowing tide. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 With silent move he checked the train ; 
 And touched the leader's bridle rein ; 
 While in low whisper he exclaimed, 
 "See ! yonder, whom but now we named. 
 St. John thou know'st ; but him beside. 
 Who doth his steed so proudly ride." 
 Yet ere he spoke had Glen wood seen; 
 And scarcely from the scout could screen 
 The sudden fear that o'er him came ; 
 While 'neath his breatli a well known name 
 He muttered :— -Now, but that I well 
 Persuaded were that then he fell, 
 I could believe 'twas he. His name 
 Dos't know Le Clair, or whence he came ?" 
 "Nought could I learn save that alone 
 He rode ; his purpose all unknown. 
 But see! approach round yonder bend 
 Our foemen's horse :— they hither wend : — 
 Aye, let them speed : soon may be tried 
 Their mettle, who so bravely ride. 
 But haste we, lest our tryst should fail ; 
 
64 PONSTANCE. 
 
 On ! on !" Like leaves before the gale 
 Fly the swift steeds, and long before 
 Their foes have gained the river's shore, 
 They leave the mountain far behind ; 
 And flying as they rode the wind, 
 Shape o'er the level ground, as free 
 As ships upon the boundless sea, 
 Their course, nor slack the gallant chase 
 Till Gloucester terminates the race ; 
 And all draw rein, with flourish loud, 
 Where floats King George's banner proud, 
 In wavy folds o'er Clinton's tent ; 
 Who thence reviews his armament. 
 
 L. 
 
 "Eight noble welcome give we now 
 To thee," Sir Henry said ; "for thou 
 Art ever foremost in the fight, 
 When battling for thy sovereign's right. 
 And art thou here at needful time, 
 For came this morn at early prime 
 My trusty messenger, who bore 
 Strange tidings from the northern shore." 
 
 LI. 
 
 "Two days ago a hostile bark 
 Sailed in their waters. Nought could mark 
 Our watchful scouts that might betray 
 Her country : Deigned she to display 
 
PONSTANCE. 65 
 
 Nor flag nor emblem. Thence to land 
 
 A stranger came, who scarce the strand 
 
 Had reached, ere sped the vessel on 
 
 With swelling sails. He too was gone ; 
 
 And lost his course till yester e'en, 
 
 When he at Stratford House was seen. 
 
 Yet ere the morning was returned 
 
 That he as secret spy, we learned 
 
 Was come : and more ; 'twas shrewdly guessed 
 
 That, if his secret were possessed. 
 
 He comes from France ; for much we fear 
 
 That she, who friendly doth appear, 
 
 Hath toward these rebels secret bent, 
 
 And seeks to aid their discontent." 
 
 " Now, for I know no heart than thine 
 
 More loyal beats, thou canst divine 
 
 How in this matter thy good aid 
 
 May foil their plans so deeply laid ; 
 
 For well thou know'st each winding way, 
 
 And crook, and turn, by night or day 
 
 To follow, with unerring aim ; 
 
 And well each hiding place canst name, 
 
 Where in all seeming safety hid, 
 
 An enemy, these hills amid 
 
 Might lie. Here in this paper, see, 
 
 What information more may be 
 
66 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Of use to aid thee in the quest : 
 And, that thou lack not for the rest, 
 What means so e'er thou need'st, command : 
 They shall be ready to thy hand." 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Thrice back and forth did Glenwood pace 
 
 Within the tent its narrow space, 
 
 And with contracted brow perused 
 
 The paper, while he inly mused : 
 
 *' ' Tis he, this morn I saw. The same 
 
 That in those troubled visions came 
 
 Last night, and filled my soul with dread 
 
 Of coming evil. Can the dead 
 
 Arise ; or is't my coward heart. 
 
 That plays me now the traitor's part ? 
 
 But yesterday, and to mine ear 
 
 Was strange the very name of fear : 
 
 And now ;— but shame ;— what'er may come, 
 
 Before the world my lips are dumb ; 
 
 And none shall e'er have cause to say 
 
 That Glenwood dared not to obey 
 
 His King's command. On then ! this spy 
 
 His best endeavors needs must try : 
 
 For if I win he'll rue the hour 
 
 He fell within Sir Henry's power." 
 
 LIV. 
 
 The varied landscape now, anon 
 With shifting scene, moves slowly on ; 
 
PONSTANCE. 67 
 
 And in the distance dimly shows 
 Where Rappahannock's water flows ; 
 And, resting on its flowery banks 
 An army, whose scarce broken ranks 
 Denote that here but short their stay, 
 Ere they resume their onward way. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Apart, in earnest converse stood 
 The two bold riders of the wood : 
 And spoke from time to time a third, 
 Who their discourse attentive heard ; 
 Whose broidered cloak, in golden braid, 
 The marks of highest rank displayed : 
 "Doth Freedom, now by dangers stead. 
 Her welcome give to all," he said, 
 "Who came, with valiant hearts to brave 
 Her foemen, and her honor save : 
 Yet first, thy name ?" " Is Henry Lee." 
 " A name of noble ancestry, 
 And honored by illustrious men. 
 Who well could wield both sword and pen. 
 But can'st thou ought of kindred claim 
 In this fair land?" "But late I came, 
 A way-worn wanderer o'er the main. 
 And found 'neath war's oppressive reign. 
 Old faces gone, old faith betrayed, 
 And in the dust my memory laid ; 
 
58 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Scarce ought that once I called my own 
 Is left." " Yet, but these foes o'erthrown, 
 If Heaven our arms shall please to bless, 
 And all such wrongs may find redress. 
 And thou, I well believe, hast fought? 
 And bravely, or that scar counts nought," 
 " Of years, I've battled half a score ; 
 In prison languished seven more; 
 Yet still mine arm is true ; my blade 
 Ne'er once its honor hath betrayed ; 
 And gladly now myself would prove 
 How deep I bear my country's love." 
 
 LVI. 
 
 The genera! mused ; then spake in brief; 
 "Nine leagues from here there dwells a chief 
 Who wages lawless war : whose bands 
 Distress and desolate our lands ; 
 Yet whom in vain to subjugate 
 Our bravest have essayed. But late 
 They met McPherson, and were slain 
 Full half their number ; yet remain 
 The rest, who still in vengeful mood 
 New mischiefs plan. Were they subdued. 
 Might other conquests be achieved : 
 For but our country once relieved 
 Of this vile pest, might concentrate 
 Our forces all ; and ere too late 
 One mighty blow at England aim 
 
PONSTANCE. 69 
 
 For freedom. Had I thought to name 
 
 This morning, one who should proceed 
 
 In this emprise. If tliou wilt lead, 
 
 Three hundred horse shalt thou command ; 
 
 'Tis the full number of his band ; 
 
 And, but thou take, alive or dead 
 
 This chief, whose name hath terror spread 
 
 The country round, the gallant deed 
 
 Promotion and reward shall meed." 
 
 LYII. 
 
 The soldier bowed : "Be mine the task : 
 Nor greater honor could I ask." 
 "Then on with us. To-night we rest 
 In shadow of yon mountain's crest ; 
 Where York's wide spreading vale doth lie ; 
 And when the morning gilds the sky 
 We'll point the way, and speed thee on 
 With a brave soldier's benison." 
 
€ANTO III. 
 
 — o— 
 
 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 I. 
 
 Unwearied time moves on, with laggard pace. 
 
 The summer wanes : but still, from day to day, 
 With gentle dalliance lingers in the race, 
 Till Autumn, chary of the long delay, 
 Begins to don his festival array ; 
 And, like a royal monarch fitly crowned. 
 His benedictions pours on all around. 
 
 II. 
 
 O happy season ! When could lovers tell 
 More fittingly of gentle hope, and fear ; 
 
 Or breathe their vows of constancy so well. 
 As when the changing season of the year 
 Proclaims that all things have their season here, 
 
 And all things change, but love, who comes to earth 
 
 In mortal guise, but claims immortal birth. 
 III. 
 
 The purple heather lost its bloom ; 
 
 The dying leaves with sweet perfume 
 
■J2 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Enriched the air ; a mellow haze 
 Stole softly o'er the earth, and rays 
 Of molten sunlight, glancing down 
 O'er field and meadow, bare and brown. 
 Strove with caressing touch to charm 
 Sweet summer back to life ; and warm 
 Earth's bosom with life-giving breath, 
 For one brief season, ere she slept in death, 
 
 IV. 
 
 Swift move the glowing hours ; and speed 
 
 More swiftly still, like mettled steed. 
 
 Unused to curb of bit and rein, 
 
 That flies like whirlwind o'er the plain, 
 
 Through Constance' mind the memories dear 
 
 Of new born hope ; of love sincere ; 
 
 So new, so strange, that now it seems 
 
 Scarce real ; like those delicious dreams, 
 
 When to the soul's half waking sense 
 
 Soft music steals ; and bears it hence 
 
 On rosy wings of harmony. 
 
 To some bright land beyond the sky. 
 
 Her love, long buried in her breast, 
 So deep, that while herself it blest • 
 She knew it not, no\<^ woke to earth ; 
 And smiling from its happy birth. 
 
PONSTANCE. 73 
 
 Came forth and beamed upon her face ; 
 And lighted with its own sweet grace 
 Her features, till they seemed to 'shine 
 With living beauty ; so divine 
 That men could almost worship there, 
 Nor deem it sin to reverence maid so fair. 
 
 VI. 
 
 In distant fields her lover fought, 
 But gave the maid his every thought ; 
 And wished, impatient of delay, 
 The slowly moving hours away, 
 That must elapse, ere they could meet. 
 And every fervent vow repeat. 
 And oft as messenger was found. 
 Whose duty, or whose errand bound 
 His steps that way, came missive dear, 
 The maiden's longing heart to cheer, 
 With pledge of never failing love, 
 That absence served more deep, more strong to 
 prove. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Each messenger, like noble guest. 
 Was lodged and feasted with the best ; 
 And, lingering o'er the generous cheer, 
 Would oft recount to listening ear 
 Of curious maids, the deeds of might 
 Of those who passed unscathed the fight ; 
 
74 PONSTANCE. 
 
 Or sadder tale of those who fell. 
 And then, in lighter strain would tell 
 Eomantic tale of camp or field, 
 And all the varied joys that yield 
 The soldier's life ; and oft some word 
 Of rumor vague, but lightly heard, 
 Was mingled with the web of thought, 
 In strange, fantastic medley wrought. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 At times these tales did Constance hear : 
 Who, prompted by her love, drew near ; 
 If from the soldiers she might learn 
 Aught her dear warrior did concern. 
 Nor did they soon the maid forget ; 
 But, with their boon companions met, 
 Recounting all, would roundly swear 
 They ne'er saw face or form so fair ; 
 And whispered that their captain bold 
 (Might 'neath his banner be enrolled 
 All soldiers true), was fortune's son 
 Most favored now, for he had won 
 So rare a prize. And thus it came, 
 That once the half-remembered name 
 Of Glenwood reached her listening ear, 
 With some strange hint that he was near 
 With hostile force ; yet inly prayed 
 He who the story told, that aid, 
 
PONSTANCE. 75 
 
 In every hour of ill might come, 
 
 To shield the maid, her sire, and home. 
 
 IX, 
 
 Through the bright summer's short career 
 No idle days had Glenwood known ; 
 
 For, haunted still by that vague fear, 
 Now well nigh certain that had grown, 
 
 With zeal unwearied he pursued 
 
 His purpose ; but in altered mood ; 
 
 For, since that morn, when through the screen 
 
 Of mountain foliage he had seen, 
 
 One whom he then believed to be 
 
 His brother, by some strange decree 
 
 Restored to life, no chance had brought 
 
 Them face to face ; though each had sought 
 
 The other ; yet, with secret fear. 
 
 He felt, nay knew, the day was near, 
 
 "When they must meet, as foes ; recall 
 
 The bitter past— and one must fall. 
 
 X. 
 
 On broad Potomac's banks had staid 
 His band, and now brief revel made ; 
 As soldiers wont, who oft, between 
 The toilsome march, or battle scene, 
 Can lightly cast their toils away, 
 And spend an hour in mirth or play, 
 As weariness were but a name, 
 And life itself a merry game. 
 
76 pONSTANCE, 
 
 XL 
 
 It chanced that of their number, one, 
 
 Born 'neath the light of India's sun, 
 
 (Thus 'twas believed, nor could belie 
 
 His swarthy hue and kindling eye 
 
 The tale, though nought himself had shown 
 
 What country claimed him as her own) ; 
 
 But lately to their number came ; 
 
 And few had learned his state or name : 
 
 But with the rarest gift of song 
 
 End')wed, oft would his tones prolong 
 
 The twilight echoes on the hill ; 
 
 Or floating on the night air still, 
 
 Along the silent river glide, 
 
 And die upon the mountain side. 
 
 XII. 
 
 He now, with many a roundelay 
 Beguiled the social hour away ; 
 And loud each jovial chorus roared 
 His comrades, while they freely poured 
 Bright, sparkling wine, that once had lain 
 
 In dusty cellars, hid from light, 
 Of wealthy colonist, long slain 
 
 While battling for his country's right. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 At length his single voice arose, 
 
 As milder theme the minstrel chose ; 
 
PONSTANCE. 77 
 
 And thus the tuneful muse addressed, 
 Obedient to his comrades hest : 
 
 SONG. 
 
 THE FROST KING. 
 1. 
 
 Glittered the sun on the bare hill side, 
 
 Powdered with hoary frost ; 
 Sparkled the country far and wide, 
 
 With gems which the night had lost : 
 
 For the Frost King came, at dead of night. 
 With his army, a gallant band ; 
 
 And away flew every fairy t^prite. 
 To answer his quick command. 
 
 3. 
 First to the meadows, with noiseless tread. 
 
 And arrowy speed they went ; 
 And a spangled carpet quickly spread, 
 
 By the frozen dew-drops lent. 
 
 Back to the city they lightly flew. 
 With curious turns and whirls : 
 
 Scattered the earth, as the night wind blew, 
 With a shower of crystal pearls. 
 
78 PONSTANCE, 
 
 5. 
 Some roofed the houses with dazzling white, 
 
 And frostily draped the eaves : 
 Some decked the trees in a vestment light, 
 And daintily fringed the leaves : 
 
 6. 
 Others with fanciful pictures graced 
 
 The windows : others again, 
 With marvellous beauty their frostwork traced 
 
 O'er valley and hill ; and then ;— 
 
 Away through the pale moonlight they flew. 
 
 And vanished in upper air; 
 But the scene they left disclosed to view. 
 
 Was a sight both strange and rare. 
 
 8. 
 The houses were roofed with sheety white, 
 
 And spangled with wealth untold : 
 The window-panes glowed with a mellow light. 
 
 And the streets were paved with gold. 
 
 9. 
 Glittered the trees with the hoary frost, 
 
 Pencilled with delicate care ; 
 And every breath of the night wind tossed 
 
 A thousand gems in the air. 
 
PONSTANCE. 79 
 
 10. 
 
 'Twas magic work, by a magic hand, 
 
 On the landscape far and near. 
 Like a crystal palace in fairy land 
 
 Did the Frost King's work appear. 
 
 11. 
 Glittered the sun at the high noon-day, 
 
 On the hillside, bare and cold : 
 Its morning beauty had passed away, 
 
 Like a miser's dream of gold. 
 
 12. 
 Afar, to the snow-clad, icy north. 
 
 King Frost, and his sprites had flown ; 
 For when the rays of the sun went forth. 
 
 They fled from his heated zone. 
 
 13. 
 
 But all night long, till the morning breaks, 
 
 He reigns with his fairy band : 
 And when the sun in his brightness wakes, 
 
 They fly to the spirit land. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 As ceased the song, drew Glen wood near, 
 And spoke : " Now hast thou pleased mine ear ; 
 For, sooth, thou hast a merry tongue, 
 And well the roundelay was sung : 
 But canst thou troll some gallant lay 
 
O pONSTANCE. 
 
 Of lady, or Of Knight? 
 For much I love of olden day, 
 
 Of tournament and fight 
 To hear ; and once myself in song 
 Some little skill possessed ; but long 
 'Tis fled." " So please you, I'll essay," 
 The minstrel said, " An old romance ; 
 Though not has knight for many a day 
 Or tourney rode, or broken lance ; 
 And oft do minstrel hearts deplore 
 That knightly deeds are heard no more.' 
 
 He paused, of warlike theme made choice; 
 And thus, once more attuned his voice : 
 
 SONG. 
 
 THE KNIGHT AND THE BARON. 
 1. 
 
 The baron, in his lordly tower, 
 
 High revel kept. 
 The maiden, in her lonely bower, 
 
 Sad hearted wept. 
 On the field of battle slain, 
 Noble sire, and princely train ; 
 Friend or kindred, none remain : 
 
 And her lover, distant far. 
 
 Bore the cross in holy war. 
 
PONSTANCE. 
 2. 
 
 There came a knight from distaut land. 
 
 'Neath eastern sun 
 Well had he wielded lance and brand ; 
 
 Honors had won. 
 Now he hastens, all to lay 
 At his lady's feet, and pray 
 That her gentle voice will say, 
 
 What the warrior's meed shall be, 
 
 Who returns with victory. 
 
 Now, on the castle's outer gate. 
 
 Loud summons pealed : 
 " Ho ! warder; noble knight doth wait, 
 
 Who on the field, 
 Where, before the red cross fell 
 Saracen and Infidel, 
 Did with single arm compel. 
 
 From the sacriligious foe. 
 
 Victory, and overthrow." 
 
 " Ho ! warder, throw the portal wide ; 
 
 Welcome we here," 
 ('Twas the baron's voice that cried,) 
 
 " With bridal cheer, 
 Who in holy war hath bled ; 
 
82 PONSTANCE. 
 
 Who returns, by honor sped ; 
 For to-morrow's eve we wed 
 
 With the gentle Gertrude Clare : 
 
 Fairest of all England's fair. 
 
 5. 
 Dark frowned the knight, with blackened brow ; 
 
 " Baron of Lorn, 
 Who violates his sacred vow, 
 
 Knighthood doth scorn. 
 Thou on holy cross dids't swear 
 Deed of battle to forbear 
 With the line of Angus Clare. 
 
 Faithless friend, and recreant knight, 
 
 Broken oath must thou requite." 
 
 6. 
 Flashed from its sheath the baron's sword : 
 
 "Knight of St. John, 
 Of Angus' lands the rightful lord. 
 
 Lorn hath but won, 
 By fair fight in open field, 
 That which Clare would never yield : 
 But for thee, thy crimson shield 
 
 Nought shall aid thee in the fight : 
 
 On thine honor stand, base knight," 
 
 7. 
 Then rang the steel with hardy stroke : 
 Roused from afar, 
 
pONSTANCE. 83 
 
 Each echo of the castle woke ; 
 Mimicked the war. 
 
 Frighted menials stood amazed, 
 
 On the fiery combat gazed ; 
 
 But no voice nor hand was raised : 
 Braver champions, well they knew, 
 Sword, in battle, never drew. 
 
 Now each his foe more closely pressed ; 
 
 Yet nought prevailed ; 
 Till pierced the knight the baron's breast; 
 
 Fiercely assailed, 
 Stooped his haughty crest and fell. 
 Haste ! O knight to yonder cell. 
 And the weeping maiden tell, 
 
 How hath love's victorious sword, 
 
 Her ancestral halls restored. 
 
 XV. 
 
 At random chosen was the theme ; 
 But flashed o'er Glenwood's mind his dream 
 Of months before ; and half in ire. 
 That means so simple could inspire 
 With thoughts like these a soldier's breast, 
 He becked the minstrel from the rest. 
 And said : " Canst thou, good minstrel, tell 
 Where I such knight may meet, whom well 
 
84 PONSTANCE. 
 
 Thyself hast sung ? Not without cause 
 
 Such one I seek ; who 'gainst our laws 
 
 Hath great offender been." " ' Tis true," 
 
 The minstrel said, " that once I knew 
 
 A knight like him this simple air 
 
 Doth celebrate ; yet how compare 
 
 With him thou nani'st ?" " It matters nought ; 
 
 In many places have I sought 
 
 And never found;— yet here delay 
 
 Intolerant seems. I'll on this day 
 
 Towards yonder manse : there hath he been ; 
 
 And yet may lurk its halls within. 
 
 " What ho ! De Hass, forth from this place 
 
 Towards Stratford House we go : but grace 
 
 Of one short hour remains. Bid all 
 
 Assemble at the bugle's call, 
 
 Well armed, and well prepared ; for long 
 
 The march may be, and foes are strong, 
 
 And watchful : haste ! bid revels cease : 
 
 Our errand is of war, not peace ?" 
 
 XVI. 
 
 As rang the blast with shrilly sound, 
 Hushed was the soldiers' mirth around. 
 As if dissolved some magic'spell, 
 Uplifted glasses quickly fell ; 
 And brows grew dark and faces^tem, 
 And eyes with flashing fire 'gan burn : 
 
PONSTANCE. S^ 
 
 And swelled each soldiers' spirit high, 
 As if at welcome sound of battle crJ^ 
 
 XVII. 
 
 As rang the martial sound again, 
 
 In even ranks two hundred men, 
 
 Who seemed uprisen from the ground, 
 
 So quickly had they gathered round. 
 
 In silence waited for the word • 
 
 To bid them on ; yet ere 'twas heard, 
 
 De Hass stepped forward; " Sire, hath flown. 
 
 The minstrel : yet 'twas scarcely known. 
 
 Ere search on every side we made : 
 
 But, for we might not be delayed. 
 
 And time was brief, we foimd no trace 
 
 Of flight, nor yet of hiding place." 
 
 " How ? Fled ? The minstrel dids' t thou say ? 
 
 He dares not bide the battle's fray. 
 
 Fear speeds the coward: let him go: 
 
 Ne'er follower of mine may show 
 
 The craven when 'tis time of need. 
 
 On ] then , nor slack your utmost speed : 
 
 And shall this night ere long declare 
 
 How much we still can do and dare." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Meantime a lonely figure sped 
 Along the river's winding bed ; 
 
86 pONSTANCE. 
 
 And turning from the water's edge, 
 O'erhung with nodding reeds and sedge. 
 Pursued his way, through brush and weed. 
 And tangled grass with added speed. 
 As on like fleeting deer he pressed, 
 One single thought his mind possessed ; 
 From that marauding band to save 
 The aged man, who shelter gave 
 When he had sued, an unknown guest, 
 For hospitality and rest. 
 And came, with sweet remembrance, too. 
 The image to his mental view 
 Of the fair maiden, in whose face 
 Oft and again he sought to trace 
 Likeness of one, though long since flown, 
 That he had loved, and called his own. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 While thus his thoughts were occupied. 
 
 His footsteps scarce he deigned to guide. 
 
 But followed, with unerring aim, 
 
 A path familiar as his name. 
 
 On every side around were shown 
 
 Scenes that in boyhood he had known : 
 
 Each tree his curious eyes had scanned. 
 
 And with adventurous daring planned, 
 
 For nests, or feathered prey to scale : 
 
 Each rippling stream, each well-known trail ; 
 
PONSTANCE. 87 
 
 And hill, and vale, and all beside, 
 
 Of olden memories multiplied 
 
 The sum. Yet o'er the wide expanse 
 
 Unheeding passed his careless glance, 
 
 To rest where loftiest height attained 
 
 A range of hills, now deeply stained 
 
 With glory of the midday sun, 
 
 Whose downward course was just begun. 
 
 There at the foot full well he knew 
 
 Three hundred waving pennons blew ; 
 
 Three hundred lancers waiting nigh 
 
 At welcome sound of battle cry, 
 
 Rung from his lips, would mount and speed 
 
 Where'er himself the way should lead. 
 
 And as he strained his eager eye, 
 
 Some distant token to espy 
 
 Of his brave band, scarce wings had sped 
 
 More swiftly on his rapid tread. 
 
 XX. 
 
 As when draws near some rock bound shore 
 The mariner, and hears the roar 
 Of breakers, while the foam flung high, 
 Warns him of hidden dangers nigh ; 
 So now, behind him stretched a plain. 
 By distance leveled, like the main. 
 While «lose before, the broken ground. 
 In ai!gry cliffs and boulders frowned, 
 
!8 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Where many an ambush might be found ; 
 
 While still afar the mountain rose, 
 
 Like victor o'er her prostrate foes. 
 
 Still following on the tortuous way, 
 
 With wary tread, lest might betray 
 
 His presence to some foe unknown, 
 
 That lurked within those walls of stone. 
 
 At length appeared the watchful guard, 
 
 Whose challenge stern his pathway barred -^ 
 
 But ere alarum sound he blew 
 
 The minstrel from his shoulders threw 
 
 His cloak ; doffed all his strange disguise, 
 
 And might the guard now recognize 
 
 His captain, Lee; who winding blast, 
 
 Cried, " Mount ! my men ;. ride hard and fast ; 
 
 On woman fair, and age, doth wait 
 
 Impending danger : soon too late 
 
 'Twill be ;— mount ! mount ! brave men , wdth speed ; 
 
 Delay not ;— haste,— 'tis urgent need." 
 
 Then to a soldier standing by, 
 
 " Good Harwood, vnth my message fly, 
 
 Nor seek thy gallant steed to spare. 
 
 To brave St. John my greeting bear : 
 
 Tell him toward Stratford now we go, 
 
 And thou the road we take shall show. 
 
 This ring be warrant of my word : 
 
 On I on ! my bidding hast thou heard/* 
 
PONSTANCE. 89 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Then mounting his impatient steed, 
 O'er rock bound path he took the lead ; 
 And marshaled on the open plain 
 His followers, a goodly train. 
 Then at the word away they bore. 
 Like ships receding from the shore ; 
 Till, fading into distant blue, 
 The mount at last was lost to view. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Yet ere from sight 'twas wholly gone, 
 Far to the left was seen St. John, 
 With chosen band, who rode apace, 
 And soon beside them had gained place. 
 Each leader silent greeting made. 
 And, mingling in one cavalcade. 
 Their forces thundered down the path. 
 Like mountain torrent in its wrath. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Since first they met, these two had grown 
 In closest friendship ; though, unknown, 
 Each silent hid within his breast, 
 What yet the other partly guessed, 
 One secret. From his friend no word 
 Of Constance, Lee had ever heard : 
 For love, though oft unconsciously. 
 Its idol views with jealous eye ; 
 
90 P'ONSTANCE. 
 
 Nor brooks e'en dearest friend to show, 
 
 What one alone has right to know. 
 
 And Lee, in turn, had ne'er confessed 
 
 Aught of the past ; though unexpressed 
 
 By word, St. John some glimmering thought, 
 
 Still to its perfect form un wrought, 
 
 In secret often would review. 
 
 And half believe the truth he knew. 
 
 Now scarce Lee's messenger was heard, 
 
 Ere to the meet St. John had spurred : 
 
 Well knowing that the word he gave 
 
 Meant urgent need from one so brave. 
 
 And now, in briefest word was said 
 
 The story, as they onward sped. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Could one from some commanding height 
 
 Have looked, had he beheld a sight 
 
 Most strange. Towards one defenceless home 
 
 Two swiftly moving armies come ; 
 
 One winged by love, and one by hate ; 
 
 And, love, alas, arrives too late. 
 
 Glenwood, though now with slower pace, 
 
 As all unconscious of the chase. 
 
 Had reached the once luxuriant plain, 
 
 By the same road St. John had ta'en ; 
 
 When he, returning months before, 
 
 Had sought his early home once more. 
 
PONSTANCE. 91 
 
 No longer down the mountain side 
 Flowed the clear brook : its course long dried 
 By summer suns, now whitely gleamed 
 In one long drift of sand, that seemed . 
 For natural highway made. Below, 
 Where once its waters used to flow, 
 Few pools and shallow fords were shown. 
 With idle weeds half overgrown. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Here, pausing for few moment's rest, 
 Then up the mountain, breast to breast, 
 Through the long winding road they wound 
 And halted, ere suspicious sound 
 Could reach the inmates of the manse, 
 And warn too soon, of their advance. 
 Here Glenwood skilfully disposed 
 His force on every side, and closed 
 Each avenue, whence might retreat 
 Unseen, the foe he hoped to meet. 
 Yet still concealed his force he kept, 
 'Neath woods, with branches low that swept. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Then, riding forth with chosen few 
 He with his bugle summons blew ; 
 Like one at some old castle's gates 
 On embassy, who parley waits. 
 
o2 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Scarce had the shrilly summons died 
 
 Ere stood the massive portals wide; 
 
 And Percival, like feudal lord, 
 
 Confronting some rebellious horde 
 
 Of vassals, stood, yet deigned no word, 
 
 Until their errand he had heard. 
 
 " In England's name we now demand 
 
 A certain rebel at thy hand. 
 
 Who here hath been concealed we know ; 
 
 As thus our warranty doth show. 
 
 Him but surrendered, by decree 
 
 Of Royalty, thou may'st be free 
 
 As heretofore. If thou refuse, 
 
 War's utmost terrors thou must choose." 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Spoke Percival, with noble pride ; 
 
 " No rebel in these walls doth hide. 
 
 Who needs my hospitable care, 
 
 Or friend, or foe, commands it e'er 
 
 Beneath my roof hath couch been spread 
 
 For many ; at my board have fed 
 
 Full many more. Estate or name, 
 
 In these sad times to ask, were shame 
 
 As freely as they come, they go ; 
 
 Nor aught I ever seek to know." 
 
 " 'Twere well if thou his name hadst learned, 
 
 Whom we demand." Glenwood returned ; 
 
PONSTANCE. 93 
 
 For hangs a traitor's name o'er thee, . 
 In that thou'st harbored Henry Lee." 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The swords from fifty scabbards flew : 
 
 And loud and wild the tumult grew, 
 
 As voices fierce with rage declared, 
 
 " Down with the traitor who hath dared 
 
 Our hated foemen's cause maintain ; 
 
 Down ! down !— Scarce could the cry restrain 
 
 Their leader's voice ; whose stern command ' 
 
 Checked the rude clamors of his band, 
 
 And bade their ready blades be sheathed ; 
 
 Who, though defiance still they breathed 
 
 Reluctantly obeyed. Around, 
 
 For the loud uproar more profound, 
 
 Fell silence, as awaited all 
 
 Word of defence from Percival. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Brief time elapsed ere word be spoke : 
 While o'er his features swiftly broke 
 A lightning glance, where scorn and pride. 
 Like envious rivals to decide 
 For*mastery strove ; and speaking low. 
 With words at first constrained and slow, 
 Then urged by passion's rising force, 
 Like turbid torrent's headlong course ; 
 
94 pONSTANCE, 
 
 " Call ye him traitor," then he said, 
 " Who for his country's honor bled, 
 When in her infancy she drew 
 But feeble breath ; and as she grew 
 And sought 'mid nations of the earth 
 Her rightful place, true to his birth, 
 Pledged fortune, honor, faith and fame, 
 To keep unsoiled her spotless name ? — 
 If this be treason, then indeed, 
 Thrice branded traitor be my meed." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Like hoary prophet, who of old 
 Some sin denounced, or wrath foretold ; 
 While the hushed multitude, in awe 
 Haif doubted if the form they saw 
 Where man or spirit; he, inspired 
 With patriot zeal, almost had fired 
 Their bosoms with the glorious theme ; 
 But waked as from delusive dream 
 Loud murmurs rose, and spake their chief: 
 "Thy words are fruitless ; time is brief; 
 With feeble age we will not fight, 
 Nor weigh vain questions. For our right, 
 'Tis our commission from the King, 
 This rebel, and this spy to bring ; 
 And his command must be obeyed, 
 Though thou our warrant dost evade. 
 
PONSTANCE. 95 
 
 Go, thou, De Hass, and Hargrave too; 
 
 Make speedy search the mansion through. 
 
 If him we seek within is found, 
 
 One blast upon thy bugle sound. 
 
 And guard him well ; while to thine aid 
 
 We hasten." Scarce one step had made 
 
 De Hass and Hargrave, ere to stand 
 
 Bade Percival, with stern command : 
 
 " Came ye as strangers to my door. 
 
 Who needed succor, should my store. 
 
 With generous hand be freely spared, 
 And with the needy traveler shared : 
 Then freely might ye enter here 
 As summer rays, that warm and cheer. 
 But come ye here in hostile hour, 
 I bid you stand. Mine arm its power. 
 Hath nothing lost since I could weld 
 Thrice weightier sword on battle field, 
 Than ye, degenerate sons can bear." 
 Half awed by his commanding air. 
 The soldiers paused in their advance, 
 And, on the moment, as by chance, 
 From her apartment she had heard 
 Discordant sound of threat'ning word, 
 Beside her grandsire Constance stood. 
 E'en roughest men, in warlike mood 
 To woman's power allegiance own ; 
 And with a grace before unknown. 
 
96 pONSTANCE. 
 
 • 
 
 Bow to the power of innocence, 
 And wish their guilty passions hence. 
 So now, at sight of one fair face ; 
 Its youth, its innocence, and grace, 
 Fled the fell purpose they had sought ; 
 And every soldier there had bought 
 By desperate valor, from her eyes 
 One glance, and deemed it fair reprise. 
 
 'Twas picture that a painter's art 
 Might well, with cunning skill impart 
 To canvas. Seemed as strange, wierd spell, 
 From source unknown, upon them fell ; 
 And, for brief moment holding sway. 
 All life and motion charmed away. 
 
 The stately manse, like castle gray ; 
 The lordly man, who kept at bay 
 His foes ; the gentle, shrinking maid, 
 Who clung to him, as half afraid ; 
 The group of soldiers near who stood ; 
 And those more distant, near the wood, 
 Who, half concealed beneath its shade, 
 The outlines of the picture made ; 
 Now lighted by the golden ray, 
 That oft attends the closing day. 
 
PONSTANCE. 97 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 While thus the soldiery stood mute, 
 And Glenwood sat irresolute, 
 The scout was seen ; who closely pressed, 
 And him in undertone addressed : 
 " But now I saw on yonder plain. 
 Wend hitherward, a goodly train. 
 'Twere well short parley here to hold ; 
 For are they riders swift and bold ; 
 And though but little could devine 
 Mine eye, 'tis force exceeding thine." 
 The spell was broken . Quick returned 
 The former boldness he had learned 
 So well. " No further to invoke," 
 'Twas thus to Percival he spoke, 
 " Thy loyalty we'll now essay, 
 Which thou hast well approved this day ; 
 But thou, as hostage must away 
 With us :— yet banish thought of fear : 
 For art thou much in peril here. 
 And with sure conduct we'll attend, 
 To harbor safe ; where to amend 
 Discourteous seeming, thou may'st bide 
 Securely, whatsoe'er betide." 
 At once, obedient to his hand, 
 Emerging from the woods, his band 
 To Percival, amazed, revealed 
 Their numbers : for before concealed 
 
98 PONSTANCE. 
 
 By shade and distance, he had seen 
 Scarce more than those, who, on the green, 
 In number few, had stood before, 
 Demandhig entrance at his door. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 From every feature flashed surprise, 
 And scorn he sought not to disguise. .. 
 " And dotli your chief an army send, 
 One aged man to apprehend? 
 Now were I armed, yet should ye say 
 Which most the coward showed to-day." 
 Glenwood, though wincing at the taunt, 
 Yet passed it by as useless vaunt ; 
 And for the journey bade prepare 
 The maiden and himself; with care 
 But with all speed, that yet the day 
 Might speed them far upon their way. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Though still his haughty spirit burned, 
 No answer Percival returned ; 
 Nor further converse did he deign, 
 Since all resistance seemed in vain ; 
 But proud as monarch still, withdrew, 
 And after brief delay, anew 
 Returned, and gave the gentle maid, 
 Who for the journey now arrayed 
 Appeared, his care her steps to aid. 
 
PONSTANCE. gg 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Her o-wn slight palfrey Constance rode, 
 And Percival the charger strode, 
 That him in earlier days had borne 
 In many a chase with hound and horn. 
 Then Glenwood bade the signal sound, 
 And on the slow procession wound ; 
 Till gathering speed, and riding fast. 
 The hall and western wing they passed. 
 And vanished, as the sun went down 
 Behind the mountain's golden crown. 
 
€ANTO IV. 
 
 THE DISCLOSURE. 
 
 The dewy airs of night, perfumed with flowers. 
 Whose drowsy heads her influence obey, 
 
 Fanned with their gentle breath the sleepy hours, 
 And sped them noiseless on their shadowy way ; 
 And, as with lingering tread Avithdrew the day, 
 
 Soothed with her sweetest lullaby to rest, 
 
 Earth's fairest children, on her own fair breast. 
 
 II. 
 
 Then rose with crescent light, her horns low bent, 
 The moon, slow creeping up the eastern sky : 
 
 And looked with searching ray, as if intent 
 To bless the sleeping earth ; then mounting high, 
 As all her former glory casting by. 
 
 With still increasing splendor gathered round 
 
 Her silvery mantle, sweeping to the ground. 
 
102 pONSTANCE. 
 
 in. 
 
 Dimmed by the splendor of her glowing lire, 
 The lesser'stars, before that countless glowed, 
 
 Once more to realms invisible retire ; 
 While she, bright empress of the heavens rode 
 On cloudy chariot through her bright abode ; 
 
 Attended by two planets, that remain 
 
 Sole consorts worthy her imperial train. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now through yon copse, see, where uncertain rides. 
 As heedful of the way, a silent train ; 
 
 And far before, witl^ fleeter footsteps glides 
 Another, o'er the shadows of the plain : 
 And further still two watchers, who remain 
 
 In converse, while their drowsy comrades sleep ; 
 
 And far into the night their vigils keep. 
 
 Scarce one short league had Glenwood gained. 
 While his pursuers hotly strained 
 To intercept his lagging flight, 
 Ere the two foremost came in sight ; 
 And reined their foaming steeds before 
 The now deserted mansion's door ; 
 While their swift followers gathered near 
 In silent groups. Had thought of fear 
 
PONSTANCE. 103 
 
 Ne'er blanched the cheek, nor chilled the breast 
 
 Of either; yet, with lips compressed, 
 
 And boding eye, and darkened brow 
 
 Each looked his fear ; and neither now 
 
 To meet the other's look could bear, 
 
 And see his own reflected there. 
 
 But leaping to the ground, St. John 
 
 Unsheathed his sword ; and bidding on 
 
 His followers, as with trumpet call 
 
 To storm some leagered city's wall, 
 
 Rushed at the massive door, that swung 
 
 On easy hinge, as fiercely rung 
 
 His sword hilt on its panelled frame. 
 
 On, following fast, his soldiers came, 
 
 Whom quick command directed where 
 
 To search ; while up the oaken stair. 
 
 He passed ; through hall and gallery wide, 
 
 Through open door on either side ; 
 
 Yet found no token that could aught 
 
 Reveal of those he vainly sought. 
 
 Each empty room, with hollow tone, 
 
 Gave back the echo of his own, 
 
 As ever with increasing fear 
 
 He called and listened. Could they hear 
 
 Who but so late inhabited 
 
 The lonely manse, how quick had sped 
 
104 PONSTANCE. 
 
 The answer back. How quick had turned 
 On fleeting foe his wrath that inly burned. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Nor he alone, with fever'd rage, 
 
 Chafed like the lion in his cage. 
 
 Lee, who no less of zeal displayed, 
 
 Though more composed, his search had made 
 
 As one who knew the ancient manse 
 
 In every part ; and with keen glance 
 
 Each nook and corner had explored, 
 
 With many an ancient relic stored. 
 
 But baffled here, abroad, where spread 
 
 The ample lawn, his steps were led ; 
 
 Where, in the twilight falling fast, 
 
 Each object dimly seen, o'ercast 
 
 With shadow, he his search pursued, 
 
 And reached at last the friendly wood,. 
 
 On rear and flank that guardian stood, 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A long neglected road, he knew 
 Here pierced its sombre shadow through. 
 And recent footmarks deep impressed 
 Confirmed what he before had guessed- 
 Ere he had turned to summon nigh 
 His followers, met his searching eye 
 A ribbon, by the branch that swung 
 Of straggling bush that overhung 
 
PONSTANCE. 105 
 
 The path. Scarce was the token found, 
 Ere echoed to his bugle's sound 
 The stilly air, and came anon 
 His ready followers hastening on, 
 Who, marshalled near the stately hall, 
 AAvaited but their leader's call. 
 
 IX. 
 
 As way worn traveler listening, hears 
 
 Some distant sound of life, and fears 
 
 It may be foe; e'en while he mends 
 
 His pace, with earnest hope for friends : 
 
 So thousand hopes and fears, that passed, 
 
 As in a magic mirror glassed. 
 
 Within, now with alternate sway 
 
 Gave coloring to his fancy's play. 
 
 Hope that some bold, adventurous deed. 
 
 Or force of arms, or greater speed, 
 
 From foeman's ruthless hand might spare 
 
 The aged man, and maiden fair : 
 
 Fear that the desperate foe, pursued. 
 
 Their utmost efforts might elude ; 
 
 And far beyond their succor bear 
 
 The prize, 'neath foreign power to share 
 
 The sorrows of a captives' doom ; 
 
 Or find a refuge in the tomb. 
 
 These thoughts, and more, with rapid pace , 
 
 Had power in instant's time to trace 
 
106 P'ONSTANCE, 
 
 Their characters within his soul, 
 Like pen of scribe on parchment scroll ; 
 And armed for desperate deeds of might, 
 In sacred cause of love and right. 
 
 While thus he thought, rode at his side 
 
 His followers ; and impatient cried 
 
 St. John, who foremost in the train, 
 
 Now seized his comrade's bridle rein, 
 
 " Which way ! which way ! how rides the foe ? 
 
 Speak quick if thou hast aught to show ; 
 
 Time presses !" Lee the ribbon showed, 
 
 And pointed with his sword : " The road 
 
 Hath not been used for many a day 
 
 Till now ; yet could I find the way 
 
 At darkest midnight of the year : 
 
 Then haste we on nor dally here. 
 
 St. John and I the way will lead : 
 
 The rest close follow ; but with speed 
 
 That caution rules, for well the foe. 
 
 Whom we pursue each wile doth know, 
 
 And artifice to 'scape pursuit : 
 
 Then, save command, let all be mute." 
 
 Then spurring through the open glade, 
 He plunged into the deepening shade ; 
 
PONSTANCE, 107 
 
 And, following -two by two, close pressed, 
 
 In long and winding train, the rest. 
 
 The road was level for a space, 
 
 But thickly wooded ; scarce could trace 
 
 Of twilight, still that feebly glowed, 
 
 Pierce through the shade. Still on they rode, 
 
 With steady pace, and even line. 
 
 At length the way, with slow decline, 
 
 Towards lower level to descend 
 
 Began ; and wound with frequent bend, 
 
 Till reached the lowland, straight and free 
 
 It stretched, as far as eye could see. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Though Glenwood still held slower way, 
 At Stratford House the forced delay, 
 And search prolonged, had won him time 
 
 To pass the Rappahanock o'er, 
 And by a secret path to climb 
 
 The bluflfthat skirts its southern shore. 
 His followers here, with busy care. 
 For nightly shelter to prepare. 
 Their several occupations plied ; 
 While he, attended by his guide. 
 Sought where the cliffs o'erlooked the tide ; 
 And stood, like Highland chieftain now. 
 Upon the bare and rugged brow. 
 Surveying, with a glance as keen 
 As eagle's, the impressive scene. 
 
108 pONSTANCE. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The crescent moon, with silver light 
 Relieved the blackness of the night; 
 Yet not unveiled its deeper shade, 
 Where undulating vallies made 
 Long rifts ; almost that rose and fell, 
 Nov^r light, now dark, like ocean's swell. 
 The river, from its distant source, 
 Unwinding slow its sinuous course. 
 Upon its wide spread surface bore 
 The outlines dim of either shore ; 
 Whose rugged hills their shadows gave, 
 Reflected on the glittering wave. 
 No sound disturbed the silent air, 
 Nor sign of life was seen ; save where 
 Fled o'er the plain in wild career. 
 By fear pursued, some startled deer ; 
 Then, like some phantom of the night, 
 Swift vanished from the gazer's sight ; 
 While still more silent silence seemed : 
 As if, in slumber, one had dreamed, 
 And startled from his sleep, half rose ; 
 Then sank, more deeply still, to soft repose. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Long silent Glenwood stood ; then turned. 
 And to his guide ; " The truth hast learned, 
 How are these northern armies led ?" 
 " ' Tis still in doubt," he, answering said : 
 
PONSTANCE. 109 
 
 " Rumors are rife that south they wend, 
 
 And have commandment to attend 
 
 The Marquis ;* who, too well we know, 
 
 Hath proved no despicable foe. 
 
 Yet letters have been seized that tell 
 
 Of northern enterprise as well ; 
 
 That deeming further conquest vain 
 
 On southern soil, they still remain 
 
 To guard Manhattan." " Hast thou heard 
 
 That Count De Grasse hath pledged his word 
 
 To reach the waters of the bay 
 
 From Indies, at an early day ; 
 
 With six and twenty ships of line, 
 
 And other forces, to combine 
 
 In their behalf?" " That rumor too 
 
 Is rife, and much I fear, is true. 
 
 Yet hath Cornwallis at command 
 
 Abundant forces, to withstand 
 
 Combined assault by sea and land : 
 
 Though well his bravery may be tried, 
 
 For must we soon the issue bide." 
 
 XV. 
 
 " It may be so ;— but list !— a sound 
 As if an army pressed the ground. 
 It louder grows ; as through the trees, 
 Portending storm, the freshening breeze 
 Doth sweep. Now, on the farther side, 
 See ! one by one, three horsemen ride : 
 
 *Lafayette. 
 
110 PONSTANCE. 
 
 And now a fourth ; and follow more;— 
 
 But mark you well who rides before : 
 
 The nameless stranger thou didst show 
 
 On that same shore three months ago : 
 
 Mine enemy ; whom, since that day 
 
 I've sought :— but soft :— they come this way; 
 
 And see, beside the first now rides 
 
 A second, whose black charger glides 
 
 Like phantom steed that shuns the light. 
 
 He bears St. John. In fiercest fight, 
 
 Oft have our^words their cause maintained ; 
 
 Yet neither have the battle gained. 
 
 And now they seek for passage o'er 
 
 The waters, and, as one before 
 
 That oft had crossed, the first doth lead : 
 
 'Twere well be on our guard : with speed 
 
 Go thou, Le Claire and bid De Hass, 
 
 With twenty men, to guard the pass 
 
 By which we came. Should it be known, 
 
 But little mercy need be shown ; 
 
 For could we bar the passage long, 
 
 Against assailant trebly strong," 
 
 The river passed, and gained the land. 
 Could Glenwood hear the quick command 
 Of " Forward," as with swifter pace 
 They galloped o'er the open space. 
 
PONSTANCE. ill 
 
 And halted 'neath the rugged height, 
 Where he, secure from treacherous light, 
 'Neath friendly screen of branch and leaf. 
 Could watch their further move. 'Twas brief; 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The road, dividing here, became 
 
 Two separate paths ; though scarce such name 
 
 Was just ; for had thick undergrowth 
 
 Almost obliterated both ; 
 
 But, struggling through encroaching wood. 
 
 That more and more the way withstood, 
 
 They met once more in open road, 
 
 Whose smoother passage onward flowed, 
 
 As mountain streams, through narrow gorge 
 
 Opposed by rocks, a channel forge ; 
 
 Till, toil and fury spent, they gain 
 
 In one broad stream the level plain. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Short converse held the leaders two ; 
 Then each his followers withdrew, 
 And sought, by different path, a way 
 Up the steep cliff where Glenwood lay : 
 Who now withdrew, and swift retraced 
 His steps, to where his guard was placed. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Well had he said that soldier bold 
 'Gainst treble foe the place could hold. 
 
1 2 PONSTANCE. 
 
 For reared by Nature, walls of stone, 
 
 Now loosely piled, now overthrown 
 
 In fragments huge, with rugged front • 
 
 Opposed their threat' ning strength ; like brunt 
 
 Of serried weapons in the fray, 
 
 That bars advancing victor's way. 
 
 A hidden inlet, to the keep, 
 
 By path circuitous and steep, 
 
 Gave entrance ; but accustomed^eye 
 
 Alone the opening could espy ; 
 
 For well by clinging vine 'twas hid, 
 
 That swept the rocky pyramid, 
 
 And hung in gay festoons entwined, 
 
 Where'er its roots support could find. 
 
 XX. 
 
 When Glenwood reached his post, had Lee, 
 Close followed by his cavalry, 
 Just reached the spot, where if were made 
 Assault, his life had dearly paid. 
 But all unconscious that so near 
 Was serried rank of blade and spear, 
 He, to his second in command 
 Said, with slight gesture of his hand, 
 " These rocks might shelter well afford, 
 Or secret hold, to some wild horde ; 
 Who like the mountain;goat, secure 
 Could leap or cling, with footing sure." 
 
PONSTANCE. 115 
 
 Glenwood, the voice that once had stirred 
 His inmost soul, in silence heard : 
 Yet came its long-lost influence then, 
 And o'er his softened heart again 
 Swept as of old, while riding on, 
 In slow succession, one by one, 
 Three hundred stalwart troopers passed : 
 But all had vanished ere was seen the last. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Then spoke De Hass, in tone suppressed ; 
 " Marked you the token in his crest ? 
 For, by my faith, 'twas ribbon rare. 
 That late I saw our lady wear. 
 Most like, ere we had left the manse 
 'Twas lost, and by some evil chance 
 Was found by him, who guessed our way. 
 And now pursues." " What could betray 
 Our presence there ? When yestermorn 
 Our march began, no spy had borne 
 The tidings to St. John or Lee, 
 Of our long journey's destiny." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 "Yet ere that journey had begun, 
 Our numbers lessened vf ere by one." 
 " How ? Follower of mine had fled ?— 
 The minstrel !— Aye, on his base head 
 Discovery rests. 'Tis well unknown 
 
Il4 pONSTANCE, 
 
 lie came, or had his tidings flown 
 To other ears than he designed. 
 But, now their purpose is divined, 
 We'll means employ to wing tlieir speed, 
 And on some fruitless errand lead, 
 [Jntil our hostages we place 
 \yithin the Royal lines: then, grace 
 Of circumstance themselves may choose. 
 Nor we their challenge will refuse." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " How bears our prisoner fair the way ?" 
 
 " As born of noble blood, to say 
 
 Her thought she scorns : but well I guess, 
 
 For actions more than words express, 
 
 That for her sire her deep concern, 
 
 Small leisure gives her mind, to turn 
 
 To other thoughts." " Soon we must hence, 
 
 And bear them to the strong defence. 
 
 Of York ; whose armed walls may frown 
 
 On foes like these defiance down. 
 
 Yet till good distance they have won 
 
 We'll rest, and with the rising sun 
 
 Depart. Bid all take brief repose, 
 
 Save needful watch, but not disclose 
 
 Our plans." 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Meantime had joined again 
 
 St. John's and Lee's divided train. 
 
pONSTANCE. 115 
 
 And onward with unflagging speed 
 
 Urged their pursuit. At length to heed 
 
 'Gan Lee, his followers urgent need, 
 
 And thus his captain made protest ; 
 
 " So please you, sire, our steeds must rest ; 
 
 For have they held unbroken way, 
 
 Almost since noon of yesterday ; 
 
 And for our further march 'tis need 
 
 Our strength should be renewed." " Indeed, 
 
 He speaks but truth ; how says't St. John ?" 
 
 " Unwearied would I journey on 
 
 Till gained our end ; but for the good 
 
 Ofalllyield, In yonder wood 
 
 I know a glade where water flows ; 
 
 There may we halt for such repose 
 
 As time allows ; for morning's light 
 
 Now follows hard upon the night." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The glade was reached ; the tents were spread ; 
 The faithful steeds were groomed and fed ; 
 While, o'er the crackling blaze prepared, 
 Their homely meal the soldiers shared. 
 Then, with brief orison expressed, 
 Wrapped in his cloak, each sank to rest. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 O sleep ! they gentle boon who craves 
 Must earn the right to claim it. Slaves, 
 
Il6 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Whose toil but little respite knows. 
 Taste the sweet blessing of repose, 
 And dream of bliss that care denies, 
 In this dull world their waking eyes. 
 Yet powerless thou at times to charm 
 The soul ; or of dull care disarm 
 The mind ;— for while the soldiers slept, 
 Unceasing watch the leaders kept, 
 And paced with ever restless stride 
 Before the camp fire side by side ; 
 For anxious care forbade them rest, 
 And dull foreboding each oppressed. 
 
 At length spoke Lee, " Some demon, sure 
 Doth desecrate the night so pure, 
 Whose shadow foul doth to my heart 
 Some dull, oppressive sense impart, 
 Of what, I scarcely know."' " And I, 
 As if some strange event was nigh, 
 The same oppression share ; but sleep 
 All effort mocks, and while we keep 
 Our watch, my thought doth often turn 
 To thee ; and fain myself would learn 
 More, should it please thee more to show, 
 Of thine own life, than now I know : 
 Not idly curious, but as one 
 Who of heroic action done 
 
PONSTANCE. 117 
 
 Hath heard, and now like eager youth, 
 Burns a\ ith desire to know the truth." 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Long paused his comrade ere he spoke : 
 Then, as some secret thought awoke. 
 He turned, and thus St. John addressed, 
 
 In accents stern, yet faltering still. 
 As if some secret grief oppressed, 
 
 And shook the firmness of his will : 
 " Had I no thought that human ear 
 The story of my life should hear: 
 Yet, for I call thee friend, who ne'er 
 Had hoped with man again to share 
 Kind interchange of friendly deed, 
 Its secret history thou shalt read. 
 And in its sadness well mays't say 
 How he the penalty doth pay. 
 Who yields to passion's blinded sway." 
 He paused, and leaning 'gainst an oak, 
 While stood his comrade near, thus spoke : 
 
 *' Born where the sun's intensest ray 
 Draws out to endless length the day. 
 My nature owned his fierce control ; 
 And struggled in mine infant soul 
 A spirit, whose impetuous thought 
 Quick to the birth its impulse brought ; 
 
Il8 pONSTANCE. 
 
 And flashed to life, with lightning speed. 
 
 Each ill begotten word or deed. 
 
 To manhood grown, more fiercely burned 
 
 The smouldering flame, and ofttimes spumed 
 
 All semblance of control, and hurled 
 
 Me captive through a blinded world, 
 
 By passion madly driven. Yet came 
 
 Eepentance oft, to nobler aim 
 
 That led. 'Twas in this milder mood 
 
 There came to tame my nature rude, 
 
 One. who as from another sphere. 
 
 Seemed but a stranger lingering here, 
 
 By Heaven commissioned me to bless 
 
 With brief but untold happiness." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " A revelation to my soul. 
 
 The influence of her soft control 
 
 Came like divinest airs, that blow 
 
 From Indian isles. I loved, and oh r 
 
 To love ! 'tis Heaven ! What soul can tell , 
 
 That never knew its blissful spell, 
 
 The transport that within our souls, 
 
 A burning tide of passion rolls :— 
 
 We, foster children of the sun. 
 
 Who live ten thousand lives in one !" 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Quick to his feet the soldier sprang. 
 And with each move impatient, rang 
 
PONSTANCE. 119 
 
 His amis, as -with impetuous stride 
 
 He paced the rugged iugleside. 
 
 At length, as from some foe released, 
 
 By slow degrees his labor ceased; 
 
 And panting still, as he had done 
 
 Some deed of battle scarcely won 
 
 By potent force, he slow returned 
 
 To where the camp fire brightly burned. 
 
 And thus his waiting friend addressed. 
 
 Almost as he some ftiult confessed : 
 
 " E'en noAV, when burns the fire of youth 
 
 More tamely, chilled by years, in truth, 
 
 Through every nerve and vein, as then, 
 
 I feel its old time force again." 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 He paused, then said with voice constrained, 
 
 As if the mere recital pained 
 
 His heart : " She my deep love returned ; 
 
 But, for no cause apparent, spurned 
 
 My suit her father. Ne'er I knew 
 
 The reason ; nor would hvimbly sue 
 
 For her, whom Nature made my own ; 
 
 Who lived for me, and me alone. 
 
 We met in secret, and were wed : 
 
 Soon known the truth became. He said 
 
 No word, but in his look appeared 
 
 An evil spirit that I feared,— 
 
120 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Kot for myself :— his tide of wrath 
 Might spend its force, ere from my path 
 By breadth of hair I turned aside; 
 But yet I trembled for my bride ; 
 And strove his purpose to unfold, 
 With every art my mind controlled." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " At length one morn, with purpose fell, 
 Me he commissioned to compel 
 Submission from a lawless band 
 Of robbers, wandering through the land. 
 I sought their haunts with twenty men. 
 Through every mountain pass and glen 
 We rode, yet found no lingering trace 
 Of their abode. At easy pace 
 Eeturning, careless of the way, 
 From ambush where they hidden lay, 
 Poured forth the foe a murderous fire. 
 My men, thrown in confusion dire 
 Scarce rallied, but in coward flight 
 Sought their escape. In woeful plight, 
 One follower with myself remained. 
 Resolved to fight or die ; but deigned 
 No further battle then to show, 
 Still hidden from our eyes, the foe. 
 Then turned we to our fallen friends, 
 To know if care might make amends 
 
PONSTANCE. 
 
 In those that wounded were to stay 
 Departing life. Save one all lay 
 In death's embrace. He strove to speak, 
 And though through loss of blood so weak 
 That scarce I heard, ere he expired 
 I learned that he for gold was hired 
 To be my murderer : the pretence 
 This journey was, to lead me hence 
 From home. Repentant now had he 
 Revealed the deadly plot to me." 
 
 XXXIV, 
 
 " I heard with horror : yet belief 
 Came hardly. Seemed it dear relief 
 To see once more my loved one's face. 
 And there forget all deadly trace 
 Of crime; but, ere had sped the day, 
 New horror came, to chase away 
 The last. On that same battle ground. 
 Her sire, my foe, was murdered found ; 
 Though by w hat coward hand he fell 
 Was mystery deep that none could tell." 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 "At length, as whispered tales arose, 
 (We two were known as bitterest foes.) 
 Me for her mark suspicion made; 
 On every side my steps waylaid 
 
122 PONSTANCE. 
 
 With rumors, and dark hints, that hung 
 Like venonied poison from each tongue ; 
 Till maddened by the false awards, 
 That pierced my soul like very swords, 
 I fled as from a living death, 
 Each moment that with fiery breath 
 My life assailed. On soil cf France 
 I landed first. The broad expanse 
 Of waters, like a barrier rose, 
 Betwixt myself and hated foes. 
 Scarce safe from fear, with rapid flight 
 Came news that like a ray of light 
 My soul illumed. The robber hoard 
 Subdued at last by victor's sword ; 
 Their chief, now under just arrest, 
 Himself the murderer had confessed. 
 A base born hound, who for his wealth 
 Waylaid his steps, and struck by stealth, 
 All unawares, the fatal blow 
 That laid his haughty spirit low. 
 Yet following hard the short relief, 
 Came deep and agonizing grief: 
 For she,— my wife, — was dead, and died, 
 The selfsame day that o'er the tide, 
 Was wafted news of my release 
 From dread suspicion. To increase 
 My woe, if ought could added be. 
 The child that had been born to me 
 
PONSTANCE. 123 
 
 With her was dead. O lonely world ! 
 As if from some high station hvirled 
 Down, down, till far from haunts of men 
 By unseen forces driven ; and then 
 Of human sympathy bereft, 
 In utter desolation left, 
 My soul no comfort knew." Like bard, 
 Whose melancholy tones retard. 
 Then die away, he ceased. St. John, 
 Himself moved deeply, mused upon 
 His words, while swift suspicion came. 
 That scarcely yet his mind could frame 
 In due proportion. Every word, 
 Now with abated breath he heard. 
 
 " Came to me then, like knell that tolls 
 The requiem for departing souls. 
 Her loving words, that urged me hence 
 With tender plea in my defence. 
 " ' O love ; than life itself more dear ; 
 
 Whose life mine own would purchase now ; 
 Yet must thou stay no longer here, 
 
 To seal, with love, the lover's vow. 
 Thou know'st,— 'tis for the pledge T bear. 
 That I thy peril may not share ; 
 But thou to distant land may'st speed 
 While unavenged the murderer's deed, 
 
124 PONSTANCE. 
 
 Till time shall prove thine innocence, 
 Mine own ;— O stay not ! — speed from hence! 
 You white winged coursers, Avhere they fly 
 On bounding keel, 'twixt earth and sky, 
 Shall bear thee swiftly on the way : 
 O haste ! or else thy life must pay 
 The forfeit dread. Fly ! fly !— for me 
 Fear not : to know that thou art free 
 Shall be my solace ; till that time, 
 When in some other, happier clime 
 We meet, and in that blissful day. 
 Shall love a thousand fold repay.' "' 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " O could the tongues of angels plead 
 
 For man, in time of direst need, 
 
 Then had I never left my own, 
 
 To wander through the world alone. 
 
 Then had I braved suspicion's power, 
 
 And stood acquitted, in the hour 
 
 That gave to crime its just award, 
 
 And on the murderer vengeance poured. 
 
 Then love had triumphed over hate, 
 
 And happiness inviolate 
 
 Had been :— but came such thought too late. 
 
 Remorse and bitter anguish came : 
 
 Then waked with tenfold power the flame 
 
 Of passion, Ijlazing to the sky. 
 
 Almost the Heavens I could defy. 
 
pONSTANCE. 125 
 
 And sought to wreak on all mankind 
 The fierce revenge that filled my mind." 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 " In war's rude toil relief I sought, 
 
 And like avenging fury fought ; 
 
 For lived my wrongs in every foe 
 
 And recompense in every blow. 
 
 But rest came never ; peace was fled, 
 
 And, save revenge, all else seemed dead.' 
 
 At length in desperate fight were slain 
 
 My comrades all, and prisoner ta'en 
 
 Myself. In dungeon deep confined. 
 
 My spirit broken, not resigned, 
 
 Became a prisoner to despair. 
 
 Seven weary years I languished there : 
 
 The conqueror's death then made me free. 
 
 Released from bonds and tyranny. 
 
 Ere long I sought my native shore, 
 
 And reached my boyhood's home once more, 
 
 To find my rightful place had won 
 
 Another ; image of the son 
 
 By wayward passions led astray. 
 
 Who fled to foreign lands aAvay ; 
 
 In many a battle fought and bled. 
 
 And was reported long since dead." 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " And how,— speak truly— art thou named ?" 
 St. John, with breathless voice exclaimed. 
 
126 pONSTANCK, 
 
 " I many names have borne : men call 
 
 Me rightly Henry Percival." 
 
 *' And wherefore Lee ?" " ' Tis rightly mine, 
 
 Though not in strict ancestral line. 
 
 My mother bore it ere she wed ; 
 
 From ancient sires inherited." 
 
 XL. 
 
 " Then art thon truly that lost son, 
 Whose place, unknowingly, I won. 
 
 hads't thou read the secret right. 
 When thou as stranger came that night: 
 How doth thy noble sire for thee 
 
 Still bear as tender memory 
 As when the fatal news first came. 
 That perished was his race and name- 
 Yet Heaven for all this grief doth send, 
 In Constance most divine amend,"— 
 " Oft and again her gentle face 
 Hath haunted me, with its fair grace. 
 And comes another, too, with eyes 
 Like hers; that once, 'neath southern skies 
 
 1 wooed and won ;— and loved ;— but lost 
 Ere twice the sun his circle crossed. 
 Yet, for the love her memory bears, 
 And the regret, with love that shares 
 My heart, this gentle maiden fair, 
 
 Hath found her own sweet welcome there." 
 
POMSTANCE. 127 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " I had a daughter once. Her name 
 
 Was Constance too ; and she the same 
 
 111 years as this fair maid had grown. 
 
 Bat her j^oung life was early flown ; 
 
 And in her mother's grave. she slept, 
 
 Where both, with bitterest tears were wept."— 
 
 " Not so ! In vain such tears were shed ; 
 
 Hast thou no daughter 'mong the dead ! '' 
 
 In Constance lives thine own, true heir; 
 
 Whose mother, dying, bade them bear 
 
 And place witliin thy father's care ; 
 
 With charge that he the child should rear, 
 
 Till thou to claim her should'st appear." 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " Oft have I heard the story told; 
 
 How, for accursed lu.st of gold. 
 
 Before thy sire his right could claim 
 
 In her, who only bears thy name, 
 
 The fatal news had crossed the sea, 
 
 That falsely told her death to thee : 
 
 And thou, ere could the truth be known 
 
 Beyond his knowledge long had flown, 
 
 Whom all these years he mourned." " Xot dead, — 
 
 And Constance lives ? O when had sped 
 
 My life in that dull prison, came,— 
 
 And then 'twas all I had,— her name ; 
 
128 pONSTANCE. 
 
 And with the lesson that it bore 
 Brought back my faith, solong before 
 That left me : 'twas an angel's hand 
 That gave me life and bade me stand." 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " But while we linger here, away 
 
 By ruthless hands she's borne :— the day 
 
 Doth break anon ; why longer wait ? 
 
 On ! on !— thou still don't hesitate ? 
 
 But thou has never known the love 
 
 A father Dears :" "Hold ! hold ! I'll prove 
 
 Mpre than thou know'st : but prudence stil 
 
 Doth counsel some delay ; or ill 
 
 Ourselves, and those on whom depend 
 
 Success, prepared to meet the end. 
 
 Delay one hour ; and, as we may 
 
 Some rest obtain ; that with the day 
 
 Our plans matured, may full success 
 
 Ere long our every effort bless." 
 
€AMTO K 
 
 THE CHASE. 
 
 I. 
 
 The world sleeps on. Are hushed in brief repose 
 Her children ; who, oblivious of the day, 
 
 Alike forget their pleasures or their woes 
 'Neath night's mj sterious influence : but away 
 With silent tread she steals; as dimly gray 
 
 The dawn appears; and roused to life once more, 
 
 The busy toil goes on, as aye before. 
 
 II. 
 Scarce was the opening morn disclosed, 
 Through leafy branches that opposed 
 His path, ere from uneasy bed 
 St. John and Percival had sped, 
 And as on winged chargers flew; 
 But whither, e'en themselves scarce knew ; 
 vSave that with ardor unsubdued 
 f liey labored now to clear the wood. 
 
130 pONSTi^CE. 
 
 At length, a welcome opening gained, 
 
 Their eyes with eager glance were strained^ 
 
 O'er the wide vale that tribute paid 
 
 To York's broad stream. From distant glade 
 
 A solitary horseman came, 
 
 And towards them rode. His arms the same. 
 
 And dress, as those they wore : his steed 
 
 High mettled, as he curbed his speed, 
 
 Chafed with impatience. As he neared 
 
 Insignia of his rank appeared : 
 
 A herald's blazoned arms, that shone 
 
 His richly broidered vest upon. 
 
 Still nearer, halting, he addressed 
 
 St. John, who stood before the rest : 
 
 " Right noble greeting, brave St. John, 
 
 I bear to thee from Washington ; 
 
 Who bids thee, with convenient speed. 
 
 To hasten southward ; where 'tis need 
 
 That all his forces now combine, 
 
 Ere with the foe, in battle line 
 
 Is issue joined. Two days I've sought, 
 
 And chance hath now our meeting brought. 
 
 Mine eri'and's told : I'll on." " Yet stay : 
 
 Know that we seek, since yesterday, 
 
 A lawless chief, Glenwood by name, 
 
 Who late, with evil purpose, came 
 
pONSTANCE. 131 
 
 Where dwelt an aged man in peace, 
 With lais fair child, for their release 
 Demanding one who there, he said, 
 Offender 'gainst their laws was fled ; 
 But failing, made themselves his prize, 
 And now, we know not Avhither, flies. 
 Know'st thou of him ?" 
 
 IV. 
 " Nought do I know 
 Of such :— j'et, but few hours ago, 
 At little distance passed me by 
 A troop of horse, that seemed to fly, 
 As bent on some aggressive deed 
 That urged them on with utmost speed : 
 And now,— methinks,— and yet my sight 
 Might be deceived, — a palfrey white 
 Midmost I saw, a maid that bore,"— 
 " Then on ! our quarry's still before, — 
 Yet, for thy words somewhat have cheered 
 Our hearts, much evil that have feared, 
 Kind thanks good herald,— on brave men! 
 Speed swiftly on ! I breathe again." 
 
 v. 
 Like cloud that flies before the gale, 
 Swept the bold horsemen o'er the vale, 
 And watched their rapid course the while 
 The herald, with contemptuous smile, 
 
132 PONSTANCE. 
 
 That grimly o'er his features played : 
 Then turned, reentering the glade ; 
 Doffed his accoutrements with care, 
 And stood once more the scout, Le Claire. 
 Then riding back, where Glenwood stood, 
 Just in the edges of the wood, 
 Said, pointing to the flying troops, 
 " See, to his prey the eagle swoops. 
 Now have we here a gallant chase, 
 Where the pursuer wins the race." 
 
 When the first beam of light that glowed 
 In eastern sky the morning showed, 
 Glenwood, with all his numerous train 
 Had left his hiding place, to gain 
 By path where he alone could lead, 
 The open country : for till freed 
 From the close wood where, hid secure. 
 Unnumbered foes might lie, unsure 
 Was every step; and sought he now, 
 With many a deeply muttered vow, 
 (Repentant of his hasty course 
 In taking from their home by force 
 His prisoners,) Avith the least delay 
 To rid him of their further stay : 
 For, till safe refuge was obtained 
 For tliem, he was perforce restrained 
 
PONSTANCE. 1^' 
 
 From challenge with the mortal foe, 
 So near that passed few hours ago. 
 
 VII. 
 
 When gained the edges of the wood, 
 Well knowing he was still pursued, 
 He halted 'neath its thickest shade, 
 While issueing from a neighboring 
 The scout rode forth the foe to meet, 
 As friendly messenger, to greet 
 With tidings from their distant chief; 
 That won, as we have seen, belief. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Beholding now from his retreat, 
 Where o'er the plain their coursers fleet 
 Far to the dim horizon bore. 
 Like ships that sought some friendly shore. 
 He onward with his forces sped 
 Where his pursuers swiftly led ; 
 And all that morn their path he knew 
 By clouds of dust on high that blew. 
 But long ere night approached 'twas lost. 
 And when York's river they had crossed 
 No further clue the pathway showed. 
 Where with untiring speed they rode. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Unhindered had their journey been 
 Throughout the day ; but now, within 
 
134 PONSTANCE. 
 
 The narrowing circle, where, 'twas plain 
 To thoughtful minds, that not in vain 
 The struggle* soon must culminate 
 In some fierce crisis, ere too late, 
 Was Glenwood minded to retrace 
 His steps ; again his prisoners place 
 In their own halls, returning free 
 To aid the glorious victory, 
 That now, with sanguine hope imbued, 
 Not distant far his spirit viewed. 
 But confident, e'en over bold. 
 And well believing York could hold 
 Her own against invading force. 
 Resolved with still unchanging course 
 To hasten on, with brief delay 
 For rest. With dangers now the way 
 Was thiclc beset : on York were bent 
 All eyes, and centred there intent, 
 All interest through the land. The foe, 
 Assembled now to overthrow, 
 ('Twas fondly hoped,) the kingly power. 
 Were closing round : if lost one hour 
 His forward move was checked ; retreat 
 Was vain, and nought but dire defeat 
 Remained : but with undaunted will. 
 His brave allies determined still 
 
 *The royal forces were encamped in and about Yorktown, while 
 the French and American troops were closing around them, in pre- 
 paration for a prolonged siege. 
 
P'ONSTANCE. 1^5 
 
 To join, his further march he stayed 
 Until with swift approach tlie shade 
 Of night had come : then on once more 
 They moved, but slower than before. 
 Each soldier rode with sabre bare : 
 Each step was made with guarded care ; 
 And far the hours of night were sped, 
 And high the moon hung overhead, 
 Ere they had reached, where spread below 
 In even order, row on row, 
 Stood the white tents where slept the foe. 
 Still further back the city lay, 
 And gleamed the waters of the bay 
 Beyond; where ships at anchor rode, 
 And dimly in the moonlight showed. 
 
 With eager eye he scanned the ground 
 For safe approach, where circled round 
 With armies, lay the citadel 
 He fain wovild reach. 'Twas guarded well ; 
 But on the north, where York\s broad tide 
 A shallow, marshy creek supplied, 
 He knew a pathway could be found. 
 That near the leagured city wound ; 
 And but that path in safety gained, 
 Might speedy entrance be obtained. 
 
136 pONSTANCK. 
 
 XI. 
 
 At length resolve was ta'en. His steed 
 He turned, and took himself the lead, 
 Descending to the river's bank ; 
 Then formed his troops in closer rank. 
 Gave short command, and onward sped, 
 With rapid pace, but noiseless tread. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Night shone resplendent o'er the camp. 
 No more was heard the warder's tramp ; 
 Who lost in reverie mused of home, 
 And happier days that yet might come, 
 When war's rude weapons laid aside 
 Might gentler peace once more abide. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The river scarce one murmur gave, 
 Save when at times some larger wave, 
 With plash and ripple overflowed 
 Their pathway, as they onward rode. 
 The giant ships, whose mighty spars, 
 Like veterans of an hundred wars. 
 Loomed tall and ghostly, gave no sign 
 Of life : along the low, dark line 
 That marked the city, pacing slow, 
 The sentry watched for coming foe; 
 Then halted, as his ear had caught 
 Some distant sound with danger fraught ; 
 
PONSTANCE. l^J 
 
 And listening, as the sound drew near, 
 
 Rang out his challenge, loud and clear, 
 
 " Who comes ?" " Friends : 'neath the flag we ride 
 
 Of England ;" Glenwood quick replied ; 
 
 And swept with all liis followers past. 
 
 The wished for goal attained at last. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Each watchful sentry roused ancAV, 
 From lip to lip the challenge flew ; 
 But soon the welcome truth was said, 
 And save once more his measured tread, 
 No sound disturbed the silent night,' 
 Till life returned with morning's light. 
 
 Yet had his vision been more keen, 
 Could he, not distant far, have seen 
 Two horsemen, who their steeds had reined 
 And for few moments' space remained : 
 Then turned, and by a pathway steep 
 Toiled upwards, where with giant sweep 
 The bluffs arose commanding well 
 Far distant view. Here they might tell 
 Each tent, e'en most remote, whose fold 
 Gleamed in the moonlight ; or where rolled 
 The river, mark earh rippling wave. 
 And hear the lightest sound it gave. 
 
138 PONSTANCE. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 A hasty camp had here been made, 
 And round about, within the shade, 
 (For still the mild September left 
 Some trees of covering unbereft,) 
 The soldiers slept, save one , who stood 
 As guardian o'er the solitude. 
 When reached the spot the riders two 
 To him their bridles lightly threw, 
 And sought their own repose, while spoke 
 St. John, who first the silence broke ; 
 " Now have we tracked him to his den, 
 And when the morning breaks again, 
 Yon army roused in their defence. 
 We'll from his clutches bear them hence: 
 Then, till the night doth wear away, 
 To briefest rest, — if rest we may." 
 
 • XVII. 
 
 Still following, as they thought, the foe. 
 We left them but few hours ago ; 
 And still no further clue they found. 
 But by true soldiers' duty bound, 
 Their posts in battle sought to gain, 
 And hoped some knowledge to obtain ; 
 St. John well knowing he could move 
 A thousand ready hearts, to prove 
 In such a cause their loyal love. 
 
pONSTANCE. 139 
 
 XVIII. 
 By different paths, as chance ordained, 
 At midnight they the spot had gained 
 Where, sliortly after, Glenwood viewed 
 Tlie silent camp : but restless mood, 
 Ere his approach had further led 
 Their steps, and as with noiseless tread 
 He wended toward the river's shore, 
 And neared the city, swiftly bore 
 St. John and Percival behind ; 
 Who, still to watchful zeal inclined, 
 Rode on, yet scarce with what intent 
 Themselves could tell. Their glances bent 
 Upon the river's gleaming tide , 
 First saw their shadowy figures glide 
 Along the shore : the sentry's cry 
 Had heard, and knew the voice that made reply ; 
 Then backward turned, with hope elate, 
 The first gray be ims of morn to wait. 
 
 As night's dark curtains slow withdrawn 
 Revealed the light, new hope to dawn 
 Began in either soldier's breast, 
 Who, roused from broken sleep, oppressed 
 By fitful dreams, glad welcome gave 
 To morn. O'er York's far-reaching wave 
 The mists, now tinged with roseate hue. 
 
140 PONSTANCE. 
 
 Slow parting, let the sunlight through ; 
 
 Then rolled away like clouds of smoke, 
 
 As with increasing splendor broke 
 
 The glory of his rising beam, 
 
 Attd danced upon the glittering stream, 
 
 And tipped the hills with fire, and played 
 
 O'er trembling leaf, and hidden glade, 
 
 Till with electric life was filled 
 
 All nature, that with rapture thrilled 
 
 Beneath the magic touch of day, 
 
 And with one voice attuned her matin lay. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Now, through the smoky wreaths upreared, 
 
 Tall masts and slanting spars appeared ; 
 
 Then, as the clouds still lower fell. 
 
 Dark hulls loomed through the misty swell. 
 
 And active forms were seen to lend 
 
 United force, aloft to send 
 
 The sails, their dripping folds to dry 
 
 Beneath the clear October sky. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A flash ! the nearest vessel speaks, 
 And floats from six and twenty peaks 
 The flag imperial of France, 
 Whose colors in the sunlight glance. 
 And hark ! from Gloucester's distant shore. 
 With fierce reply, the lion's roar 
 
POKSTAKC^. 141 
 
 Is heard, and waves in heavy fold 
 The royal standard, rich with gold, 
 Of England. With responsive shout 
 York rings her fiery challenge out, 
 And, answering to her brave ally, 
 Like emblem from her walls doth fly. 
 And back, where with converging sweep 
 Their sleepless watch two armies keep, 
 Rings out a Welcome to the morn, 
 And flag of France again is borne 
 On high ; and near, fraternal Avaves 
 That flag, upborne o'er patriot graves, 
 A nation's name that gave the land, 
 Whose sons in Freedom's right here stand. * 
 
 XXII. 
 
 St. John and Percival, from brow 
 Of distant mount beholding now, 
 Fired at the scene, with martial zeal, 
 At sight of war that soldiers feel ; 
 And, ere they hastened from the spot, 
 For one brief moment's space forgot 
 Their errand, and with loyal pride, 
 In shout that echoed far and wide, 
 
 *0n the 28th of September, 1771, the combined armies of French 
 and Americans marched from Williamsburg and encamped about 
 Yorktown. By the 1st of October the line of besiegers formed a 
 semicircle, each end resting on the river, and the city was com- 
 pletely invested by land; while Count De Grasse, with the main fleet 
 remained in Lynn Haven Bay to keep off assistance by sea. 
 
142 PoNSTANCE, 
 
 The soldiers led, who, at the cry, 
 
 Waved swords and plumed helms on high ; 
 
 Then setting spurs they galloped on, 
 
 And ere another hour had gone 
 
 Had neared the camp, when sudden rose, 
 
 Like triumph hymn o'er conquered foes, 
 
 A slow, majestic strain, that clear 
 
 And musical came floating near 
 
 From rustic church, whose taper spire 
 
 Cast o'er the battle ground its shade ; 
 Where simple priest and village choir 
 
 Their morning orisons now paid. 
 
 xxm. 
 As with instinctive awe they heard 
 The solemn hymn, whose every word 
 Full chorus wafted through the air, 
 They halted : 'twas the battle prayer. 
 
 BATTLE PRAYER. 
 1. 
 God of Gods : to thee we pray : 
 Hear us on the battle day. 
 By thine arm the right maintain ; 
 By thy power the foe restrain ; 
 Bj^ thy gracious wisdom, deign 
 Us to guide, 
 Whate'er betide : 
 
 God of battles, hear. 
 
pONSTANCE. 1'45 
 
 Lord of lords : to thee we cry; 
 
 Save us when the battle's nigh. 
 By thy deep compassion aid 
 Homes bereft and faith betrayed ; 
 Feeble age and helpless maid; 
 
 Over all 
 
 Let mercy fall : 
 
 Lord of battles, save. 
 
 3. 
 Light of lights : to thee we sue ; 
 Lead our hosts the battle through. 
 By thy grace sustain and cheer ; 
 By thy presence banish fear ; 
 And in darkest hour be near, 
 Still to shine 
 \S ith flame divine ; 
 
 Light of battles, lead. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Died on the air the stately hymn ; 
 
 But many a soldier's eye grew dim 
 
 With deep emotions, that diffused 
 
 In channels long till then unused. 
 
 Came from the door the thronging crowd, 
 
 And passed them by, nor spoke aloud, 
 
 But gazed, and turned to gaze again 
 
144 PONSTANCE, 
 
 With wonder, at the warlike men, 
 
 Who as iheir leader's voice was heard, 
 
 Roused them once more and onward spurred ; 
 
 Boon reached the outposts, passed them through, 
 
 And 'twixt the allied armies drew 
 
 Their bridles Cheer on cheer was sent 
 
 On high, and with loud echoes rent 
 
 The heavens, as passed that gallant band, 
 
 For every soldier in the land 
 
 Knew brave St. John, and his bold corps 
 
 Of troopers ; welcoming the more. 
 
 For unexpectedly he came, 
 
 To lend the lustre of his name 
 
 And well earned valour, now to win 
 
 The battle that must soon begin. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Who, but with throbbing heart can feel, 
 And quickening pulse, the outpoured zeal, 
 That with spontaneous impulse springs 
 From thousand tongues to life, and brings 
 To one, who for the hour controls, 
 The tribute of a thousand souls. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 St. John, whose inmost soul was stirred, 
 Their echoing plaudits as he heard. 
 Doffed helm and plume, while rose the cry 
 Still louder, as he pas^sed them by. 
 
PONSTANCE. 145 
 
 But, for their weighty errand now 
 No further hindrance might allow, 
 Both onward rode, till they had gained 
 The highest ground ; their chargers reined, 
 And, leaping from the saddle stood 
 Where Washington his troops reviewed. 
 And, with his generals standing by. 
 The coming battle planned. His eye 
 Had marked St. John ere he drew near. 
 And had he heard the soldiers' cheer, 
 Nor wondered, for the soldier brave 
 Himself high commendation gave, 
 And gladly now, ere they assailed 
 The leagured foe, his coming hailed, 
 Whose prowess well their arms might aid. 
 Yet of his mind was naught betrayed. 
 By look or speech, till at his side 
 St. John had checked his rapid ride. 
 And with brief courtesy expressed, 
 Thus made, for both, his earnest quest : 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " O sire, ere doth the battle speed. 
 For brief delay and milder deed 
 We sue. Within yon city's walls. 
 Forth from their own ancestral halls, 
 By most oppressive force betrayed, 
 An aged man and gentle maid 
 
146 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Are held. War 'tis unmeet to wage 
 'Gainst woman, or 'gainst feeble age? 
 And, for themselves the sight unmeet 
 Of battle. Do we then entreat 
 That from our foemen thou demand 
 Their restoration to our hand. 
 As sons for a loved sire we sue ; 
 As father for a daughter true ; 
 ■ And— more— " the soldier ceased: so high 
 His proud heart swelled : suffused his eye ; 
 And duller mind than his who heard 
 The truth had guessed, though unaverred. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Made he most noble answer then : 
 "Would that we waged not war 'gainst men ; 
 But woman hath a claim indeed 
 Most sacred. Thou thyself shalt speed 
 With flag of truce, and in my name 
 To their commander urge thy claim ; 
 But haste ;— our work must be begun, 
 Ere high hath risen this morning's sun."* 
 
 *This incident is taken from an actual historical fact, thus re- 
 lated by Irving in his Life of Washington. " Gov. Nelson, of Vir- 
 ginia, had an old uncle in Yorktown, who had taken no part in the 
 Revolution, and had no personal enmity to apprehend from the 
 English. He had two sons in Washington's army, who were in 
 great alarm for his safety. At their urgent request Washington sent 
 in a flag desiring that their father might be permitted to leave the 
 place. Lord Cornwallis had not the inhumanity to refuse so just a 
 request." 
 
PONSTANCE. 147 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Within the city's walls, meantime, 
 Had briefly rung the matin chime ; 
 And, called by roll of warlike drum, 
 Each soldier to his post had come ; 
 While busy preparation rife, 
 Gave token of the coming strife. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 At distance from the martial scene 
 Of half the town, that lay between. 
 Were lodged the prisoners , nor debarred 
 Their freedom ; for each watchful guard, 
 On distant post his round pursued, 
 Or in the outer trenches stood. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 O'ercome with weariness now slept 
 Her grandsire. Constance vigil kept : 
 Though wearied too, oft sought her eye 
 Through casement wide the glowing sky, 
 That told of night's departed reign, 
 And joyous day returned again. 
 Her ear had caught the distant drum, 
 And now discerned the mingled hum 
 Of step, and voice, and armor's clang, 
 And all the varied sounds that rang 
 Now near at hand, then more remote. 
 But ever with portentous note. 
 
48 pONSTANCE. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Well suited to her pensive mood 
 Was the unwonted solitude ; 
 And well her fancy loved to stray, 
 
 And picture, still the same, 
 That well remembered, happy day, 
 
 When first her lover came. 
 Anon was wafted through the air, 
 'Mid warlike sounds a stranger there, 
 From neighboring turret's window high 
 A song, that came as from the sky. 
 Some prisoner, ta'en by war's mischance, 
 While gazing o'er the broad expanse, 
 Where from his prison stretched the bay, 
 Thus sang, to while the time away. 
 
 SONG. 
 1. 
 
 For thee, my love, for thee I live ; 
 And but thy smile its brightness give, 
 Though other light refuse to shine, 
 None other needs my soul than thine, 
 
 2. 
 Yet fairest maid, to thee unknown. 
 Lives in my heart that love alone : 
 And lips that fain the truth would tell 
 From thee must guard their secret well. 
 
PONSTANCE. 149 
 
 3. 
 But hope, e'en from a prison springs, 
 To soar aloft on happy wings ; 
 And come that day or soon or late, 
 Unwearied still, my love can wait. 
 
 O hope ! divinest messenger, 
 
 Speed on, speed on to comfort her; 
 
 So fair, so patient, who in chains 
 
 Of love and duty bound remains. 
 
 Ah ! could she know that while she thought, 
 
 As if the very wish had brought 
 
 Her love, he to her rescue flew, 
 
 And nearer now each moment drew. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Scarce conscious, while she sadly mused. 
 Of a strange silence, that unused 
 Had hushed each sound, and now o'er all 
 The city hung like funeral pall, 
 Through the deep reverie of her soul, 
 At length with subtle power it stole. 
 And roused her, Avith a sudden fear, 
 As of mysterious danger near. 
 Assured that still her grandsire slept, 
 Up the broad stair she lightly stepped. 
 And reached the open roof, whence wide 
 The view was spread on every side- 
 
1^0 PONSTANCE. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Far in the front the bulwarks rose 
 In varied lines, that kept the foes 
 At bay; bflfond, the level field, 
 Where, curved in semblance of a shield, 
 In double lines the hostile force 
 Stood to their arms. With rapid course, 
 Two horsemen now between them rode 
 With flag of truce, whose whiteness showed 
 But dimly, till they neared the wall, 
 And, halting, gave the bugle call 
 For parley. Quick the answer came ; 
 " Who hither comes, and in what name ?" 
 " In name of Washington we stand, 
 And by his warrant now demand 
 Two prisoners, who, unjustly ta'en 
 By lawless force, ye here restrain." 
 " By right of war we prisoners hold : 
 Hath thy commander been too bold 
 In making such demand." " No claim 
 Have laws of war on those we name. 
 An aged man, whose silver hair 
 Marks him unfitted arms to bear ; 
 A gentle maid :— 'gainst such as these 
 Comes England's army o'er the seas?" 
 "In cause of right," Cornwallis spoke, 
 " And honor, England never broke 
 Her faith. The prisoners two are free. 
 
PONSTANCE. 151 
 
 And with safe conduct, now to thee 
 Shall be restored. My greeting bear, 
 Glenwood, to them, and here with care 
 Conduct them." With a brief salute, 
 Glenwood obeyed. His lips were mute ; 
 But vainly might the pen essay 
 His heart's deep tumult to portray ; 
 Where disappointment, rage, and hate. 
 In quick succession alternate. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Constance, the parley brief had viewed. 
 But could not hear, from where she stood. 
 The words that passed : and now, as near 
 Drew Glenwood, whom that night of fear 
 Had taught to shun, as dreaded foe, 
 She turned, and bent her steps below. 
 But when, with deference well feigned, 
 He his commission had explained, 
 And forth, with courteous conduct led, 
 Instant was all resentment fled*. 
 And hope and joy beat high once more, 
 As swiftly towards the gate they bore. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 And paint, if Nature's hand impart 
 Such skill, how each impatient heart 
 Of those who wait now thrilled with fear. 
 And hope, and love, whose wild career 
 
152 pONSTANCE. 
 
 Strange tumult made ; and how the past 
 Was all forgotten when they met at last. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Brief word was spoken then, while made 
 Full swift return the cavalcade ; 
 And in a rustic cottage found, 
 (On outskirts of the battle ground,) 
 Safe refuge for the helpless pair, 
 Who found a kindly welcome there. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Scarce was the place of safety won 
 Ere sound of battle had begun; 
 And poured the leaguered city forth 
 In flame, like meteors of the north, 
 Red shot and shell, that fell like rain 
 O'er the besiegers ; but in vain 
 Sought to provoke the like reply :— 
 
 Nor gun nor cannon woke : 
 Nor sound was heard of cheer or cry ; 
 
 Nor answering volley spoke. 
 Each soldier at his post remained 
 
 As if the fight was done ; 
 Nor while the fiery tempest rained 
 
 Was hostile act begun ; 
 Save where in trench, with pick and spade. 
 Redoubled effort now was made, 
 
PONSTANCE. 153 
 
 As labored with unflagging zeal 
 The men, whose sinews turned to steel, 
 When from the city's walls before 
 Rang out the dread artillery's roar. 
 
 XL. 
 
 With the lirst note of war, St. John 
 And Percival had hastened on ; 
 But halted midway to the field, 
 As higher ground a troop revealed 
 Of horsemen, o'er the plain that rode 
 With furious charge. An instant showed 
 That Glenwood led : an instant more. 
 As on with whirlwind speed they bore. 
 That vantage ground they sought to gain 
 Themselves to intercept. 'Twas vain : 
 For o'er the field, with thunderous roar, 
 
 St. John's brave troopers spurred. 
 Like tempest on some rock-bound shore 
 
 The rattling hoofs were heard. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 With cheer, above the storm that rang, 
 To meet their foes tlie warriors sprang ; 
 And met them in the midst, like shock 
 Of thunderbolt on rending roek. 
 Then 'gan fierce fight, and midst the fray 
 Hung even balance for the day. 
 
154 PONSTANCE. 
 
 Well matched in numbers and in skill ; 
 Each fought as with demoniac will ; 
 And blow of steel, and sabre's clang 
 Above the rattling thunders rang. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 As from the cottage viewed the fight 
 Its inmates, trembling with affright, 
 In fiery combat closely pressed 
 Two soldiers, singled from the rest , 
 And with each blow still closer drew, 
 Till face and feature they could view. 
 Glenwood with furious passion fought ; 
 Who from the first his rival sought. 
 Nor in the general strife had deigned 
 To mingle. Percival maintained 
 His part with courage born of strife: 
 Nor battled for his single life ; 
 But for the love, so late that came. 
 Of that fair girl who bore his name. 
 
 Not long the contest was maintained 
 Ere Glenwood had the mastery gained ; 
 But Percival, though wounded, still 
 Fought with unconquerable will. 
 St. John had hastened from the fight 
 To aid his comrade, when, with might 
 
pONSTANCE. 155 
 
 Concentred in decisive blow, 
 
 Glen wood unhorsed and hurled his foe 
 
 Stunned to the ground. Scarce was the deed 
 
 Accomplished, ere with lightning speed 
 
 Sprang forth the sire, and seized the brand 
 
 Still held in his relaxing hand, 
 
 And full at Glenwood aimed such blow 
 
 As might have laid a giant low. 
 
 He tottered, from the saddle fell. 
 
 And the loud cannon pealed bis knell ; 
 
 And on the instant cried St. John, 
 
 " Now hast thou well avenged thy SON !" 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Then hastening back to make complete 
 
 The victory, in dire defeat 
 
 The foe was driven; and o'er the plain 
 
 The city's refuge sought to gain. 
 
 As stoops the eagle from his nest 
 
 High on some rugged mountain's crest, 
 
 And darts with fury on his prey, 
 
 Thus rose St. John's brave men that day. 
 
 And o'er the field of battle flew, 
 
 A living avalanche, that grew 
 
 In force and fury as ihey came, 
 
 And swept like fierce devouring flame 
 
 Their pathway. With their foemen's dead 
 
 The bloody field was overspread, 
 
156 PONSTANCE. 
 
 And scarcely one remained to teli 
 Of those who in the conflict fell. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Meantime within the cot was laid 
 
 The wounded soldier, and essayed 
 
 Each healing art; but naught could stay 
 
 The life that slowly ebbed away ; 
 
 And scarce the truth was fully learned, 
 
 Ere with quick step St. John returned, 
 
 Whom Percival addressed; " Good friend, 
 
 Scarce had we thought that this should end 
 
 Our quest, but 'twas not ours to say." 
 
 He paused, then said, " When yesterday 
 
 My life's past history thou woulds't know, 
 
 Part was forgotten, in the glow 
 
 Of sudden joy that came, like taste 
 
 Of waters in the desert waste ; 
 
 But now with briefest word 'tis told : 
 
 In battle 'gainst invader bold, 
 
 It recks not when, nor where, two men 
 
 As comrades, though unknown till then. 
 
 Fought side by side. One slight and fair, 
 
 A stripling, all unused to wear 
 
 The soldier's garb; his comrade, dark 
 
 Almost as Ethiop, bore the mark 
 
 Of hardy toil, and service done 
 
 'Neath many a storm and burning sun." 
 
PONSTANCE. 157 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 " Like fierce, avenging fiend he fought, 
 
 And every post of danger sought ; 
 
 And oft was singled by the foe, 
 
 As mark for skilful archer's bow ; 
 
 Till pointed at his heart there came 
 
 One shaft with surer, deadlier aim, 
 
 That winged its way like flash of light, 
 
 When his companion marked its flight. 
 
 And interposed his ready shield ; 
 
 But by the act almost was sealed 
 
 His death, for from the shield it flew 
 
 And pierced his helmet through and through - 
 
 He fell and from the field was borne. 
 
 But since that day the scar hath worn. 
 
 Thou know'st the man ? Aye, THOU a rt he, 
 
 Nor canst deny." All wonderingly 
 
 His comrade's speech St. John had heard, 
 
 And now perforce its truth averred ; 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 " Not unremembered is the def d. 
 
 For now at times my sense doth heed 
 
 The wound, not soon that healed." " That scar, 
 
 That then thy lineaments did mar. 
 
 Now scarcely seen, at single glance 
 
 I knew, that night when seeming chance 
 
 As stranger to my father's door 
 
 Did lead me. Had I hoped before 
 
158 pONSTANCE. 
 
 My rightful place again to find, 
 And leaving all the past behind, 
 To live the years that still remained 
 In peace. But otherwise ordained 
 A higher power. Deep gratitude 
 Had long my inmost soul imbued, 
 For him who had my life preserved, 
 When that fell shaft, aside that swerved, 
 Made him its mark. Unknown his name ; 
 But when at length I homeward came, 
 And 'neath my father's roof him found, 
 My soul by every tie was bound 
 Of grateful love. Thou art, in truth, 
 The image of my early youth, 
 And, startled by the likeness bold, 
 Scarce my disturbance was controlled : 
 But when I knew, resolve was ta'en. 
 That I unknown should still remain ; 
 And following to the battle field. 
 My life for thine might still be shield. 
 Till peace returned we two might come 
 As brothers to our common home." 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Briefly he paused : but answer, none 
 St. John could make. Himself had done 
 In that fierce battle, years before. 
 Heroic deed 'mid battle's roar. 
 
PONSTANCE. 159 
 
 An unknown comrade's life to save : 
 But he for him his birthright gave. 
 So nobly done, so simply told, 
 Scarce could the soldier tears withhold. 
 
 Again his comrade spoke : " The rest 
 
 Thou know'st: but little hadst thou guessed 
 
 My further secret. I was sent 
 
 On weighty mission, with intent 
 
 A lawless chieftain to subdue :— 
 
 Thyself the circumstance well knew. 
 
 Oft I before, with minstrel tongue, 
 
 The glorious deeds of war had sung ; 
 
 And once I sought in minstrel guise 
 
 His camp, and there, with strange surprise 
 
 Beheld— it were no shame to tell— 
 
 My brother in that chieftain. Well 
 
 He loved me in the past ; but long 
 
 'Twas changed ; for he of all my wrong 
 
 Is author. Both had loved the same 
 
 Fair girl, and mine was favored claim. 
 
 He knew not me, for my disguise 
 
 Had hid the truth e'en from thine eyes ; 
 
 And when his vengeful plan I knew, 
 
 Some rival chieftain to pursue 
 
 E'en to my father's halls, I fled, 
 
 And fearing for his safety, led 
 
l60 pONSTANCE. 
 
 My forces thither : now, O friend, 
 All thou dost tnow, nor at the end 
 Think that'Iife was all in vain." 
 He paused, but instant spoke again, 
 " This morn I saw an eagle fly- 
 Far up into the eastern sky, 
 To meet the sun. His steadfast gaze. 
 Undaunted by the dazzling rays, 
 Pierced where mine own in blindness feU. 
 That eagle thou : with my farewell 
 Still onward, upward thou shalt speed, 
 Each day achieving nobler deed." 
 
 L. 
 
 He took the hand that Constance laid 
 On his, and silent gesture made 
 St. John, who gave his own, and both 
 Were held in clasp that sealed their troth. 
 
 LI, 
 
 Then, like soft ripple of the sea. 
 When some light wind breathes silently, 
 And o'er the glassy water flies, 
 The while the mimic wavelet dies. 
 Came one brief sigh, and all was o'er: 
 The soldier slept to wake no more. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Now high his requiem be sung ! 
 Yet how essay with feeble tongue 
 
pONSTANCE. 
 
 Such task. His memory ever lives 
 Within their hearts, whose tribute gives 
 More fitting shrine than ever fame 
 Could lend to more illustrious name. 
 Then silently, with reverent tread, 
 Leave we the mourners with the dead. 
 
 With fleeting wing time onward sped. 
 When spring returned again were wed 
 St. John and Constance. War had ta'en 
 Long flight, and Peace with gentle reign 
 O'er all the land held sway. Once more 
 Their ancient homestead, as of yore 
 Free hospitality, to great 
 And small, despensed with former state. 
 And Percival, whose silver hair 
 More silver grown by weight of care, 
 Though still the same, his pleasure found 
 . In ministry to those around 
 Whom, like himself, the war had left 
 Of one they most had loved bereft. 
 And as the years passed swiftly by, 
 With that fond love that could not die, 
 Would Constance oft the tale declare 
 To noble sons, and daughters fair, 
 Of how their grandsire fought and bled ; 
 Then showering on each sunny head 
 Full many a kiss and fond caress. 
 Would bid their tongues his memory bless. 
 
62 pONSTANCE. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 1. 
 
 The minstrel ceased : but echo of her song 
 O'er hill and valley seemed to linger still ; 
 
 And in review, a swiftly moving throng, 
 Created by the magic of her will. 
 Passed on, as if her bidding to fulfill ; 
 
 Then vanished as beneath a broken spell, 
 
 As from her hand the silent harp strings fell. 
 
 2. 
 
 And was her art not all in vain essayed. 
 Full many an hour had charmed her happier 
 strain : 
 
 And for the sadder plaint sometimes it made. 
 Yet nobler pleasure mingled with the pain, 
 And tempered with a more heroic vein 
 
 What else had lived but for a summer's day. 
 
 And with the bare recital passed away. 
 
 WIS 
 

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