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 UNITED STATES OP AMEEIOA. 
 
THE EXILE 
 
 A TALE OF ST. AUGUSTINE 
 
 BY 
 / 
 
 FRANCIS FONTAINE 
 
 J^n.1<^S7 ( 
 
 'M 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 182 FIFTH AVENUE 
 
 1878 
 

 Copyright by 
 FRANCIS FONTAINE, 
 
 1878. 
 
^tiiicution. 
 
 TO MARY F. FONTAINE, 
 
 The sigjtei of a ivomans worth. 
 
 The truest test of gentle birth. 
 Is modesty : 
 
 The charm that links her to the sky. 
 
 The blossom that can never die ! 
 Love forms the pure, sweet alchemy. 
 
 That leads the heart with sympathy 
 
 To perfect truth : 
 
 The Koh-i-noor, the brightest gem 
 
 In happy childhood's diadem. 
 
 My little child, may these traits bless 
 
 Thy innocence with joyousness 
 And gentleness : 
 
 For modesty, and love, and t7'uth. 
 Alike in childhood, age or youth 
 Make happiness. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The history of Florida, the most ancient of the 
 American colonies, is replete with romance, and, 
 among all the legends connected therewith, none 
 equals in thrilling interest the subject of this poem. 
 
 The early settlement of St. Augustine, the old- 
 est town in the United States, forms the basis of 
 this story, which essays to delineate one of the most 
 horrible massacres in the annals of history. 
 
 The spirit which animated the French Catholics 
 to murder their compatriots of the Huguenot faith, 
 on St. Bartholomew's eve, inspired the Spaniards, 
 under the Adelantado Menendez, to commit a like 
 atrocity at Fort Caroline, near St. Augustine, Flor- 
 ida. 
 
 Historical accuracy is not claimed for the poem ; 
 but, that the reader may understand the narrative, 
 I have translated a part of the '^memoire " of Fran- 
 cisco Lopez de Mendoza, chaplain of the Spanish 
 expedition under Menendez : and also alluded to a 
 similar narration by one of the survivors of the Hu- 
 guenot colony. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 MEMOIRE. 
 
 " De riieureux resultat et du bon voyage que Dieu, notre Sei- 
 gneur, a bien vculu accorder i la flotte qui partit de la ville dc Cadiz 
 pour se rendre a la cote et dans la province de la Floride, et dont 
 etait general I'illustre Seigneur Pedro Menendez de Aviles, com- 
 mandeur de I'ordre de Saint Jacques. Cette flotte partit de la bale 
 de Cadiz le jeudi matin 28 du mois de juin 1565 ; elle arriva sur les 
 cotes des provinces de la Floride le 28 aout de la meme annee." 
 
 PAR FRANCISCO LOPEZ DE MENDOZA, 
 
 Cliapelain de V expedition. 
 
 "Your Excellency will remember that when I was in Spain I 
 went to see the General at the port Saint Marie, and that he showed 
 me a letter from Monseigneur the King Don Philip, signed by his 
 hand, in which His Majesty stated, that on the 20th of May, the 
 same year, seven French ships, bearing seven hundred men and two 
 hundred women, had sailed for Florida," (Then follows a descrip- 
 tion of the armament of the Spanish fleet, and the instructions given 
 to the Adelantado Pedro Menendez to proceed to Florida and claim 
 the country for the King of Spain. Translator^ 
 
 " On the eighth of the month, the day of the nativity of Our Lady, 
 the General landed with many banners displayed, to the sound of 
 trumpets and of other instruments of war, and amid salvos of artil- 
 lery. I took a cross and went before them chanting Te Deum Lan- 
 damus. The General marched straight to the cross, followed by all 
 those who accompanied him : they knelt and kissed the cross. A 
 great many Indians witnessed the ceremonies and imitated all that 
 they saw done. The same day the General took possession of the 
 country in the name of PI is Majesty. All the Captains swore alle- 
 giance to him as their General, and as Adelantado of the country. 
 
 ^ ;i: ^ ^ ii: Hs ♦ ♦ 
 
 " We are in tjais fort to the number of six hundred combatants. 
 
INTRODUCTION. ^ 
 
 "To-day, as I finished the mass of Our Lady, the Admh-al was 
 informed that a Frenchman had been captured. He told us that our 
 enemies had embarked more than two hundred men on four vessels 
 to go in search of our fleet ; God our Father sent suddenly so great 
 a tempest that these men must have been destroyed, for since their 
 departure have occurred the worst tempests I ever saw. 
 
 '* The following Monday we saw a man approach who cried out 
 loudly : ' Victory ! Victory ! the French fort is in our hands ! ' I 
 have already stated that the enterprise which we have undertaken is 
 for the glory of Jesus Christ and of Ilis Holy Mother. The Holy 
 Spirit has enlightened the reason of our chief, in order that all may 
 be turned to our profit and that we might gain so great a victory. 
 The enemy did not perceive them until they were attacked, most of 
 them being in bed ; many arose in their night-clothes and begged 
 for quarter. Notwithstanding this, one hundred and forty-two were 
 killed ; the rest escaped. In an hour's time the fort was in our pos- 
 session. 
 
 "A few days after this, some Indians came to our fort and in- 
 foi-med us, by signs, that a French vessel had been wrecked on An- 
 astasia Island. The General, with the Admiral and many followers 
 repaired to the coast and, taking with him a Frenchman who had 
 accompanied us from Spain, he called to them to come over. A 
 French gentlemen who was a serjeant, brought their reply to the 
 summons to surrender — for they had raised a flag as a signal of war — 
 he said that they would surrender on condition that their lives might 
 be spared. The General demanded an unconditional surrender. 
 Seeing that no other resource remained to them, in a short time 
 they all surrendered themselves to his discretion. Seeing that they 
 were Lutherans, his Excellency condemned them all to death ; but, 
 as I was a priest and felt a sympathy for them, I begged him to 
 grant me a favor : that of sparing those who would embrace our holy 
 faith. He granted me this favor ; I succeeded in thus saving ten or 
 twelve ; all the rest were executed because they were Lutherans and 
 enemies of our holy Catholic faith. All this took place on the day 
 of Saint Michael, September 22, 1565. There were one hundred 
 
8 nv TR OD UC TION. 
 
 and eleven Lutherans executed, without counting fourteen or fifteen 
 prisoners." 
 
 /, Fj'ancisco Lopez de Mendoza Grojales, Chapclain of his Excel- 
 lency^ certify that the foregoing is trite. 
 
 Francisco Lopez de Mendoza G raj ales. 
 
 A Huguenot survivor of the attack on Fort Caro- 
 line has described that human butchery as, " a mas- 
 sacre of men, women and little infants, so horrible 
 that one can imagine nothing more barbarous and 
 cruel." 
 
 He also states, in his m^jnoire, that the number 
 of the French in the Fort, including the women and 
 children, was two hundred and forty souls ; the rest 
 having embarked on the vessels sent in search of 
 the Spanish fleet, which vessels were wrecked in 
 the storm. Of the two hundred and forty persons 
 in the Fort, one hundred and eleven were slain, ac- 
 cording to the statement of the Catholic Mendoza. 
 The Fort was attacked while the Huguenots were 
 asleep. It is upon this massacre that this poem is 
 founded. F. F. 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 A TALE OF SAINT AUGUSTINE. 
 
 DRAMA TIS PERSONS. 
 
 RENE DE LAUDONNIERE \ Commandant at Fort Caroline, and 
 
 ' I Commander of the Huguenots. 
 
 JEAN RIBAULT, . . . Captain of the French Fleet. 
 
 LEONORE DE COLIGNY \^<l^^gJ^i^^ of Admiral Coligny, and 
 ' I affianced to Cotmt Ribatilt. 
 
 NICOLAS DE CHALLEUX, . Chaplain of the Huguenots. 
 
 DUG DE ROHAN, } „ ^ , 
 
 DOMINIQUE DE GOURGUES, \ ^^^S^^^^^ot Captains. 
 
 Soldiers, Sailors and Colojiists. 
 
 PEDRO MENENDEZ DE AVILES, Adelantado for the King of 
 
 Spain, and Commander of the Spajiiards. 
 
 MOSCOSO, .... Lieutenant to the Adelantado. 
 
 MENDOZA, Chaplain to the Catholics. 
 
 FATHER CORPA, . . . A Faithful Catholic Missionary. 
 Spanish Soldiers, Sailors and Colonists. 
 
 COACOOCHEE, . . Chief of the Seminole Ltdians. 
 
 THRONATISKA, . An Indian Maiden affianced to Coacoochee. 
 
 Indians, Men and Women. 
 
** Stand Fetlock!" he said, and his horse which 
 
 had reared 
 When the galloping sound of a fleet courser neared 
 The smiling bosquet, now but pricks forth its ears 
 As the challenging neigh of a rival it hears. 
 She did not know him, only saw him as he sat 
 Like a seeming centaur; but he lifted his hat 
 As she passed fleetly by near the edge of the wood 
 Where his steed champed its bit as it loyally stood. 
 '' — Stand Fetlock! " then he smiled as he witnessed 
 
 the sight. 
 For her horse and its burden seemed as one in the 
 
 flight. 
 
 The soft air was balmy, and the sky was serene 
 As a lake as she rode 'neath the far-reaching green 
 Of the Bois de Boulogne with her father, that day, 
 In the free nonchalance of a child when at play. 
 With laughter, that rippled like a stream on the 
 
 sand 
 In musical cadence, and a wave of the hand. 
 She galloped forth fleetly 'neath the summer-green 
 
 trees 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 Up the wide avenue, while the frolicsome breeze 
 Played havoc with tresses that floated away 
 Like the floss of the silk on a mid-summer day. 
 
 *' — She is the fairest and loveliest maid of the 
 North," Said the young Cavalier when the maiden 
 
 rode forth ; 
 So winsome, so naive, that he looked with delight 
 As the fair equestrienne, like a star in its flight 
 'Cross the blue vault of heaven, sped on — and away — 
 And Fetlock, impatient, replied with a neigh. 
 
 More than one, yes full many, sought to aid her to 
 
 keep 
 The horse in the course but, repelled by the sweep 
 Of the fair maiden's hand, admiring, withdrew 
 As she passed like a meteor on — on in their view. 
 More than all, he admired, when with magical 
 
 grace — 
 While the soft hue of health suffused her bright face 
 And her tresses floated back, by the wind uncon- 
 
 fined, — 
 He saw her, all fearlessly, draw the quick rein 
 And return with the speed of the tempest again. 
 
 Her father enjoyed it : for he knew that his child, 
 
THE EXILE, J- 
 
 Reared most of her life in the bold rugged wild 
 Of her own Moncontour, was as safe in that seat 
 As you maidens from Paris who have sought this 
 
 retreat 
 For a day in the country: who think that they here 
 See its splendor and beauties, and breathe the pure 
 
 air 
 Of the God-given country; but devices of art 
 Near a great crowded city cannot pleasures impart, 
 Such as Nature doth give in the land o'er the sea : 
 The home of the homeless and the pride of the free I 
 
 Lakes there vie with the ocean, and snow-peaks in 
 
 the skies 
 There charm the bold eagle, which right royally flies 
 On the wings of the wind till 'tis lost to the eyes ; 
 Then it lights, like the chamois, on the high alpen- 
 
 height 
 Where dry snow whirls like dust ; and it screams 
 
 with delight 
 As the storm rages 'neath him ; while the bright 
 
 heavens seem 
 The mystical opening of an angelic dream. 
 Thus it seemed to Coligny, who offered his hand 
 To the gallant young Count, whom he had seen lead 
 
 a band 
 In the cavalry charge, when the arquebuse rattle 
 
M 
 
 THE EXILE, 
 
 And the hot cannonade of the fiercely fought battle 
 Had littered the field with the wounded and dead 
 Whence all save Coligny and his squadron had fled. 
 Now their meeting, though sudden, was cordial and 
 
 brief 
 When the young Count de Ribault saluted his chief. 
 
 But the maiden had neared them with slow-pranc- 
 ing steed 
 
 Which, with nostrils expanded, had slackened its 
 speed. 
 
 " — My daughter — Count Ribault." She blushed, as 
 the name 
 
 Of the gallant young captain so well-known to fame 
 
 Was pronounced by her father, and bowed in re- 
 sponse ; 
 
 Thus they met, thus parted, with a bow and a glance. 
 
 " — She's as fair as the flowers that bloom in her hair, 
 Unadorned save by these —yes exquisitely fair ! " 
 Thus he spake as he saw her at the Elysee ball, 
 For she danced with the grace of a swan on a lake 
 And her smile was as pure as the falling snow-flake, 
 
THE EXILE. j- 
 
 When she moved like a queen in the slow minuet. 
 While he twirled in his hand a sweet mignonette. 
 
 But a swarthy face frowned, when De Guise saw the 
 
 sight 
 Of the lovers, who danced in the palace that night — 
 And 'twas plain they were lovers, despite the dis- 
 guise 
 Of a formal acquaintance, for Count Ribault's eye, 
 As the needle follows magnet, her figure descries 
 Wherever it is seen ; while Leonore's face 
 Acknowledged with blushes this homage to grace— 
 
 The two rival suitors were acquainted, but when 
 They met on this evening they met as do men 
 Who know not each other, and, with proud haughty 
 
 air. 
 Count Ribault returned the Duke's insolent stare. 
 Yet 'twas a thorn to his love, and a spur to his 
 
 pride 
 When he saw the proud De Guise at Leonore's side ; 
 And the thorn rankled deep, as the Count thought 
 
 of all 
 The sneering allusions of the Duke at the ball. 
 
 Days, weeks, and months passed, when Count Ri- 
 bault one day, 
 
1 6 THE EXILE. 
 
 As the shadows of twihght enveloped with gray 
 The great gilded city, ere the lamp-lights were lit, 
 Told her father he had loved her since first he had 
 
 met 
 The Lady Leonore in the Bois de Boulogne, 
 And no one heard Count Ribault save Coligny 
 
 alone. 
 
 '' — My child's happiness is more than all else to me 
 And I know that her heart has been given to thee. 
 But, Count Ribault, I fear that an hour may bring 
 An end to this truce and sound the tocsin again, 
 I trust not the promise of a treacherous king. 
 Should it happen — and should this city be the scene 
 Where the old and the helpless are ruthlessly slain ; 
 Should our people then rise to revenge them again. 
 Unfurl once again that flag which they've borne 
 In the days when the Huguenots learned how to 
 
 mourn 
 All armed for the fray : 'tis my wish^ — nay command. 
 That Leonore shall go to that far sunny land 
 Where such crimes are unknown, and the fierce iron 
 
 hand 
 Of Civil War cannot come ; to that land, where the 
 
 sun 
 Lends its most genial rays to the soft Southern air, 
 And freights the cool breezes deliciously there ; 
 
THE EXILE. jy 
 
 Where it dimples the waves of the clearest of 
 
 streams — 
 The matchless Welaka.''^ Promise this, and her hand 
 Shall go with her heart to that sweet Southern land." 
 
 Thus 'twas settled — yet not settled — 
 
 Like a rosy-fingered bride come the first tints of 
 
 dawn 
 Enwreathing with orange the clouds, while the fawn 
 Shakes the dew from its flanks, and the wild flowers 
 
 feast, 
 And the birds carol forth their hymns to the East. 
 
 Afar o'er the hills sounds the loud-ringing horn 
 Of the hunter who rides in the crisp early morn. 
 Flee Reynard ! though weary, continue thy flight, 
 For Aurora is belting the world with its light ; 
 And the moon slowly sinks down the vale of the 
 night ; 
 
 For the great sun advances 
 From the realm of the night, 
 With its dazzling light-lances. 
 With its sharp spears of light 
 
 * Indian name of the St. John's river. 
 
1 8 THE EXILE. 
 
 Over the sky, over the earth, and the sea: 
 Flee away to thy covert — away — flee away ! 
 
 As the stars of the night faded one after one 
 From the crimsoning skies till the last star was gone, 
 So the timid little hares fled fast from the morn, 
 But Reynard stood listening the notes of the horn. 
 
 While the harebells and daisies were crushed 'neath 
 the feet 
 
 Of the horses and hounds as they coursed to ^' the 
 meet " 
 
 Till their dew-cups ran o'er, yet Reynard stood still 
 
 Like a sentinel watching from the brow of the hill. 
 
 On the air of the morn sounds again the loud horn 
 
 And the eager fox-hounds fill the air with their 
 sounds ; 
 
 Now Reynard is gone — like the wind he has flown ! 
 
 While the loud yelping pack follows close on his 
 track. 
 
 So fleetly, so hotly, that he dares not look back ! 
 
 Through the field and the forest, speeding fleetly 
 alone, 
 
 Crossing fences with briars and brambles overgrown. 
 
 Swimming streams and crossing gullies, poor Rey- 
 nard at last, 
 
THE EXILE. l^ 
 
 With his tongue hanging out and his sides panting 
 
 fast, 
 Turns back on his course, and with footsteps as 
 
 fleet 
 As the wide prairie wind, enters quick his retreat. 
 
 See the gay cavalcade ! there, all flushed with de- 
 light, 
 
 Rides the fair Leonore keeping Reynard in sight. 
 
 While her escort, with a brief ''an revoir ! '' makes 
 detour 
 
 Around the deep forest which skirts Moncontour. 
 
 With the pride of an heiress on her own native heath 
 Leonore rides alone in the green forest wild 
 Where the high clambering vines festoon and en- 
 wreath 
 The tall forest trees — where she played when a 
 
 child. 
 Leonore rides alone ; for each path's as well known 
 To the fearless young maiden, as if 'twas her own. 
 Unharmed by the woodman, the fox and the deer 
 Roam their own native wilds in security here. 
 Save when the fair mistress is cn-ro7ite for the chase, 
 When the horn of the hunter awakens the place 
 Where Reynard reclines, till its echoes awake 
 The wild solitude of fen, thicket, and brake. 
 
20 THE EXILE. 
 
 From a copse in the wood, where wild squirrels ran 
 
 free 
 Without fear and unthreatened, up and down a 
 
 great tree, 
 While the fair maiden smiled, mounted troopers 
 
 rushed forth 
 Seized her horse by the rein and turned its head to 
 
 the North. 
 
 In a moment 'twas done ! one scream and no more, 
 
 For swiftly and silently they bore Leonore 
 
 A captive away ! while sounds of the chase 
 
 Grew dimmer and dimmer as they quickened their 
 
 pace. 
 * * * ^ 4f -jf 
 
 Moncontour is grief-stricken : fast assemble a host 
 
 To hear the sad tidings. Its heiress is lost ! 
 
 And the Lord of the castle, Coligny, is slain ! 
 
 And his tenants seem eager to don armor again. 
 
 Dark grow the swarthy brows, closer clench yeo- 
 man hands 
 
 Of the men here assembled at Count Ribault's com- 
 mands; 
 
 One word from thee Ribault will, like match to the 
 pine, 
 
 Enflame all these souls with a vengeance like thine! 
 
THE EXILE. 21 
 
 Not a moment was lost ! up the hills, down the vale, 
 Despite the fierce rumblings that portend a gale. 
 On, onward they go ! still pursuing the trail 
 Till the smoke from the village, now far in their 
 
 rear. 
 Tells the young chieftain's band that the foemen 
 
 are there ! 
 Now the swarthy cheeks blanched, for yon lurid, 
 
 red fire. 
 Which flames from their homes, sees their children 
 
 expire ! 
 Then a combat ensues ; though they fight long and 
 
 well 
 They fight against fate, and they see the black 
 
 plume 
 Of their gallant young chieftain fall !— As he fell, 
 It seemed like the knell of the Huguenot's doom 
 And they yielded at last as the tree to the blast. 
 
 Moncontour is en deiiil Moncontour, Moncontour! 
 Take down thy proud banner, and hang crape at 
 
 thy door ; 
 For thy halls are as silent as the grave of thy Lord ; 
 Let the harp of ^olus now alone touch the chord ! 
 
 Thy yeomen, where are they? Moncontour, Mon- 
 contour! 
 
-22 THE EXILE. 
 
 Nought remains of their dweUings but the charred 
 
 ashen floor, 
 And the smoke which ascends from yon cot to high 
 
 heaven 
 Shows how thy poor tenants from their homes have 
 
 been driven. 
 
 Thy chieftains have fallen 'neath the false-hearted 
 
 blow 
 Of a wily and craven and treacherous foe ; 
 But again thy bold banner floats proudly and free 
 On the mast of a vessel sailing outward to sea. 
 And a maiden is led by the captain away 
 From the deck to the bridge. The old captain is 
 
 But his weather-tanned face shows that Laudonniere 
 Is a stout-hearted friend and a stranger to fear. 
 The bravest are the gentlest, and the weak and for- 
 lorn 
 To the strongest and truest instinctively turn 
 In the hour of trial — when a look from the eye 
 
 And a clasp of the hand speak the heart's sympa- 
 thy. 
 
 Thus his look, thus his clasp, as he led her that day 
 
 And pointed to the shores fast fading away. 
 
 " Look ! look Leonore ! see those hills on the 
 shore — 
 
THE EXILE. 23 
 
 See, between them, yon castle — 'tis thy own Men- 
 contour ! 
 
 The turrets, like grim sentinels, are watching the 
 flight 
 
 Of the vessel which takes thee, an exile, from sight. 
 
 Bear up bravely, my child ! thou wilt yet again be 
 
 Yon castle's proud mistress, though we cross now 
 the sea ; 
 
 There thy ancestral flag shall float proudly and free, 
 
 And thy tenantry again shout welcome to thee." 
 
 Then he ceased, and she looked, while her lovely 
 
 cheeks blanched 
 And her eyes filled with tears, and her hands Avere 
 
 close-clenched ; 
 Yet she said not a word, but the gaze of her eyes 
 Lingered longingly there till the shores seemed the 
 
 skies. 
 But the changing-hued waters tossed upward white 
 
 spray 
 While the Huguenot vessel ploughed onward its 
 
 way. 
 Now the shore-lines are gone : white, blue, or deep 
 
 green 
 The waves of the ocean are the only things seen 
 Save the gulls, and the hues of the horizon sky, 
 As the fair hills of Normandy fade from the eye. 
 
24 • THE EXILE. 
 
 That very day the Spanish fleet 
 Cast anchor near Saint Augustine ; 
 And standards sway, while music sweet 
 From gay-decked vessels charm the scene. 
 And lances, halberds and breast-plates gleam 
 Athwart a ship which rides the stream 
 As lightly as a swan would swim. 
 Then deftly sailors plume its wings, 
 And then a standard upward flings 
 Its bunting: to the breeze. 
 
 Aurora's soft prismatic tints 
 Had traced the skies where nature prints 
 The fleecy forms which drift away 
 Like phantom ships on azure sea ; 
 And now the sun-light, glancing, gave 
 To whitened beach and shining wave 
 Resplendent hues. With martial mien 
 A moving host adds to the scene, 
 Proud banners bear, and arms of war, 
 And now upon this foreign shore 
 They plant the holy cross. 
 
 And naked natives, in bark canoe 
 Rowed in and out while white curlew 
 And long-billed crane, and wild-duck fly 
 With wonderment from marsh to marsh ; 
 
THE EXILE. 25 
 
 And parrots speak, with accents harsh, j 
 
 And Indians view with curious stare ! 
 
 These horses, arms, and men. ' 
 
 i 
 
 Now closer grouped the natives round 
 The point which severs sea and river. 
 When lo ! the shifting dazzHng quiver 
 Of sun-Hght on the flashing swords 
 Of men who crowd yon vessel's boards 
 Is seen. Gleam helmets rich and rare 
 And sun-bright shields, which those who dare 
 The mightiest feats of valor, wear. 
 
 These simple natives then were free — 
 
 Sole owners of this land and sea, 
 
 Save the old town of Augustine 
 
 Which claimed allegiance to Spain — 
 
 Nor feared they aught from these strange men 
 
 \yho marched with flaunting banners then ; 
 
 But Indians grasped the Spanish hand 
 
 As fast as Spaniards reached the land. 
 
 For they were friendly ; yes as kind 
 
 And unsuspecting as you'll find 
 
 In any race beneath the sun. 
 
 Ere white men, for ambitious goal — 
 
 The lust of power — had begun 
 
 A crusade 'gainst the Seminole ! 
 
26 THE EXILE. 
 
 As Spaniards glanced from clear blue skies 
 
 To tropic scenes which charmed their eyes — 
 
 To where the graceful tall bananas 
 
 Slow-waved their great wide leaves, like banners ; 
 
 To where the bushy youpon grew, 
 
 And cluster-berries of shining hue. 
 
 While sweet perfumes from crab-woOd trees 
 
 Freighted each passing scented breeze ; 
 
 From Indian brave with wampum belt. 
 
 To Indian maid with deerskin kilt 
 
 That showed beneath, the rounded limb, 
 
 Above, the arm, as round and trim, 
 
 And bronze bosom plump, full, and fair — 
 
 A wild huzza loud rent the air. 
 
 The foliage seemed a sea of green 
 And ev'ry tree a separate scene ; 
 The woods as tinted o'er with gold 
 When sun-light pierced the thicket fold. 
 They saw a glimpse of silver thread. 
 As streamlet gushed from fountain head 
 And lovely birds of plumage gay 
 Flitted and sang the live-long day ; 
 But now they ceased their morning lay 
 And fluttered to the copse-wood green. 
 Or winged their way far from the scene. 
 Even that bird of wondrous hue. 
 
THE EXILE. 27 
 
 Whose tiny form so rapid flew 
 From flower to flower — as gay 
 As any sun-beam of the day — 
 Affrighted by the vivas loud, 
 Now swiftly flew into the wood. 
 
 Helvetia boasts its lofty heights 
 All clad in Alpine robe of snow ; 
 Fair Florida the balmy nights 
 When stars gleam in the depths below 
 The mirrored surface of a Spring, 
 Where mighty ships can anchors swing 
 And freely turn, although a fleet 
 Another squadron there might meet. 
 
 — " Arcadian dream, nor painter's brush 
 Has ere depicted sylvan hush 
 More sweetly wild than is this scene 
 In far-off Florida, I ween ! " 
 Thus thought the maiden, who looked into 
 The clear blue depths — so deep and clear 
 That many fathoms seemed anear, 
 Where swimming fish like silver gleam — 
 Now here, now there along the stream. 
 
 There, many a silver streamlet wakes 
 Winding its way to the chain of lakes 
 
' 28 THE EXILE. 
 
 That forms the famed Welaka, and there 
 
 Sing birds, of pkimage gay and rare ; 
 
 While wild-wood sweets perfume the air. 
 
 And there, tradition waves its wand 
 
 As if this were enchanted land — 
 
 So many and so wild the tales 
 
 With which it treats these sylvan vales. 
 
 The exiles wonder when they see 
 Engraved on rock or carved on tree 
 The emblems of idolatry : 
 Idols, that bear on face and breast 
 Good evidence that 'twas the East — 
 Not North or South— that to the West 
 Gave birth to preexistent creeds 
 On which the mind untutored feeds— 
 They do not kneel, nor do they pray 
 To God or man, but earnestly 
 Clasp hands up to yon glowing sun 
 When first its lances crest the sea, 
 And then again when it goes down 
 And slowly, grandly pales away. 
 
 The exiles see the Phallic symbol— 
 A stag upon a branchless tree — 
 Rude carved, 'tis true, but plain to see— 
 Which proved that on this rounded cone 
 
THE EXILE, 
 
 29 
 
 Peru's old heliolatry 
 Had 'stablished worship of the Sun. 
 Concentric paths led round and up 
 Until it reached the utmost top, 
 Where savages were wont to make 
 Their offerings of human blood- 
 As sacrifice to heathen god. 
 
 There stood alone upon the shore 
 
 The exile maiden — and Lenore 
 
 Seemed fearless as an Indian maid ; 
 
 For there the savage hand w^as stayed 
 
 Because this ancient Phallic mound 
 
 Was deemed by them as holy ground. 
 
 The trees soft zephyrs gently stir, 
 
 And now she hears the rapid whir 
 
 Of partridge as it flies past her 
 
 From shore to shore and out of sight, 
 
 Then cries to her " Good night ! " '• good night ! " 
 
 Its cry was answered by a dove 
 Whose cooing accents spake of love, 
 And bore her thoughts to France again, 
 — " Is Ribault captive, or is he slain ?" 
 She thought of him, whose fearless eye 
 Was pregnant with true chivalry ; 
 For truth had signet-stamped with grace 
 
30 THE EXILE. 
 
 On brow, and eyes, and gallant face 
 Its seal of noble, knightly mien — 
 His stalwart form showed manliness, 
 His smile showed valor, gentleness. 
 And none but bravest knights could share 
 The plume which he was wont to wear 
 When he appeared in knightly list 
 Where only valor's sons contest. 
 His guerdon was her love : his prize 
 The smile that blessed his longing eyes : 
 His creed was chivalry's behest: 
 To help the weak ; with arms resist 
 The tyrant Might ; by force remove 
 Oppressive wrong ; and kneel to love. 
 
 He had not sought by courtier's art 
 To win this lovely maiden's heart, 
 But in the lists no braver knight 
 More gallantly struck down his foe, 
 Nor parried with a stronger might 
 Some skilful knight's titanic blow. 
 But 'twas not this, nor courtier's art. 
 But manliness which won her heart. 
 And where was he ? Alas ! the past 
 Was filled with joys that could not last. 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 Not, now did servants, with watchful eye 
 
 To do her bidding linger nigh ; 
 
 Nor were proud courtiers bending near 
 
 " My Lady's" lealst accents to hear ; 
 
 Nor could she see the mullioned windows, 
 
 The castle's turrets, or gray old walls 
 
 Where ivy vines and roses clamber; 
 
 Nor walk her own ancestral halls 
 
 In dreams alone she, smiling, wanders 
 
 Back to those days of joy and ease 
 
 In dreams alone sees scenes like these. 
 
 She saw cloud-castles in the skies 
 And mountain-peaks, so snowy white 
 It seemed profane for amber dies, 
 To put those fleecy clouds to flight ; 
 She saw these snowy shapes roll on 
 Like fairy forms, far down beneath 
 The lake-like surface, where the sun 
 Burnished the rippling waves, until 
 'Twas hidden by yon tree-clad hill. 
 
 She turned her head and, lo ! a bear 
 Nosed close the ground and hovered near, 
 While near yon thicket, too, a deer 
 With branching antlers did appear: 
 She trembled then— as doth the hare. 
 
32 THE EXILE. 
 
 In covert crouching low with fear, 
 While hunter's hound and hunter's face 
 Peer all around and near the place — 
 Then saw it rise and sudden wing 
 A feathered arrow 'cross the spring ! 
 What seemed a bear, what seemed a deer 
 Were savage Indians lurking there ! 
 But, soon as ribbon white was seen, 
 The Indians vanished in the green ; 
 Nor twang of bow, nor rifle shot 
 Was ever meant for Hucfuenot. 
 
 Not conquest brought the exiles there, 
 Nor did they come as foes, but share. 
 With those who owned the continent, 
 Their little all, and rest content. 
 But Catholics did gloat upon 
 This fairy land, where tropic sun 
 Hath made a banquet free to all. 
 Resolved to make all others fall. 
 The Spaniards made these Indians foes, 
 For Indians knelt 'neath Spanish blows 
 Of lash or sword, or fell when fire 
 From arquebuse bade slaves Wpire! 
 
 The birds that now so blithesomely 
 Twittered and sing from tree to tree, 
 
THE EXILE. ^^ 
 
 Bring back her thoughts to him again. 
 
 Whose Hfe had been Hke summer day, j 
 
 T T i M J 1 1 1 1 * 
 
 Until war's rude alarums bade 
 The kindly youth to draw his blade, 
 And lead his squadron to the fray 
 With waving sword, and ringing cheer 
 That all his troopers loved to hear. 
 
 The stars were witness when one night 
 His raven hair with golden met ; 
 And sun-bronzed face of ruddy hue 
 Met lily cheeks : and eyes of blue 
 Looked up to his which looked again. 
 — '' Is he a captive, or is he slain ? " 
 The twigs were bent, an Indian maid. 
 Like elfin fay at edge of wood. 
 Approached her from the woodland glade. 
 The nut-brown maid now silent stood. 
 Plump as a partridge, and as shy 
 And brown as the thrush which flitted by — 
 The daisy bowed, then raised its head 
 Unharmed by this brown maiden's tread ; 
 And bowed, unhurt, the violet 
 When these two girls in silence met. 
 
 At last she said to Leonore, 
 
 In Indian tongue — and then by signs — 
 
34 THE EXILE. 
 
 Pointing the while to boat and oar : 
 
 " I've come from where the white beach sands 
 
 Receive and clasp the ocean's hands ; 
 
 Like autumn leaves thy friends will fall 
 
 An they heed not the Brown Thrush's call. 
 
 Like winter's gale the foemen come, 
 
 To spoil the White Magnolia's bloom, 
 
 If I can not excite her fears ; 
 
 The forest is alive with spears 
 
 That rise and sway like marsh-arrows, 
 
 And the river bristles with canoes ; 
 
 The Spaniards come ! As are the leaves 
 
 Or countless stars, so are their braves. 
 
 Who come with swords and arquebuse 
 
 And cannon, and with subtle ruse 
 
 Meant only to deceive — As slaves 
 
 The Spaniards treat our free-born braves ! 
 
 Like sands in numbers are their men, 
 
 Who treat as carrion the slain ! 
 
 I've come to warn — my task is done. 
 
 For ere to-morrow's rising sun 
 
 Shall spear the clouds with slanting rays, 
 
 The White Magnolia's blooming days 
 
 Will end forever more." 
 
 But Leonore, 
 Who could not understand the maid. 
 With kindly smile then shook her head. 
 Again she spoke — made signs again — 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 Then, seeing that all words were vain 
 She sorrowfully turned away, 
 Drew up her boat, then seized the oar 
 And, stepping in, pushed off from shore. 
 Then rowed to where stood Leonore 
 And begged her to escape once more, 
 But all in vain : with saddened face, 
 The Indian maid rowed from the place. 
 
 She watched her form bend to the oar 
 Till dimpled knee was seen no more ; 
 The vision passed almost as soon 
 As passing cloud unveils the moon ; 
 As flashing oar went from her sight 
 The evening sun in Western sky 
 Slow-reddened till a crimson dye 
 O'erspread the heavens with paling light. 
 The willows stooped to kiss the stream 
 Which rippled 'neath the sun-set gleam, 
 As Thronatiska passed from view ; 
 And twilight darkened now the hue 
 Of earth and sky, ere Leonore 
 Had left the placid lake-like shore. 
 
 The distant '' tattoo" sounds to rest 
 And ev'ry bird hath sought its nest 
 Save black-winged bat, which here and there 
 
 35 
 
^6 THE EXILE. 
 
 Sweeps down or circles in the air. 
 Deep darkness veils the earth and sky : 
 The pine trees bow, while night-winds sigh, 
 And needles from their summits tall 
 Sway gracefully, then, noiseless, fall. 
 
 Yon ship, which proudly walks the sea 
 With canvass spread, while jauntily 
 A pennon floats from tallest mast 
 And hundreds view, from yonder shore. 
 Their comrades nearing home at last, 
 Spreads sails until there are no more : 
 It seems indeed a jubilee ! 
 For canvass breasts the bracing breeze 
 With seeming pride, as if the seas 
 Were subject to the vessel's sway. 
 Not vessel subject to the seas. 
 One mother there seems tearful-sad. 
 While all the rest seem joyous-glad. 
 They mind her not, but careless seem : 
 Last nicrht sJie dreamed a fearful dream. 
 
 The gale ! the gale ! the vessel creaks, 
 While billows roar 'mid wildest shrieks, 
 And England's cliffs shuts out the scene. 
 An hour ago the sun was bright 
 And hundreds gaily viewed the scene 
 
THE EXILE. 37 
 
 As vessel spread, like bird, its wings. 
 And friends on shore cried welcomings. 
 Again the sea fashes sides and ends. 
 Leaps over gunwales, then descends 
 With savage roar : the ship careens 
 Amid the most heartrendins: scenes ! 
 
 It fights the sea like thing of life 
 Battling against unequal strife ; 
 With sails all set it breaks, and then 
 Goes down with all its stores and men ! 
 Like a culprit the tide has fled, 
 The ocean yields us back our dead 
 And launches them upon the sands : 
 Yon upturned face, close clenched hands, 
 And stiffened form, show sadly where 
 That mother's son lies lifeless there ! 
 Like ghastly phantom on her brain 
 A dream last night portrayed this scene. 
 
 To dream — what is it then to dream ? 
 To live our happy youth again, 
 Or view the heart's acutest pain? 
 To foretell, with prophetic ken 
 The future of our fellow-men ? 
 To read, like twinkling of a star, 
 The future in a dream ? To mar 
 
^8 THE EXILE, 
 
 Or make one's happiness, the theme 
 Of sleeping thoughts in wakeful dream ? 
 
 A dream, what is a dream ? A horoscope 
 Like birth of grief or death of hope ? 
 A photograph of life — a mirror 
 Making to-day seem as to-morrow ? 
 A tale of bliss — a scene of horror 
 Foretelling what is past ? Is this 
 A dream in its analysis ? 
 
 The goddess. Sleep, smiled gently o'er 
 The dreaming thoughts of Leonore. 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 HER DREAM. 
 
 Sweet is the perfume of the meadows — 
 The aroma of the new-mozun hay ; 
 For the harvesters raked the green clover 
 A fid turned it iji the sunshine to-day, 
 It sweetens the breezes of evening 
 As they eome from the meadows to me, 
 A nd I hear, in the distance, the lowing 
 Of cattle as they scent the sweet hay. 
 
 For broiun-tipped and sweet was the clover 
 When the harvesters cut it to-day, 
 A nd they turned it all over and over 
 Then piled it in hay-cocks aiuay ; 
 They piled it for fear that the shadozus 
 Or the night -dew might dampen the hay. 
 And freight me its szveets from the meadoiv, 
 With the fragrance half wasted away. 
 
 A bove me are swaying the blossoms 
 That now sweeten the summer-clad tree, 
 
40 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 And I list to the lowing of cattle 
 That belong to my love and to vie. 
 Sweet roses of Summer are blooming 
 While sitn-set makes russet the hills, 
 And I hear from the village the chiming 
 Of the musical Normandy bells. 
 
 Bnt siveeter tJian roses of summer 
 Or the song of the harvesters free ; 
 And siveeter than is the aroma 
 From the sweet-scented newly-mozvn hay, 
 Or the vines that embrace the old castle, 
 Or the deep silver lake that I see ; 
 And szueeter tJian lozving of cattle. 
 Is the voice of my lover to me. 
 
 Last eve as I walked in the gloaming 
 
 Near the beaiitiful clear silver spring. 
 
 Which placidly sleeps near the castle. 
 
 To the haunts zvhere the mocking-birds sing, 
 
 I heard the dear voice of my lover 
 
 Coming out from the garden to me, 
 
 For the great banqnet hall zuas fast filling 
 
 While I stood 'neath the blossoming tree. 
 
 *<i> 
 
 " Leonorc I Leonore ! my darling, 
 The guests now azuait ns in the hall. 
 
THE EXILE. 41 
 
 In the hall where dark figures in armor 
 Guard ancestral portraits on the zvall : 
 The guests all arrayed for the banquet y 
 Are patiently zvaiting my bride ^ 
 Then I saw J dm — my husband^my lover — 
 Gazing on me %v it h fondness and pride. 
 
 But lo! the dream was snapped in twain, 
 The dreamer heard now shrieks of pain, 
 And arquebuse and fatal stroke 
 Of sword, and battle-axe awoke 
 The hapless Leonore. 
 
 As form 
 The massing cloud-clans for the storm, 
 To march in columns o'er the plain 
 And sweep the earth with hail and rain — 
 As doth the cyclone's tempest wrath 
 Mow down the forest in its path 
 And leaves not a shrub — so the foe 
 With ruthless hands, sows seeds of woe 
 Where all was peace before. 
 
 Alas ! ere startled men can rise 
 
 And seize their arms, they hear the cries 
 
 Of Spanish foes without the walls : 
 
 And soon the arquebuse's rattle, 
 
 As foemen charge, proclaims a battle ; 
 
42 THE EXILE, 
 
 And soon the dreadful scene appals! 
 For children vainly seek to flee, 
 And maidens sink beneath the knee 
 Of ruffians, who scorn the prayer 
 Of those who kneel in vain despair; 
 One fatal stroke and maiden dies, 
 While mother, clasping infant, flies ! 
 
 But hark ! there sounds a bugle blast 
 That stops the fugitives at last-; 
 There waves above a chieftain's head 
 A tall black plume, and near, the dead 
 Around his feet show that the might 
 Of this old gray-haired, dauntless knight 
 Hath made these doughty Spaniards know 
 His stalwart strength and giant blow. 
 Nor weight of axe, nor leaden hail 
 Could pierce, it seemed, his coat of mail ; 
 'Twas made of finest chains ; nor steel 
 Nor arquebuse, nor gleaming spear 
 Could make this valiant chieftain kneel, 
 Nor halbard harm Laudonniere. 
 
 " Shame on ye men ! why do ye fly ? 
 Strike for your lives, like brave men die I 
 Coligny ! to the rescue ! " 
 As eagle sweeps from aerie high 
 
THE EXILE. 43 
 
 With maddened clutch upon its prey ; 
 As panther leaps from limb of tree 
 Forewarning with its human cry: 
 So rushed the Huguenots that day, 
 As tigers spring, as lions slay ! 
 
 And by that slogan hundreds formed 
 
 And forced back those who vainly stormed. 
 
 Till, foremost in the fierce contest. 
 
 Was seen the lofty waving crest 
 
 Of Menendez. Two bright swords flashed 
 
 As leaders met and steel blades clashed. 
 
 A whoop ! a whirl of sabres there 
 As charging squadrons shake the air ! 
 DeRohan's column thundered on 
 And forced them back, until but one 
 Was left to face Laudonniere. 
 And yet Menendez showed no fear: 
 Success with him meant honor, life ; 
 Defeat to him meant death in strife : 
 And never yet did two men fight 
 With stronger nerves, or braver might. 
 
 Each gave— returned the Titan blow. 
 Each found his foe a worthy foe. 
 And parried with such knightly skill 
 
44 THE EXIU^. 
 
 That flames seemed glancing from the steel. 
 Now each advances, then retires 
 Resolved to fight till one expires: 
 Now one has made a mighty thrust, 
 And one lies prostrate in the dust ! 
 
 The combat ceased : and Laudonniere 
 
 Leaned on his sword, as if to rest, 
 
 For faintly cheering caught his ear 
 
 As Spaniards flee. A deep red trace 
 
 Across that bold gray-bearded face 
 
 Had left its seal — an honored scar — 
 
 The record of most valiant war ! 
 
 Which showed that death had barely spared 
 
 The life which he so bravely dared. 
 
 He raised his visor then, to breathe 
 
 The fresh crisp air, — placed sword in sheathe, 
 
 Then wound a long, shrill bugle blast 
 
 And mounted horse to leave at last — 
 
 But lingfered : — afar he heard the sound 
 
 Of pursuers and of pursued ; 
 
 Anear, and scattered o'er the ground, 
 
 The dead and dying close he viewed : 
 
 This form the mangled corse of one 
 
 Whose battle deeds alas ! are done ; 
 
 And that a mother clasping fast 
 
 An infant to her frozen breast ! 
 
THE EXILE. .. 
 
 — "■ Fold little hands ! close little eyes in sleep, \ 
 
 Death's angel calls — none need for thee to weep ! " J 
 
 Thus spake Laudonniere, and then j 
 
 He saw upturned a gentle face \ 
 
 Which senseless lay without a trace | 
 Of life ; and then he knelt before 
 
 The senseless form of Leonore. : 
 
 — '' So fair, so young, so beautiful ! 
 
 Art thou, too, slain, my child, my all ! 
 
 Slain by a dastard ! cruel foe 
 
 Who shamed his kind by this fell blow ! 
 
 Ah ! woe is me ! alas ! 
 
 That I should see the bleeding tress ; 
 
 This senseless form, whose lovely grace 
 
 Even in death is beautiful ! 
 
 That I should see this pallid face 
 
 And learn, too late, that thou wert all. 
 
 Aye ! all indeed, that gave to life 
 
 Its charm — and yet, as Ribault's wife 
 
 Thou woulds't be lost to me. Sweet eyes ! 
 
 Unclose thy gentle lids and see 
 
 How thou art all in all to me ! " 
 
 He held her in his arms ; caressed 
 
 Her gently, and as gently kissed 
 
 The pallid lips ; — once, twice, again — 
 
 He strained her to his breast. 
 
46 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 He bowed his head upon her head 
 And groaned, though foes attack the glade 
 Where Huguenots await their chief 
 Who thinks no more of them ; who hears 
 But Hstens not ; nor heeds the fears 
 Which erst oppressed him most, that they 
 Would fail to hold their own that day. 
 
 As climbs the vine around the tree. 
 With gentle clasp, and tenderly. 
 So had this maiden claimed a part. 
 Then all, of the old chieftain's heart. 
 She knew it not ; she little dreamed 
 That he was not that which he seemed : 
 That which he vowed he longed to be 
 The day when, pointing from the sea 
 To France, he said : '' Thy father's friend 
 My child, until thy life shall end 
 Shall henceforth be thy father." 
 
 He trembled ! she had raised her head 
 
 And asked '' Where am I?" '' Here with me,' 
 
 He answered, " I will rescue thee ! " 
 
 The rich blood rushes through her veins 
 
 And blushes come, as still he clasps 
 
 Her to his heart. And then his ear 
 
 Caught once again the Spanish cheer : 
 
THE EXILE. .^ i 
 
 47 j 
 
 She seemed to him a feather then, 
 And he to her, strongest of men ; 
 Speed now, good steed ! thy footsteps fleet 
 May once again nlake safe retreat. 
 
 The bridge is passed — the moat is crost 
 The tall Knight's plume to sight is lost. 
 His horse's hoofs deep-print the sand, 
 He turns him thrice with clenched hand 
 And dares the fierce and ruthless foe 
 Who follow, but in vain pursue. 
 
 They reach the ship — but one— the last 
 
 Of all their matchless fleet remains ; 
 
 They hoist upon its topmost mast 
 
 A standard, free from all such stains 
 
 As massacre hath this day given 
 
 To Spain's proud "flag — '' They cry to heaven ! 
 
 The souls of these our martyred slain 
 
 Thus slaughtered,' will they cry in vain?" 
 
 Thus thought the few who reached the ship ; 
 
 For helpless ones in wakeless sleep 
 
 Were left unburied ! With feast and song. 
 
 The Spanish victors boast this wrong ; 
 
 For '' might makes right," 'tis stoutly claimed 
 
 When Christian standards are unfurled 
 
48 THE EXILE, 
 
 To drive the Moslem from the world! 
 To God the one for victory kneels, 
 To Allah the pious Turk appeals ; 
 And each will pray, and fight, and die 
 Thinking that God, who rules the sky, 
 Will hear his prayer and damn his foe,- 
 And this is all we'll ever know 
 Of the God of Battles, for Mars 
 Hath not appeared since ancient wars. 
 
 THE FETE OF THE CONQUEROR. 
 
 Gay were the streets of Augustine 
 And thousands thronged to view the scene, 
 When Spanish chief, with crown of war, 
 Was seated like an Emperor, 
 
 To while an idle hour. 
 The melodies of music sweet 
 Were wafted through the crowded street. 
 While courtiers hung around the feet 
 
 Of this proud prince's power. 
 
 He smiled, and often waved his hand 
 To those who passed the Ducal stand, 
 Just as a king who ruled the land 
 
 Would smile with haughty grace ; 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 49 
 
 He bowed before the vulgar herd 
 And spoke the long-considered word, 
 To please the fawning, eager crowd 
 
 Who view the ruler's face. 
 
 Anon he beckoned to a maid — I 
 
 A dancer — who her devoirs paid ■ 
 
 With sinuous and airy tread ! 
 
 Which showed the hidden charm : \ 
 The little foot and ankle round, 
 The tapering limbs, so lightly gowned, 
 And then, at Castanet's quick sound, 
 
 The bare and lovely arm. • 
 
 For now he wears the signet ring , 
 
 Of haughty Spain's ascetic king, \ 
 
 And titled heralds loudly do cry : i 
 
 " Long live our noble Prince ! 
 Menendez de Aviles, Knight 
 
 Of Calatrava ; Prince by right , 
 
 Of conquest, won by deeds of might ; ^ \ 
 
 And Duke of Augustine! j 
 
 i 
 
 ^ 
 
 "■ Great chieftain of old Aragon ! j 
 
 A hundred fields in battle won \ 
 
 Proclaim him now Spain's greatest son \ 
 And crown with laurel wreath: 
 
^o THE EXILE. 
 
 Behold his gallant, martial brow 
 All seamed across by battle scar ; 
 His foemen tremble from afar, 
 
 Though sword be in its sheath ! 
 
 '' — Not one of all the Knights of Spain 
 Can show a crest as free from stain. 
 As his, whose valiant sword has slain 
 
 A host of gallant foes ; 
 Long live the bravest Knight of Spain ! 
 Who hosts of heretics has slain ; 
 Long live the Prince of proud Biscayne, 
 
 And death to all his foes ! " 
 
 A thousand vivas rent the air 
 
 When herald ceased. Then standards wave 
 
 And all the troops assembled there 
 
 Echo the shout : '' Long live the brave ! " 
 
 Ah ! then was seen on summer night 
 
 Fit charms to tempt an anchorite ! 
 
 The look of love from darkest eyes, 
 
 And naive glance as maiden sighs ; 
 
 The olive skin of clear brunette 
 
 And charms that tempt the bright lorgnette 
 
 At opera or festive ball, 
 
 And all our senses do enthrall ! 
 
THE EXILE. ^I 
 
 To sounds of clicking Castanet 
 Fair maidens danced the minuet, 
 With feet so small and limbs so round 
 That seeing seemed to silence sound ; 
 With figures plump, handsome and light 
 And eyes that flashed 'neath hair of night, 
 Thus did these fair Minorcans dance, 
 With arms upturned of beauty rare 
 And footsteps light as zephyrs are ! 
 Thus did the gay senor and maiden 
 Rejoice as if this land were Eden. 
 
 For now the great fete-day is here J 
 
 And rattling drums and gleaming spear 
 
 And hosts of troops, both horse and foot, 
 
 The Adelantado salute. 
 
 The morrow dawns; at early noon. 
 
 Despite the rays of lurid sun 
 
 Which blaze with Southern noon-day heat, j 
 
 Caballeros sefioras greet, I 
 
 At the Plaza de Toros, ' j 
 
 The Bull, emerging from the keep ' 
 
 Where cruel fast had banished sleep, ■ 
 
 And where the dungeon day seemed night, j 
 
 And blinded by the dazzling light — i 
 
 Now sees at last yon knight and steed I 
 
 And charges both with tempest speed. i 
 
 i 
 •i 
 
 •j 
 
^2 THE EXILE. 
 
 Mid vivas round \\\Q plaza noised 
 
 The knight rides forth ; his lance is poised, 
 
 His plume bends low toward the Duke, 
 
 With hand as firm and eye as clear 
 
 As ever graced a cavalier, 
 
 Or gave to plebe Patrician look. 
 
 As leaps the lion on its prey 
 
 So rushed the maddened bull that day ; 
 
 So plunged his horns within the breast 
 
 And* sides of the defenceless beast 
 
 Which rears impaled, until at last 
 
 It falls, the life-blood flowing fast ! 
 
 The Picador now leaps forth free 
 And turns, that all the crowd may see 
 How fearless is his gallantry ; 
 He turns again — and well he may — 
 For now the bull charges to slay. 
 And yet again ! and bears as prize 
 The blanket, which now veils his eyes ; 
 He bellows loud and, pausing, gores 
 The earth with rage ; in tatters tears 
 The blanket— then surveys the corse. 
 Shakes his head and sees— another horse ! 
 
 The Picador now lies beneath 
 
 The dying steed, gasping for breath ; 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 Now man and horse are dragged away 
 Amid loud cries and music gay ! 
 
 "" Viva ! Viva ! " the people cry, » 
 
 "■ Sevilla's champion draws nigh ! " \ 
 
 Clad like the rest in colors gay I 
 
 And flowing sash, careless as they — \ 
 
 While Matadores prick again j 
 
 The maddened bull, Avhich writhes with pain— 1 
 
 He scarcely deigns to notice how \ 
 
 Bold Toro looks — with graceful bow ' : 
 
 He turns — just in the nick of time! ' \ 
 
 To 'scape the bull. 1 
 
 i 
 J 
 
 1 
 
 What recks the wounds on neck and breast ? j 
 
 '' Caramba ! what a gallant beast ! i 
 
 Let Carlos come ! " Thus is the cry ' 
 
 Which sees the brave Pedrillo die ! '\ 
 
 While children and fair maidens feast ,; 
 
 Their eyes upon the bloody beast \ 
 
 And dying man, with strange delight. I 
 
 Yet Christians say this sport is right, | 
 
 And children shout : Bravo, Toro ! \ 
 
 And maidens laugh, and roses throw. i 
 
 '' Let Carlos come ! " and at the word — 
 With blanket-shield and naked sword ; 
 With whip-cord muscles, and graces 
 
54 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 Fit to adorn great Hercules — 
 Leaped quick into the dread Arcne 
 The champion of Augustine. 
 
 The " conqueror " looked on, meanwhile, 
 
 With pride of mien and gracious smile ; 
 
 And maids and dames of Augustine, 
 
 In gay attire, enjoyed the scene ; 
 
 For he, the conqueror, had come 
 
 To grant them fetes, and knell the doom 
 
 Of other men as brave as these, 
 
 And murder maidens on bended knees ! 
 
 The bull, half-blinded now with blood 
 And weakening fast, tottering stood 
 Defiant of the vivas loud. 
 Defiant of the heartless crowd ; 
 Until, at sound of bugle blast. 
 He charged again, and bore as crest 
 The crimson blanket. Enraged anew 
 He three times charged, until he grew 
 Too weak to fight ; and then a stroke, 
 So truly dealt, that it did look 
 Like needle prick, ended the fight 
 And lifeless bull lay prone in sight ; 
 And joyous crowds cried loud again : 
 '* Long live the Duke of Augustine ! " 
 
THE EXILE. ^2 I 
 
 They call this sport ! themselves they call 
 
 The only Christians among us all ! 
 
 This '' arena r " like that of old 
 
 When Christian slaves were bought and sold 
 
 To furnish sport for Nero's eye, 
 
 Who laughed to see his victims die ! 
 
 Not mad bull then, but tigers wild j 
 
 And savage lions dared the field ; \ 
 
 Not gold the object, but the life ! 
 
 Of Christian slaves hung on the strife ! | 
 
 There Princes said, as Pagans smiled : ^ 
 
 1 
 
 '' These be but Christians who are killed : J 
 
 The babe which yonder tiger fed 1 
 
 Was taken from a Christian's bed ! " 
 
 And, like to these, Menendez slew -i 
 
 As carelessly a Christian crew, j 
 
 Who were "but Huguenots," 'tis true. } 
 
 And who can say what error is, 
 When people claim that heresies 
 Blind those who will not tamely heed 
 Some special faith, or rite, or creed 
 The Chinese hold that only they, 
 Led by Confucius, know the way ; 
 Four hundred million there do live 
 And yet, 'tis said, the records give, 
 
5^ 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 With forty million Christians here, 
 More murders in a single year! 
 
 With tireless wings the sea-gull flies 
 Greeting the breakers with its cries, 
 Nor rests, though turn him where he may 
 He views but billows of the sea ; 
 Bird of the ocean ! wing thy flight 
 Above the trackless waves to-night ; 
 Peer down into the caverns deep 
 Where monsters in sea-valleys sleep, 
 For thou alone art monarch where 
 No other bird can soar in air ; 
 
 Nor can the tempest's driving spray 
 
 Lashing the ocean, stem thy way ; 
 
 Though clouds grew black as waves grew white, 
 
 While ebon folds of darkest night 
 
 Huns; o'er the waters — obscured the shore 
 
 Until its lines were seen no more, — 
 
 The white gulls screamed, and skimmed the sea. 
 
 So strong of wing, so proudly free, 
 
 It seemed that they could ever flee ! 
 
 The sea was rough and turbid weaves 
 Arose on high, then yawned like graves 
 
THE EXILE. 27 
 
 Or hollow troughs, wherein the blue 
 Beneath white crests was lost to view. 
 Ah, soul of love ! uphold thy right, 
 For never did more sombre night 
 Cast shadows darker round a life 
 More fit to love, more cursed with strife ! 
 Alas ! on ocean's briny tracks 
 Were scattered fragments of the wrecks. 
 
 The Spanish chieftain scans the sky 
 Where dark clouds roll, where eagles fly 
 And swoop and dart cross lightning's path 
 And shriek with joy at tempest's wrath. 
 The day grows drear; dark clouds enfold 
 The opaque sk)i: then thunder rolled 
 With threatening sound, and blast on blast 
 'Neath heaven's dome succeeded fast. 
 And forked lightning traced the sky 
 With line of fire, dazzling the eye. 
 
 With form erect and steady pace 
 Menendez walked : his swarthy face 
 Frown'd sternly, while two thousand braves 
 Worked on the wall like galley slaves. 
 
 The Indian hath a soul as true 
 To love and hope, as if he drew 
 
58 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 His life-blood from the whitest breast 
 
 That ever innocent caressed ; 
 
 But now, condemned to labor there 
 
 And sleep at night in prison air, 
 
 His downcast look and humble mien, — 
 
 So unlike what he once had been — 
 
 Seemed rather that of conquered slave 
 
 Than free-born, fearless Indian brave. 
 
 So seemed one who, with head bent low, 
 
 Thus spake to the Adelantado : 
 
 '' — Some Christians, wrecked on yonder shore, 
 
 Who seem to be in great distress, 
 
 Are making signals for succor." 
 
 'Twas in a wild, unsheltered spot 
 
 Where isles and islets check the sea. 
 
 And winds and waves play with the spray. 
 
 And salt-sea meadows seem to float : 
 
 'Twas where the luscious wild grapes hung 
 
 Profusely, from the vines low flung 
 
 That sweep the river's rising tides : 
 
 W^here pomegranates, red-ripe and sweet. 
 
 Wave from the boughs and gently meet ; 
 
 'Twas where the Indian's canoe glides. 
 
 That Spaniards stood along the shore 
 
 In battle-line, while 'cross the stream 
 
 Grouped close, were shipwrecked men, who bore 
 
THE EXILE. ^g 
 
 Standards and arms ; and then the gleam 
 Of helmets, breast-plates, swords and shields, 
 Shone in the dazzling noon-day light ; 
 And then — the sign that foeman yields — 
 They raised the flag of truce, all white. 
 Not there do lofty mountains stand 
 With crags and battlements in air, 
 But one long beach of whitest sand, 
 Fringes the wide blue waters there, 
 The loon and paroquet are seen. 
 And pelican and long-billed crane ; 
 The " Lady of Waters " sails in sight 
 With graceful form, and plumage white; 
 And flocks of herons greet the wise curlew 
 Skimming the surface of the blue. 
 
 The Spaniards saw a gray-haired man, 1 
 
 Whose form was robust, tall, and lithe, j 
 
 And round him crowded shipwrecked men | 
 
 Who seemed to hold but lightly life, * 
 
 If he would lead them in the strife ; 
 
 But no ! the chieftain bent his head 
 
 And kissed, with rev'rent courtesy, \ 
 
 The hand of Leonore. — '' For thee, 
 
 Sweet lady, I would shackles wear •. 
 
 If that would save to thee a tear, — s 
 
 If that would win thee from despair. i 
 
6o THE EXILE. 
 
 He turned toward the soldiers then : 
 
 *' — And ye, my comrades, show yon men 
 
 The Huguenots' fideHty ! " 
 
 Like vassals each bent loyal knee 
 
 Before the girl, that all might see 
 
 That which they held more sacred than 
 
 The proudest heritage of man : 
 
 Their knightly pledge of chivalry. 
 
 There knelt De Rohan, of noble line, 
 
 Whose fame was known from ** Father Rhine"' 
 
 To Pyrenees, and throughout Spain ; 
 
 De Gourgues, whose fame was far and wide, 
 
 Knelt by the Duke de Rohan's side ; 
 
 And other knights as brave as they 
 
 Knelt on the island beach that day. 
 
 By this one act, these gallant men 
 
 Brought back her former life again. 
 
 When all that rank and wealth confers, 
 
 Land, titles, honors, all were hers ! 
 
 Now cresting waves, now lost to view, 
 Laudonniere guides the swift canoe 
 To where the swarthy Spaniards stand ; 
 But, ere he steps upon the land. 
 He waves them back with haughty hand, 
 Unbuckles belt, unsheathes his sword 
 And flings it far into the sea ! 
 
THE EXILE. 6^ 
 
 Then quickly drops upon one knee 
 To kiss again the maiden's hand, 
 Then leads her, like a queen, to land. 
 The Spaniards see the sword sink deep 
 Into the sea, but silence keep. 
 
 The signet of a woman's worth, i 
 
 And surest test of gentle birth, 1 
 
 Is modesty, i 
 
 The charm that links her to the sky, ! 
 
 The blossom that can never die ! ^ 
 
 They saw it when she veiled her face \ 
 As best she could, nor saw a trace 
 
 Of all the deep, unspoken woe •; 
 
 Which noble natures will not show. I 
 
 And when the eager Spaniards saw ] 
 
 Her modest mien they looked with awe 1 
 
 Upon such patience as she then, ' \ 
 
 In presence of these hostile men, ■ 
 Thus sweetly showed. Though veiled her face, 
 
 They could but note her faultless grace : 1 
 
 The gentleness, yet princely air i 
 
 With which she met their glances there. \ 
 
 With form erect and noble head. 
 Like one whose place it was to lead, 
 The chieftain to Menendez said: 
 
62 THE EXILE. 
 
 '' — I've come to ask a soldier's aid — 
 
 Not for myself — 'twere idle here 
 
 To seek to save Laudonniere — 
 
 But as a soldier I do crave 
 
 The lives of yonder soldiers brave. 
 
 My silver hairs have done with strife, 
 
 And soon as thou hast said, the life 
 
 Of lady Leonore shall be 
 
 As pure, as sacred, and as free 
 
 As when a ruthless king exiled 
 
 The Admiral Coligny's child ; 
 
 And promise me that thou wilt spare 
 
 The lives of men who famish there. 
 
 Yet who most willingly will die 
 
 With arms in hand, rather than try 
 
 A captive's fate : Chieftain, I swear 
 
 Their penalty and mine to bear. 
 
 I yield — do what thou wilt with me, 
 
 But aid the rest to cross the sea." 
 
 " — Thou pleadest as the brave do plead, 
 
 Who only do the noble deed ; 
 
 I do not war upon the fair. 
 
 The maiden hath no cause for fear, 
 
 Nor have thy men, for I will spare 
 
 The lives of all who yield them here. 
 
 As for Coligny's child, I swear. 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 63 
 
 Even were she of the Moslem sect, 
 Menendez would Jier life protect." 
 
 The veteran started at this name, 
 
 And said, with eyes kindling aflame : 
 
 " — Then thou art he who twice hath dared 
 
 To cope with me — -whom I have spared 
 
 E'en when thy form was 'neath my knee ! 
 
 TJien maidens sought in vain to flee ; 
 
 Then was my heel upon thy neck, 
 
 And round us lay, in mortal wreck, 
 
 Defenceless men and women, slain 
 
 By thy command, false knight of Spain ! 
 
 Now hear me ! though shipwrecked and few, 
 
 And though my men thy host doth view, 
 
 And though we do not yield to thee. 
 
 But rather to the stormy sea : — 
 
 I curse thee, Spaniard, to thy face 
 
 For that inhuman, vile disgrace ! " 
 
 Menendez' face grew angry black. 
 
 As haughtily he waved him back 
 
 And muttered : — " Thou shalt feel the rack ! " 
 
64 THE EXILE. 
 
 Where fair Nature smiled with Spring's sweetest 
 
 smile 
 The HuGcuenots landed, on the shores of an Isle 
 Where a herd of wild deer freely browsed 'neath the 
 
 trees, 
 Till a high-antlered stag raised his head, snuffed the 
 
 breeze, 
 And, with one warning note, led the fear-stricken 
 
 troop. 
 With a fleet, airy leap swiftly past the strange group 
 Through the wild orange grove till they passed out 
 
 of sight. 
 And an old Indian stood watching them, and the 
 
 flight 
 Of the fast fleeing deer ; then he held up an oar, 
 And beckoned the strangers to come from the shore. 
 His countenance was grave and his long raven hair 
 Proclaimed him a Prophet. With a wish to beguile 
 The slow hours away while at rest in this bay 
 They had come to the shore on this bright summer 
 
 day; 
 But when the old Indian by signs told the tale 
 Of the late massacre, — swarthy faces turned pale, 
 For they saw their comrades had been massacred 
 
 there ! 
 
 When he showed them, by signs, how these Hugue- 
 nots fell — 
 
THE EXILE, 
 
 65 
 
 How the bones of the dead, left to bleach on yon 
 
 hill, 
 Were the sport of coyotes, and the carrion prey 
 Of yon vultures that hovered over them and the 
 
 sea, — 
 And showed them the hollows made by claws in the 
 
 sands 
 Whence the flesh had been torn from the manacled 
 
 hands 
 Of the unburied slain ; — the waves witnessed then, 
 As they close-clenched their hands, the oaths of 
 
 these men ! 
 
 " — Speed, vengeance ! thou art mine, fierce child of 
 
 my love ! 
 Hear my oath, and record it, ye angels above ! 
 I swear by high heaven to give blood back for blood, 
 Take an eye for an eye, render Caesar his due. 
 And hang high as Haman these men, who have shed 
 The blood of the helpless ! 
 Ah ! can it be true? shall I see thee no more. 
 Sweet, angel? my idol, my own Leonore ! " 
 
 Then his eyes caught the words«deep engraved on a 
 
 tree : 
 '* — Not as Frenchmen, but Lutherans, that all men 
 
 may see 
 
66 THE EXILE. 
 
 The vengeance of Catholics, when foul heresy- 
 Lifts its head in this land ! I, the Adelantado 
 Pedro Menendez, for King Philip of Spain, 
 And for our Religion, have in Florida slain 
 Three hundred heretics, — all Frenchmen and Hu- 
 guenots ! " 
 
 As the blast to the thunder, as the flash to the vein 
 Of red lightning, which rends the black heavens in 
 
 twain. 
 The fierce indignation of Count Ribault broke forth 
 As he held high his hand and then uttered an oath, 
 With heaven as witness, and the manes of the dead 
 And the waves of the sea to hear what he said. 
 " All Frenchmen and traitors ! " — then flashed on 
 
 his brain 
 The hopeful reflection : '' Leonore was not slain, 
 And ril search the wide earth till I find her again ! " 
 
 Finer than fabrics from the loom 
 Is that which spiders weave in tomb 
 Of human captives — a web so fine, 
 So intricate its silken meshes. 
 And soft as maiden's lovely tresses, 
 That Solomon could scarce divine 
 Its mystery of warp and woof 
 
THE EXILE. 6y 
 
 As Spider spun on dungeon roof ; \ 
 
 Nor human hands, with all the skill 
 
 Which art subjects to human will, 1 
 
 Toiling labor from morn to night, 
 
 Can fashion fabrics so frail and slight 
 
 Yet strong enough for spider's weight. ! 
 
 It twines its net where struggling fly - 
 
 And ruthless spider drawing nigh, 
 
 Greet the captive's eye. The ball ^ 
 
 From which the spinner spun this thread .' 
 
 Seemed small but limitless, and made \ 
 
 So as to let the spider fall J 
 
 Or climb it with as steady air ^ 
 
 As if the skeins formed winding stair. ^ 
 
 The spider claimed him as a friend j 
 
 And crawled unharmed upon his hand. ' 
 
 Oft in the vigils of the night 
 
 Minutes seemed hours, and Time's slow flight ' 
 
 Pictured the hollowness of fame ; 
 
 Which had so trumpeted his name : 
 
 Why was he now, whose former power ,; 
 
 Could summon round him in an hour \ 
 
 A thousand men who followed where j 
 
 His black plume led — whose single sword , 
 
 Was worth a thousand more — ignored j 
 
 By friends and foes alike ! ] 
 
 Thus were the captive's thoughts, for he j 
 
 Knew nothing of the treachery j 
 
 1 
 j 
 
68 THE EXILE, 
 
 Which had given his comrades o'er 
 
 To massacre ; nor that Leonore 
 
 Was now a captive. He thought that she 
 
 Had, long ere this, reached France and home, 
 
 And that the maiden's Hfe was free 
 
 Because of his selected doom. 
 
 '^ — Hard as it is," the captive said, 
 
 " 'Tis sweet to know I saved the maid ; that I 
 
 Alone, in felon's cell shall die." 
 
 He could not raise his form upright, 
 So short the chain — so bent his form 
 With failing strength : and though the light 
 Of day brightened with joyous gleam 
 The world without, 'twas dark as night 
 Within the cell where the captive lay, 
 Who scarce could tell the night from day. 
 
 He bent his head : — '' *Twas but the sea 
 
 Beating with sad monotony 
 
 My prison walls. No voice comes nigh, 
 
 No living thing, no laugh, nor sigh. 
 
 No fellowship, nor sympathy 
 
 Of human-kind e'er comes to me ! 
 
 What now am I ? 'tis useless here — 
 
 'Tis worse than useless anywhere — ■ 
 
 To prate of ills that captives bear. 
 
THE EXILE. 69 
 
 I'll welcome death most willingly, 
 
 But, long as fate confines me here, 
 
 It shall not humble Laudonniere ! 
 
 As strong in will, though weak in frame, 
 
 As careful of my own good name. 
 
 As resolute as if proud fame 
 
 With trumpet notes and loud acclaim 
 
 Pronounced me great : — come woe, come weal, 
 
 They'll find my mettle truest steel ! " 
 
 He scarce had finished, when the sound j 
 
 Of stealthy steps entered his cell ; ; 
 
 He raised him from the damp, cold ground ] 
 
 And bent his head to listen well : ^ 
 
 '' — Speak, friend ! who greets Laudonniere, i 
 
 What human soul approaches near?" ^ 
 
 'Twas dark as midnight— though evening sun 
 In cirrous skies had scarce begun 
 
 To course toward its setting. A light ^ 
 
 Struck by an Indian, flint to flint — 
 As miner's strokes in caverns glint — 
 
 Revealed to the old captive's sight \ 
 
 An Indian brave, who sought to flee — ] 
 
 For wrists and ankles showed that he j 
 
 Had borne but lately clanking chains \ 
 
 That left upon his limbs their stains. — : 
 
 With hand on lip as if to say : ' 
 
70 THE EXILE. 
 
 " — Keep silence, captive, that I may 
 Make good escape ; " — he raised a stone, 
 Waved quick farewell, leaped down, was gone ! 
 The fugitive had left no trace 
 And, as the stone dropped back in place, 
 The captive smiled : — ** One prisoner less. 
 One thought the more, one hope to bless 
 And cheer at last my loneliness — " 
 
 What more the captive might have said 
 
 We do not know ; another tread 
 
 He heard — a step that often ceased. 
 
 The cat-like footstep of a priest — 
 
 For only he did sometimes come 
 
 To wrest the captive from the tomb : 
 
 And often had he tried — and failed — 
 
 To change a heart that never quailed. 
 
 He answered thus the scheming priest : 
 
 " — Not for the charms of liberty. 
 
 Not for my life, will I to thee, 
 
 False priest, forswear the past, forswear 
 
 The principles that cast me here. 
 
 My honor as a man is given 
 
 To hold me true — 'fore man and heaven — 
 
 And not for all the sweets of peace 
 
 Would I thus purchase my release. 
 
 Go ! caitiff, go ! and tell thy master 
 
THE EXILE. yj 
 
 My strength may fail, my sores may fester, 
 
 And life, receding, bend my frame. 
 
 Yet I will not recant, or shame 
 
 That which I prize the most — my name ! " 
 
 The bolts were drawn, a priest came in 
 With shuffling gait and subtle mien. 
 And, as the captive turned his head, 
 The crafty Spaniard softly said : 
 '* — Laudonniere, a slave hath fled — 
 Thy freedom I will grant to thee 
 If thou wilt shew this slave to me, — 
 A crazy girl escaped to-day 
 From her chamber — came she this way? 
 I fear me 'twas her artful hand 
 Which did unlock the iron band 
 That bound the Guale chieftain's wrist, 
 And freed the captive from the priest." 
 
 *' — Not mine the task, nor mine the will, 
 
 To act the spy, or secrets tell ; 
 
 I would far rather aid the flight 
 
 Of captive, be he red or white, 
 
 Than show thee, like a sleuth-hound, where 
 
 Slaves flee from masters in despair I 
 
 Go ask thy victims ! Question the dead, 
 
 And let them say where he hath fled I " 
 
72 THE EXILE. 
 
 The cell door opened, the man of blood, 
 
 Menendez, in the doorway stood ; 
 
 No pity was in that dark face 
 
 For him who would not sue for grace. 
 
 All, all was dark, cruel and cold ; 
 
 Base spirit in a breast so bold. 
 
 That none but stoutest knight could stand 
 
 Before the weight of his strong brand. 
 
 The face of old Laudonniere 
 Evinced no change ; no trace of fear, 
 No thought nor look, nor tinge of shame 
 Across that manly visage came. 
 He raised his feeble form as high 
 As chains and pillar would allow, 
 And looked to see who thus drew nigh, 
 But did not deign to speak or bow. 
 The man whom he had spared was there 
 To gloat upon his proud despair ! 
 The scornful glance shone in his eye 
 Turned full upon Menendez then, — 
 The knowledge that he soon must die 
 Or yield, but stronger nerved the man ; 
 The long wliite hair fell down his back. 
 The long white beard concealed his neck, 
 And tattered garments clothed the wreck 
 Of stout and bold Laudonniere ; 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 But still he would not breathe a prayer. 
 " — Thou art the last — ill-fated man — 
 The very last of all thy clan 
 Save one — the lady Leonore. 
 If thou art stubborn, obdurate, 
 She shall endure as hard a fate 
 As withered flower ; — Leonore 
 Shall, after pleasure's reign is o'er, 
 Speak humbly, yield unto my will 
 Long after thy cold corse is still ! 
 
 Like thee, she is defiant now ; 
 Like thine, her spirit will not bow; 
 I swear that she shall know my rage 
 Like 'prisoned bird in gilded cage ; 
 Know what it is to make a foe 
 Who still is loath to strike the blow 
 Fatal to hope, which virtue rends 
 And leaves her to the scorn of friends ! 
 No other hope, no other aid 
 Is thine, but thou canst save the maid 
 And thy poor life, if thou wilt say 
 * I am a Catholic,' this day." 
 
 Then flashed the captive's eyes with ire 
 " — If death await — and death by fire — 
 I hold myself, rufiian, too true 
 
 73 
 
y4 THE EXILE. 
 
 To falsely kneel, or basely sue ! 
 
 My shrunken limbs are well-nigh bare ; 
 
 My form is bent, and white my hair ; 
 
 But, Spaniard, hear! I would not crave 
 
 One boon fron' thee my life to save ! 
 
 Rather than live a life of shame 
 
 I'd welcome the red tongue of flame ; 
 
 Feel the knout, or suffer my back 
 
 To be slow-broken by yon rack. 
 
 But Leonore ! " — One arm was raised 
 
 And voice grew hoarse as eyes now blazed- 
 
 One shackle snapped — one hand was free, 
 
 And, quick as thought, one giant blow 
 
 From angry captive felled his foe ! 
 
 .jf ^- *» -» * 
 
 What does she there ? Yon maiden fair 
 As is the fresh young budding rose. 
 Looks down with sweet abstracted air 
 Where soft and full Matanzas flows : 
 Where sun-light ripples, dancing, gleam, 
 And willows, stooping, kiss the stream. 
 She sees it all ; and thinks that she. 
 Hidden by curtain drapery. 
 Herself is all unseen : and yet 
 The curtain, nor the falling hair 
 Nor dress, conceal a budding pair 
 Which peeps from out the summer fold 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 And shows the charm of youth, untold, 
 
 Unknown, and pure as vestal vase 
 
 Or as the gentle maiden's face ; 
 
 So pure, so fair and innocent. 
 
 So young and lovely, that 'twas meant, 
 
 Undoubtedly, to grace a home : 
 
 This flower budding into bloom. 
 
 And who is she ? who leans now o'er 
 The balcony to pluck a flower 
 From creeping vine, which clambers there 
 To mingle flowers with her hair ? 
 Thus thought a minstrel who drew near 
 And tuned the strings of soft guitar ; 
 She looks and sighs as mem'ry brings 
 Its treasure store — the minstrel sings : 
 
 '' The moving clouds with mantle gray 
 Float peacefully, onward, away ; 
 And 'neath thy surface, flashing bright, 
 Gleam stars like diamonds of the night : 
 Flow, rio, flow / away I away ! 
 Haste onward to the rolling sea ! 
 
 " Behold the sheen from fleecy fold 
 Flash in the stream, like wan of gold, 
 And, foy the moonbeams dancing quiver 
 
 75 
 
76 
 
 THE EXILE, 
 
 Gilding the zvavelets of the river ; 
 Roll onward to the deep blue sea^ 
 Flow^ rio, flow I away ! away I 
 
 " TJie earth is covered der with green 
 And moon-lit sky is soft, serene 
 Where countless stars with silvry light 
 Kindle the patJiless dome of night ; 
 Flow, rio, flow I away I away I 
 Mingle thy currents with the sea. 
 
 " The great Magnolias flozuers glow 
 To-night like lilies, white as snow ; 
 The breeze is szueet with perfumes rare 
 That ladens this soft Southern air ; 
 Would, zvould that she with me could view 
 Thy dimpled stream, rio, adieu ! " 
 
 Why starts from eyes the pearly tear? 
 Why shudders she with sudden fear? 
 Is it because the maiden's glance 
 Hath seen a form she knew in France? 
 Is it for this the maiden kneels 
 And clasps her hands in silent prayer? 
 He knows not that the maiden kneels 
 But quick attunes his sweet guitar ; 
 While sentry's step goes back and forth 
 
THE EXILE. 77 
 
 From north to south, from south to north, 
 
 And sentry's cry of : " All is well ! " 
 
 Is answered from yon castle-wall; 
 
 And, scarcely had the red thrush bade ^ 
 
 His sweet adieu in the neighb'ring glade, 
 
 When the minstrel sang this serenade : 
 
 " / come from a land afar, a land zvhere soft gititar 
 
 A nd the magic flute, 
 Reply to harper s strain, reply zvith loves refrain 
 
 Reply — zuith szueet salute. 
 
 " Bright stars of tropic sky, full moon slozv sailing by 
 
 On peaceful azure sea ; 
 Aid 710ZV the minstrel's lay, zvhere is my lady — say — 
 S Oh ! stars tell this to me ! 
 
 Dear eyes of deepest blue ; dear heart so proudly true, 
 
 Szueet little lily hand I 
 Would I could clasp again, form, hand, and heart in 
 mine, 
 
 Then life might gladly end / 
 
 Where does my lady sleep ? may angels vigils keep 
 
 Over my ladys rest ; 
 Sweet be her slumbers deep, may no dark troubles szveep 
 
 Over my lady s breast I 
 
78 THE EXILE. 
 
 Fve crossed the stormy sea, dear love, in search of thee. 
 
 Come, love f hasten to me ; 
 Here 'neath the orange tree, lady Fll wait for tJiee^ 
 
 Hasten, my love, to me ! 
 
 As minstrel ceased, a paper scroll 
 
 From prison window was let fall. 
 
 He seized it, bore it to his lips, 
 
 Then hearkened to the sentry's step. 
 
 " — Gain quickly, minstrel," — thus it read, 
 
 " Gain quickly yonder chaparral " 
 
 And then he heard the hurried tread 
 Of many feet in castle hall : — 
 '' — You stand as if upon the brink 
 Of some hot crater ; — blood — not ink 
 Serves now my pen ; — flee, Ribault, flee ! i 
 If, unknown minstrel, thou art he ! " 
 The clash of arms, the cries of men, 
 As minstrel fled, resounded then. 
 
 Ah fatal beauty ! thine the store 
 Whence come thy troubles, Leonora ! 
 Not Lethe's bliss, but chalice full 
 Of misery, alas ! is thine ! 
 For he too, knelt at beauty's shrine — 
 The Spanish chief — who saw the charm 
 Of pensive face and graceful form, 
 
THE EXILE. yo 
 
 Which gave to thee that beauty rare. 
 Which doomed thy heart to mute despair! 
 
 'Twas when he whiled an idle hour 
 In her sweet presence, one balmy day, 
 He felt the mute unconscious power 
 Of innocence ; nor dared to say 
 One ruffian word. Her gentleness, 
 Her saddened eyes and dire distress, 
 Forbade an act, or e'en a word 
 Which purity could not have heard 
 Without a blush. Though prisoned'here 
 Her every want was well supplied 
 As if she were the chieftain's bride ; 
 Nor did she know that Laudonniere 
 Was chained a prisoner : nor that those 
 Who had surrendered to their foes 
 Without a blow, had all been slain ; 
 She only wondered why this chief, 
 Who seemed to share a captive's grief, 
 Could prison her, to whom he swore 
 He'd share his love, and pledge his life, 
 If she would only be his wife. 
 
 Who knows right well the human breast 
 Knows that such love, when gently drest. 
 Uttered alike with voice and eye 
 
So THE EXILE. 
 
 And manner of deep sympathy, 
 
 Doth nurture love, or gratitude 
 
 Where love is not : hence 'twas she stood 
 
 Before Menendez — not as a foe 
 
 Nor as a captive, but as one 
 
 Who sought to soften the harsh blow 
 
 Of unrequited love. — '' Seiior, why 
 
 Am I kept in captivity? 
 
 What is my crime? why this duress? 
 
 Can one who loves me thus oppress 
 
 Her whom he asks to share his life ! 
 
 To yield her love to him as wife ? 
 
 And where is he — Laudonniere — 
 
 Best and bravest ! my noblest friend, 
 
 Who yielded to thy conquering hand ? " 
 
 " My king, sweet lady, with harsh command 
 
 Forbids our union. I kiss thy hand 
 
 And swear — despite my loyal oath — 
 
 If Catholic with Huguenot 
 
 Shall wed, to make thee mine, as soon 
 
 As thou shalt grant the priceless boon. 
 
 Thy willing hand. Throughout this land 
 
 From North to South, from sand to sand 
 
 Of either sea, I rule alone — 
 
 All — all I have shall be thine own : 
 
 Then cast thy foolish faith aside, 
 
 And thou shalt be a ruler's bride. 
 
THE EXILE. 8 1 
 
 And, L^onore, I swear to thee 
 
 A husband's faithful loyalty. 
 
 This fortress-castle, San Marco 
 
 Shall be thine own ; and lives no foe 
 
 So void of sense, so bold of tongue 
 
 Who ever hath the gauntlet flung. 
 
 Before the Adelantado, 
 
 Who hath not quailed beneath my blow ! 
 
 Thou a prisoner now, can be 
 
 The mistress of this land and sea ; 
 
 And reign as mistress in a heart 
 
 Which hath not known thy counterpart : 
 
 Which hath not learned to love before, 
 
 But yields now captive — Leonore ! " 
 
 Menendez paused — but no reply 
 Greeted the ardent lover's eye, 
 'Twas then they heard, from orange grove 
 The minstrel's song ; and low and sweet 
 From yonder tree a cooing dove 
 Began its lay. He strode away, 
 Like captain who has lost the day, 
 And sought the garden, where the breeze 
 From ocean cooled his brow, and trees 
 Seemed beckoning to him to come 
 And listen to the song. His gloom 
 Was chaneed to wrath : Who is he 
 
 fcs" 
 
82 THE EX^LE. 
 
 Who comes, as to a trysting tree, 
 
 And sings, as if 'twas Leonore 
 
 Not minstrelsy, which brings him here ? " 
 
 Menendez rose — not then did wire 
 
 Belt the wide earth with electric fire, 
 
 Nor 'cross the valleys of the sea. 
 
 Flash lightning currents : so rapidly 
 
 That what was done, but yesterday. 
 
 Is known to all the world to-day. 
 
 Nor had he heard how France had freed 
 
 All Huguenots; nor that the deed. 
 
 Which whelmed in one three hundred graves, 
 
 Was known to Ribault and his braves — 
 
 Whelmed in one? we erred, for not one 
 
 Was made when that dark deed was done ! 
 
 Impatient frowns furrowed his face 
 
 As Menendez watched the minstrel's place; 
 
 — " Who is he ? " thus the chieftain thought 
 
 Yet listened — not to music's note. 
 
 But to the words — " Yon minstrel's air 
 
 Is not such as Bohemians bear; 
 
 Nor yet is he like'Troubadour ; 
 
 No licensed minstrel he, I swear! 
 
 'Tis some dare-devil lurking here ! 
 
 Methought all were slain — Moscoso 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 Shall suffer should he prove a foe ! " 
 And then Menendez saw the scroll,— 
 The maiden's anxious look : — and all 
 The fears of doubting lover's soul 
 Began the chieftain to appal ; 
 Nor was he last among the men 
 Who fast pursued the minstrel then. 
 
 A vase of flowers cast fragrance o'er 
 The prison room, as Leonore, — 
 Who saw the minstrel scale the wall 
 And heard the sentry's challenge call, 
 And saw pursuers fast pursue 
 And heard still others cry and hue — 
 Knelt tremblingly to pray. 
 
 Fair as the rose in early bloom 
 Was she who entered then the room ; 
 Pure as the lily seemed her face 
 Where innocence, and love, and grace 
 Had gently stamped their sweet impress 
 And yet she wore the convent's dress : 
 The synonym of gentleness. 
 
 The Nun's quick footsteps softly glide 
 Close to the kneeling captive's side ; 
 
 H 
 
34 THE EXILE. 
 
 A lisht hand on her shoulder fell, 
 And then she heard a figure kneel, 
 And saw the " sister's " spotless veil. 
 
 One saw a Protestant's sweet face. 
 One felt a Catholic's embrace. 
 And when, their silent prayers o'er. 
 The sweet young Nun led Leonore, 
 She went with her, hand clasped in hand, 
 As if she was some loner-loved friend. 
 
 Trust forms its own sweet alchemy. 
 And welds our hearts with sympathy ; 
 And though as strangers met these two. 
 Each felt that new-found friend was true. 
 The stranger led her to the door. 
 Then through the hall, and Leonore 
 With trusting heart, and yielding hand 
 And earnest look, followed her friend : 
 She knew not who she was, nor cared, 
 She only knew that each had dared 
 To brave the Spanish chieftain's ire. 
 Born of a libertine's desire. 
 
 They quickly traversed then the hall. 
 Entered the garden, stood at the wall 
 And then the Spanish maiden said 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 85 
 
 In Spanish tongue : — '' Yon dark gray mass, j 
 
 Is a Convent, and if, alas ! ' 
 
 Menendez hath cast eyes on thee, j 
 
 'Twere better that the grave should be 
 
 Thy heart's refuge ! tears turn to stone \ 
 
 When virtue yields ; thy hope alone i 
 
 Sweet friend is yonder Convent, where .• 
 
 No human might can harm a hair , .' 
 
 Of thy young head. Thy friends are slain ; 
 
 But one now lives: Laudonniere, \ 
 
 Who suffers in a gloomy cell, i 
 
 And suffers more than mortal pain. 
 
 Persuade thyself to enter there — , 
 
 No safety dwells for thee elsewhere." 
 
 The two embraced, and then the Nun 
 
 Left Leonore to pray alone ; 
 
 For none but willing heart could wear 
 
 The sacred veil of vestal there ; \ 
 
 For they are pure, and ev'ry race \ 
 
 Hath need to bless the " Sister's" face, I 
 
 Which is as gentle, and as chaste \ 
 
 As chaste can be in human breast. I 
 
 With outstretched arms in pleading prayer 
 The stricken girl stood trembling there, 
 A victim to her dark despair ! 
 The future seefned a dread abyss 
 
S6 THE EXILE. 
 
 And life full of unhappiness ; 
 
 She heeded not the threatening sky 
 
 Or whistling wind swift passing by; 
 
 The rain swept o'er her, and the storm 
 
 Seemed reaching down to seize her form, 
 
 And yet she stood by open gate 
 
 And thought of the poor minstrel's fate, 
 
 A victim to the Spaniard's hate ! 
 
 And then of all those gallant men 
 
 By treachery, in cold blood slain ; 
 
 She heard again the battle cries : 
 
 The shriek of her who vainly flies ; 
 
 The maid's appeal; the wild despair 
 
 When children's brains are dashed in air, 
 
 And stricken mothers welter there ! 
 
 She did not know, 'till now, 'twas he 
 Who caused this wanton butchery. 
 Despite the storm the captive stands 
 And raises up beseeching hands 
 In earnest, heartfelt prayer : 
 
 " — ^atJier in heaven^ Creator of light 
 Guide ^ in the darkness^ my footsteps to-night^ 
 
 Protect me from despair ; 
 Alone and friendless I pray in thy sight 
 Heavenly Father ! shield me with Thy might, 
 
 Heed an orpJians prayer I * 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 87 
 
 Christ my Redeemer, my trust is in Thee, 
 
 Life is a burdensome trial to me, ] 
 
 Let me Thy refuge share ; \ 
 Last of my race, L pray nnto Thee 
 
 Jesus, my Saviour ! let death set me free, i 
 
 LLeed an exile' s prayer / " ' 
 
 A heavy hand her two hands grasped, ; 
 
 An arm around her waist was clasped, '• ^ 
 
 She struggled, then, her hands to free 
 
 And, struggling, sank upon her knee ; 
 
 He raised her gently, then released \ 
 
 The maiden, whom he thus addressed : 
 
 — " Thy fears, sweet lady, are misplaced, \ 
 
 I'd have them by full trust replaced ; 
 
 I would not harm thee, gentle maid, j 
 
 For all the realms God ever made ! 1 
 
 But thou shouldst know that, though thou art 
 
 A captive here, and though my heart ' 
 
 Gives all its wealth of love to thee. 
 
 Yet thou canst never hope to flee. J 
 
 " More watchful than the lynx's eyes i 
 
 Are eyes of love, which quick descries ^ 
 
 Each longing of thy heart to leave i 
 
 Him who would be thy willing slave, •; 
 
88 THE EXILE. 
 
 List to me well : I love thee more, 
 Sweet, peerless, lovely Leonore 
 Than I have ever loved before ; 
 Mine is not passion's fleet desire, 
 That fans to flame to soon expire — 
 A Spaniard loves with fiercer fire — 
 It rests with thee to end this strife, 
 And sweeten every hour of life 
 By bidding my fond hopes to live : 
 I'll give thee all that love can give — 
 Wealth, honors, power, and a place 
 Well suited to thy queenly grace." 
 
 Like one unnerved by startling fear. 
 She followed up the castle stair ; 
 She answered not, nor sought to check 
 The sudden tears, for now the wreck 
 Of new-born hopes had sadly fled ; 
 Nor did it seem that she had heard 
 Of all his speech a single word : — 
 And, waxing wroth, Menendez said : 
 '' Choose quick ! for maiden I do swear 
 '' 'Tis thus alone that thou can'st save 
 Thy saviour from a felon's grave ; 
 Yield now to me thy willing hand. 
 Or I will give the harsh command 
 To swing from yonder turret high 
 
THE EXILE. 89 
 
 Him, whom thou hast condemned to die! 
 Consent — and he shall go forth free 
 And thou shalt strike the shackles loose, 
 Refuse — and thy old friend shall die. 
 Shrink not from me ! each shrieking cry 
 Within these walls will seem a sigh 
 This stormy night. Nor pride of race 
 Shall free thee from my fond embrace, 
 Till hag grozvs haggard, dame beldame 
 And all my troops shall mock thy sJiame I " 
 
 Then spake the Nun, who at the door 
 
 Stood unperceived by Leonore : 
 
 — " Forbear, Menendez, I forbid ! 
 
 Think not that thy base crimes are hid ! 
 
 'Tis not two years since Inez died ; 
 
 I saw thee tear the cloth aside 
 
 And gaze on thy victim — poor child ! 
 
 Pure as a blossom undefiled ; 
 
 Sweet as the violet, and bright 
 
 As is the sunbeam to the sight. 
 
 Two years ago — and fair as truth ; 
 
 Inez died in the bloom of youth ! 
 
 Deceived by thee, then cast aside 
 
 Ere thou hadst made her thy young bride ! 
 
 The Nun then turned to Leonore : 
 
go THE EXILE. 
 
 — " Leave thou the world, its charity, 
 Though loud proclaimed by Pharisee, 
 Closes its doors, shuts out the light 
 From woman's heart with cruel might ; 
 Leave thou the world, that turns its back, 
 Unlike the Christ, upon the wreck 
 Of innocence! Prosperity 
 With purple robes and livery 
 Scoffs at the poor ; while poverty 
 Bears down yon crouching misery ! 
 The guilty 'scape, the guiltless flee. 
 And man laughs on ! 
 
 The common herd 
 Lingers to hear each ribald word, 
 And all approve — for wealth was power 
 When he, a villain, ruled the hour 
 Two years ago with pleasures gay, 
 To while the summer days away ; 
 Meanwhile she died — ruthlessly slain ! " 
 
 She said no more. The fearful strain. 
 It seemed, had clouded now the brain 
 Of Leonore ; with timid glance 
 She turned to meet the Nun's advance, 
 But when the last sad moment came 
 To save his life — whate'er the cost — 
 
THE EXILE. 91 
 
 Her woman's heart o'ercame her pride, 
 And then she gave her hand as bride. 
 Again the Nun cried, — '' I forbid ! " 
 And Leonore, with swimming head 
 And reehng brain, sank to the floor; 
 The gentle N'un, now bending o'er 
 Her senseless form, chafed hands and face 
 And waved Menendez from the place. 
 
 She held him by some mystic power. 
 For, though Menendez would not cower 
 Before a mortal, yet he obeyed 
 Reluctantly, then, turning, said : 
 — " Nina, away ! that mortal dies — 
 Be she like angel from the skies — 
 Who thwarts my will, or thus defies 
 Menendez here? Dost thou not know 
 That there are cells 'neath San Marco 
 Where e'en a Nun may chance to lie?" 
 
 — '' I know it well, and thee defy ! 
 Thou darest not doom me to die ; 
 I saved thee once — ungrateful man 
 Away ! or thou shalt feel the ban 
 From which my prayers once saved thee ! ' 
 
02 THE EXILE. 
 
 Whate'er the cause, the chief obeyed ; 
 Whate'er the end, the Nun did lead 
 The lady Leonore away 
 Unhindered, ere the dawn of day ; 
 And once within those convent walls 
 No human might the will appals: 
 No power, save divine, can make 
 Unwilling bride a husband take ; 
 Nor will even Menendez dare 
 The Avrath of her who governs there. 
 ■^ * « * « 
 
 Far sound the cries of swift curlew, 
 And slowly now a small canoe 
 All softly glided into view; 
 The oar so lightly touched the stream 
 It seemed unreal — some fairy dream 
 Of Arcadie — and she a sprite 
 Who ruled the sylvan stream at night ; 
 Her shoulders and her arms were bare. 
 Her bronze-like breasts, a wondrous pair. 
 Though half-concealed by raven hair, 
 Seemed fairer, fuller, rounder far 
 Than those of Milo's Venus are. 
 
 She gained the centre of the stream 
 And watched the fast-descending gleam 
 Of sunset on the farther shore 
 
THE EXILE, ^^ 
 
 As if to list the sound of oar 
 Or see another bateau glide 
 Toward her own, from yonder side. 
 
 The partridge from its covert fled, • 
 
 The wild sea-crane raised high its head ; j 
 
 The plover, too, as quickly hied ; \ 
 And loud the flying wild-goose cried ; • I 
 
 As down the west the setting sun ^ 
 
 Tinted the brilliant horizon I 
 
 With glowing light ; at last its ray i 
 
 Kisses the hills, then fades away : 1 
 
 The amber light now fills the vales ; 
 
 With soft re-glow, then slowly trails ; 
 
 The deepening shadows of twilight i 
 
 Until the eartli is veiled by night. j 
 
 A maiden grieves, as lovers grieve — \ 
 
 For Indian loves as others love — j 
 
 Her eyes, which looked with fond love-light \ 
 
 To Coacoochee's eyes last night ] 
 
 Now weep with premonition's woe, \ 
 
 As the hours, fleeting, come and go i 
 
 And he comes not. At trysting place, \ 
 With beating heart and anxious face, 
 
 She lingers long and patient waits, ■\ 
 
 Prays to the Sun — and all the Fates I 
 
 That Coacoochee may be spared : ! 
 
g^ THE EXILE. 
 
 For well she knows that he hath dared 
 To grapple with the Spanish foe. 
 
 With the great Adelantado 
 Whose iron heart and arm of might 
 She knew the chief would seek in fight. 
 She trembled then — for who that loves 
 As did this maiden, hath not fears 
 When such a foe as this appears ? 
 Perchance her own fond lover may- 
 Fall 'neath this doughty chieftain's knee- 
 For well she knew he would not fliee — 
 She knew that he would fighting, fall. 
 Or sound the Spanish chieftain's knell 
 With homeward thrust and Indian yell ; 
 Till foeman welters in his gore. 
 And Spaniard falls to rise no more ! 
 For thus the Indian chieftain swore: 
 — "■ My Thronatiska ere the sun 
 Shall rise, and sink 'neath horizon, 
 The wrongs, oppressions, and disgrace 
 Which hath so manacled my race — 
 Until the once free Seminole 
 Hath supple knee and coward soul, — 
 Shall be revenged ! Our foes shall die 
 Ere sun hath reddened Western sky ! 
 
THE EXILE. 95 
 
 — '' But Thronatiska, sweet — my own ! — 
 In life, in death, we are but one ; 
 Thy dark-brown eye, like the gazelle's, 
 Is full of tears ; thy bosom swells, 
 And trembling form clasped close to mine 
 Says thou art mine, as I am thine ! 
 Farewell ! should I not hither come — 
 To kiss these cheeks like rose a-bloom — 
 Thou'U meet me in the spirit home." 
 
 Eyes that zvere radiant, zvhy are they sad ? : 
 Szveet TJironatiska what hast thou read 
 
 In the pages of evening till the sun-tints were gone ^ .! 
 
 Hands clasped above thee, pleading alone ? ■ 
 
 Bride of the honey-moon where is thy bridegroom ? | 
 Blossom of happiness zuhere is thy bloom ? 
 
 Heaves now her bosom, eyes scarce, can see, .j 
 
 Hear her, Great Spirit, pleading to thee ! \ 
 
 \ 
 Heaves nozv her bosom, eyes scarce can see : ■ 
 
 — " World that I loved so, farezuell to thee ! " 
 Sweet zephyrs of evening, murmur afar, 
 
 Murmur the sorrozvs of Thronatiska I j 
 
 ( 
 
 \ 
 
 Pride of the Seminole, lovely brozvn thrush, 
 Slowly the sun-set deepens its blush ; 
 
96 THE EXILE. 
 
 Pure as the dew-drop, or pearl of the sea, 
 Pride of the Seminole, farewell to thee I 
 
 Waiting, still waiting, till the sun went to rest 
 Down the vales of the evening afar in the West : 
 — '^ Shroud of deep waters, — green^grave of the sea,- 
 Soul of my lover I I hasten to thee ! " 
 
 — " World that I loved so T' Earth, sea, and sky 
 Saw the brozvn bosom heave its last sigh ! 
 Willows bent lozver sadly to zveep 
 When szveet Thronatiska sank in the deep ! 
 
 Far down the river a bateau floats free, 
 On with the current and out to the sea, 
 While the white bubbles sadly show zuhere 
 Sweet Thronatiska sank in despair I 
 
 Billow; of the ocean, clasp your zvhite hands, — 
 Wave touching wave, — till again the white sands 
 Receive as their own, while the waves dirge afar, 
 The form of the beautiful TJironatiska I 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 Down 'neath the castle, up from the cells 
 Following stairways, filling the halls, 
 Sound now a-near the fierce Indian yells: 
 Sounding the din of a murderous war. 
 Coming now nearer, then going afar. 
 
 97 
 
 Clotted with gore an Indian chief — | 
 
 Whose step was soft as falling leaf, i 
 
 Whose eye \vas like an eagle's when ■• 
 
 It sweeps from topmost crag to glen, \ 
 
 Fixes its talons on its prey 
 
 Then loudly screams and soars away — i 
 
 Entered the hall where Ribault stood, — 'i 
 
 His sword likewise red stained with blood, — 
 
 For, while the Indian maiden prayed. 
 
 And, though the combat was delayed, ,: 
 
 Before the Spanish chief could seal ] 
 
 His triumph with a single kiss j 
 
 Or rob the convent of its prize : 
 
 They heard the sudden, startling peal 
 
 Of cannon loud, and arquebuse, ♦ 
 
 'Mid clans: of battle and fierce cries. 
 
 As victors now the Frenchmen cry; 
 Like heroes brave do Indians die. 
 And, foremost, Coacoochee stood 
 With savage hands red-dyed in blood. 
 
98 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 The hall was filled — a score of men 
 With clashing arms approached him then. 
 
 The Adelantado was brave, 
 Whatever his great faults might be, 
 Let this be said : he would not save 
 His life, or theirs, by poltroonry; 
 Nor would he seek to 'scape a foe 
 Till his stout arm had dealt a blow 
 That none, save skilful hands, could feel 
 And bear up 'neath his flashing steel. 
 
 Ribault advanced — waved back his men 
 
 Who yielded like a Scottish clan 
 
 To Scottish chief:—'' I scorn," he said 
 
 "To summon others to my aid, 
 
 I scorn to basely fight a foe 
 
 Who cannot strike back blow for blow ; 
 
 I know right well thy crimes demand 
 
 A felon's death ; but here I stand 
 
 To fight thee with my single brand : 
 
 Draw, Spaniard, and thy life defend ! " 
 
 Menendez glared, with eyes of hate 
 
 Like bated bull defying fate, 
 
 — " I know thee well, but fear thee not 
 
THE EXILE. 99 
 
 Thou caitiff, rebel Huguenot ! 
 Methought De Guise had laid thee low 
 With arm of might and loyal blow. 
 I know thee well ! thy cursed life 
 Hath been my goal in former strife, 
 And now, though hosts may heed thy call. 
 Here will I die 'gainst Spanish wall— 
 'Gainst thee Ribault— 'gainst one and all 1 " 
 
 Now blade to blade, and hilt to hilt, 
 
 The combatants fought round the room, 
 
 And now the blood of one is spilt, 
 
 Which seems to knell Count Ribault's doom I 
 
 But that young chieftain heeds it not. 
 
 And Catholic and Huguenot 
 
 Crowd round the two, with eager look 
 
 Watching each parry and each stroke ; 
 
 Now sinks Ribault upon one knee. 
 
 Then up, like lightning, and as free, 
 
 Though bleeding fast ! The blades bright flashed 
 
 Until the Spaniard's sword was dashed 
 
 Across the hall and, though unharmed, 
 
 He stood before Ribault disarmed. 
 
 With sullen glare from eyes of hate 
 
 Menendez waited then his fate. 
 
 Nor sought to leave the fatal place. 
 
 Nor deigned to utter word of grace. 
 
 g - j 
 
lOo THE EXILE. 
 
 — '' Now go ! " cried Ribault, '' thou art free 
 If thou dost pledge thy word to me 
 To lead thy troops beyond the sea ! " 
 — " I promise," said the chief, '' for they, 
 Though overcome this fatal day, 
 I know have fought most gallantly. 
 But for myself, Count Ribault, know 
 I am — shall ever be — thy foe ! " 
 
 The midnight air seemed sadly still : 
 Menendez walked the silent hill ; 
 His martial figure muffled close 
 Strode back and forth before a cross. 
 Anon he drew his watch, then scanned 
 The moonlit path and seemed unmanned 
 The strong man's frame like aspen shook 
 While earnest face with haggard look 
 Was fixed upon the tomb and grave 
 Of Inez — once his doting slave. 
 
 At last he knelt, with fevered head. 
 Before the tomb and humbly prayed ; 
 A touch as light as swaying leaf 
 Caressed his head now bowed with grief ; 
 A hand then rested gently there. 
 And then a woman knelt in prayer 
 
THE EXILE. loi 
 
 Beside the man whose love had won 
 Her heart — and left her life undone ! 
 That heart which once had quickly beat 
 When this proud chief knelt at her feet— 
 Which he had sweetly woo'd and won — 
 Was tranquil now. To him the Nun, 
 So near and yet so far from him, 
 Like a good angel then did seem, 
 While he thus bowed did seem to her 
 Like a forsaken wanderer ! 
 
 The world was changed : the sufferer 
 With chastened grief was comforter. 
 While princely chief, bereft of power, 
 Before his victim seemed to cower ; 
 And when that gentle face met his, 
 Menendez sank upon his knees 
 And bowed his head in grief: — '' Nina, 
 My wronged angel ! come fly with me, 
 I cannot leave this land and thee ! " 
 
 The soft moonlight 
 Shone on a figure dressed in white : 
 The wind arose — and well it might — 
 To silence him when she, that night. 
 With one hand pointing to the tomb, 
 Stretched forth the other to the gloom 
 Which shrouded yonder convent wall 
 
J02 THE EXILE. 
 
 And closed from her the world and all ! 
 He seized her hand, bent down to kiss 
 That lily hand which once was his ! 
 Then groaned with anguish, for alone 
 He knelt beside the cross of stone. 
 
 The moon sailed forth, and stars slipped out 
 From 'hind the clouds, while round about 
 Him lay the graves — he saw but one — 
 The grave of her whose love he'd w^on 
 Then cast aside like wilted flower 
 Or plaything of an idle hour. 
 She whom he had refused to wed 
 Sank slowly till she died ! The Nun, 
 Meanwhile, had left him there alone. 
 
 The clouds grew black ; and dark as they 
 
 The old, old frown came back. — Away 
 
 The chang'd man strode, resolved to die 
 
 Or win again supremacy. 
 
 The cup was bitter ! She refused ; 
 
 Inez, whose love he had abused, 
 
 But whom he loved — w^as now no more ; 
 
 And 'sdeath ! the lady Leonore 
 
 Perchance would soon be Ribault's bride ! 
 
 With muttered curse and rapid stride 
 And muffed form he neared the wood 
 
THE EXILE, 103 
 
 Nor halted, 'till at last he stood 
 
 Amid his sleeping men : for they 
 
 Had taken oath to cross the sea. 
 
 He laid him down, but could not sleep : 
 
 A raging tempest seemed to sweep 
 
 Across his breast. From castle height, 
 
 Where Ribault's standard waved in sight, 
 
 He heard the sentry's — " All is well ! " 
 
 Then rose again with clenched hand 
 
 And stood amid his sleeping band, 
 
 He strode him forth, now up, now down. 
 
 Along the lone and wide sea beach. 
 
 With hardened heart and angry frown 
 
 To list to what wild billows teach — 
 
 He looked above, the star-lit sky 
 
 Shone o'er the sea resplendently : 
 
 Ten million gems, whose diamond light 
 
 Twinkled as merrily that night 
 
 As if defeat had not a pall 
 
 Cast over hope, and life, and all ! 
 
 He turned his eyes and viewed the sea 
 
 Far-reaching as yon azure dome : 
 
 — •' Let thy deep waters hide from me 
 
 The tortures of a vassal's doom ! 
 
 Aye, 'tis worse ! an exile, driven, 
 
 Like a poor hind, from this fair Eden 
 
 Where I have ruled supreme, alone 
 
 Obeyed and feared, as if the throne 
 
I04 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 Of Spain's empire was all my own ! " 
 
 He smiled, this thought at least was sweet, 
 
 It passed as it had come — as fleet 
 
 As Lucifer's when he was driven 
 
 By flaming sword away from heaven — 
 
 But now the Furies seem aflame 
 
 As he bethinks him of his shame : 
 
 His brain's on fire, his senses reel 
 
 As ocean tides around him steal. 
 
 The tides now close around his feet 
 Like licking tongues, that long to meet 
 Around the writhing victim's stake 
 And lap his blood their thirst to slake : 
 — " The end's the same : by fire or water 
 Death ends the pangs of selfish martyr 
 Or blameless captive, Death ends it all, 
 There is no hell ! " — he madly cried, 
 '' Save hell on earth without my bride ! 
 There is no heaven, save that of power 
 And rank, and wealth, and beauty's dower. 
 Aha ! no mortal man shall gloat 
 With victor's pride and rival's hate. 
 Over the fallen chieftain's fate : 
 Whose fame's as wide as is the sea 
 Which offers sepulture to me! 
 Life hath no longer charms, when I, 
 
THE EXILE. 105 
 
 Who cannot rule, and scorn to fly, 
 
 Am witness to Jns victory ! 
 
 'Tis but a leap, one plunge — no more, 
 
 And all thy troubles, life, are o'er! 
 
 I'll die as Adelantado ! " 
 
 And then he turned to curse his foe ; 
 
 Nor cloud e'er shrouded sky with gloom 
 
 Portending wilder, louder blast 
 
 Of thunder, crossing heaven fast. 
 
 Nor vivid lightning write the doom 
 
 Of vessels bending 'neath the gale, — 
 
 Than did the frowns that lowered now 
 
 Upon his swarthy face turned pale. 
 
 Turned pale ? for what ? he lists : the sea 
 
 Sounds to him like a lullaby. 
 
 He saw it gliding fast from view 
 
 And tenantless ! his bride's canoe — 
 
 — '' Sweet Thronatiska, my own ! my own ! 
 
 Too true! too true, alas! my own!" 
 
 Then fiercely grew Coacoochee's wrath 
 
 As he resumed his lonely patlj. 
 
 Fast strode the chief to the Wild-cat's lair'^ 
 
 * Coacoochee in the Seminole tongue, signifies " Wild-cat. 
 
i<^(5 THE EXILE. 
 
 And warriors crowd around him there — 
 A hundred braves— whose savage glare 
 From angry eyes and painted faces 
 Grows fiercer as his ire increases — 
 Nor faggots heaped on forest fire 
 Burn fiercer than did savage ire, 
 When Coacoochee, their young chief, 
 With blazing eyes told of his grief 
 Which made the Indian women wail, — 
 Nor did he cease when ceased this tale, 
 But quick appealed, with hatred's art. 
 Lover's passion, and chieftain's heart. 
 That they should do the Indian's part, 
 And rid the earth of all the men 
 Who had so many Indians slain ! 
 
 The amber light rests on the hills 
 As twilight shadows fill the vales, 
 While dusky forms glide forward slow, 
 As Catholics to chapel go. 
 The Miserere has been sung, 
 The fragrant censer upward swung; 
 The ''Aves'' are said— and the Priest 
 Honors our Savior's sacred feast. 
 Magnolia flowers, white r.s snow. 
 Sway over those who come and go ; 
 And, bearding trees, the hanging moss 
 
THE EXILE. 107 
 
 Waves to the comers weird salute, 
 
 As those who go make sign of cross 
 
 On breast or forehead. The whip-poor-will 
 
 Sounds warning note from yonder hill : 
 
 And echoes now the vesper-bell 
 
 From mission church. Close by, a rill 
 
 Winds gently through the forest deep * 
 
 Where violets and daisies sleep. 
 
 Again, they hear the whip-poor-will, 
 
 While every other bird is still, 
 
 And scarce is heard the ocean's sound. 
 
 The vesper bird flies near the ground, 
 Spreading its wings with mournful cries, 
 As if to warn of sorrow's birth, 
 Then, lights, and flutters near the earth : 
 But, startled, soon it wings its way 
 To owlet haunts behind the day. 
 
 Mysterious bird, hast lost thy nest ? 
 What hidden grief disturbs thy breast ? 
 Hast lost thy mate? Do angels weep 
 When loved ones here disturb their sleep 
 By grievous sins ? Ominous bird 
 Bird of the eve, what hast thou heard ? 
 
io8 THE EXILE, 
 
 Now all are gone ; with reverent care 
 The priest opens the holy book 
 And kneels alone in fervent prayer — 
 Nor sounds the swift stiletto-stroke, 
 When women fall, for not a shriek 
 Tells how the savage Indians wreak 
 Their fatal vengeance ! 
 
 A hundred forms around him go 
 With threat'ning looks — nor trace of woe 
 Saddens the face upturned in prayer. 
 Nor do they see a trace of fear. 
 He turned, arose, — saw eyes of hate, 
 Crossed arms on breast, and faced his fate ; 
 His features changed — 'twas but with grief- 
 Then Father Corpa blessed their chief: 
 From group to group he turned his eyes, 
 Saw not a friend, but heard their cries. 
 
 Again he looked — then prayed to heaven. 
 
 Prayed that their sin might be forgiven — 
 
 Then gently raised his pious head 
 
 And pointing upward calmly said : 
 
 — "■ The Great Spirit, whose eyes descry 
 
 Our ev'ry thought, dwells in the sky ; 
 
 To ev'ry soul a star is given ! 
 
 To light the glowing path of heaven ; — 
 
THE EXILE. 109 
 
 A Star like that of Bethlehem ! " 
 
 He paused — resumed — and glanced at them : 
 
 — '' No rootlet bursts its bonds in Spring, 
 
 No plant, nor flower, nor living thing: 
 
 No rivulet, nor cloud, nor light. 
 
 That is not known to Him to-nig-ht. 
 
 He scarce had ceased Avhen hatchet fell 
 And, crashing through the good Priest's skull 
 Left him a corpse — then all was still : 
 A hundred forms, like phantoi;ns, stand. 
 Until a whoop calls forth the band 
 To strew with human wrecks the path 
 Which vengeance blazes with its wrath ! 
 
 Not as a Nun was she arrayed, 
 Though white the veil which Leonora 
 Upon that sweet occasion wore ; 
 Nor were the nuptials long delayed, 
 The convent bells announced the hour 
 When convent lost its sweetest flower : 
 For Count Ribault looked now with pride 
 Upon his fair and lovely bride. 
 The mellow light of evening sun 
 
jio THE EXILE. 
 
 Illumed the Western horizon, 
 
 As Leonore, in bridal dress, 
 
 Seemed blessed at last with happiness. 
 
 With stooping form and long white hair, 
 And broken accents, Laudonniere 
 With trembling gesture blessed the pair; 
 While soldiers knelt on ev'ry side 
 As knelt Count Ribault and his bride, 
 — " God bless ye, my children ! may more 
 Than bliss be yours forevermore ! " 
 
 A silence deep ensued again 
 
 And stoic Indians viewed the scene 
 
 With looks impassive : one — the chief — 
 
 With accents eloquent but brief. 
 
 Thus spake when the old vet'ran ceased ; 
 
 — " 'Twas my hand, chieftain, that released 
 
 Thy bended form from dungeon rack — 
 
 I owed the debt — I've paid it back. 
 
 This is not why Coacoochee speaks, 
 
 Nor is it treasure that he seeks ; 
 
 Nor would he mar this happy scene 
 
 If Death would let him speak again." 
 
 The young chief paused as if to rest : 
 Bright ornaments were on his breast, 
 
THE EXILE. Ill 
 
 And heron plumes adorned his crest ; 
 Like Nemesis with vengeant mood, 
 But waning strength, Coacoochee stood, — 
 They saw a scalp-lock in his belt, 
 And scalping-knife, blood-red to hilt ! 
 
 Glancing around the hall, he said : 
 
 — '' Coacoochee has avenged the dead ! 
 
 I saw the Spanish soldiers arm 
 
 And heard them plotting deeds of harm ; 
 
 I heard Menendez tell them where 
 
 The '' Wild-cat's " trail led to his lair 
 
 Beneath the lowest cells ; 'twas there 
 
 The Spaniards chained Laudonniere ! 
 
 '' I saw Menendez by thee disarmed, 
 
 I saw him pass forth free, unharmed — 
 
 I heard him give his word to thee 
 
 To cross with all his men the sea : 
 
 And when I heard him bid his men 
 
 To fire this castle and fight again, 
 
 I thought again of Indian slaves 
 
 And Indian sufferings and graves ; 
 
 And then of all the countless woes 
 
 Heaped on my race by cruel foes ! 
 
 Enough— we sought them— found them— and 
 
 Menendez fell beneath my hand ! " 
 
112 THE EXILE. 
 
 The young chief reeled, sank on his side 
 And like a Gladiator died. 
 
 The Indians entered by the stair 
 Just when the kneeling bridal pair 
 Were blessed, and stood in silence near, 
 While he thus spoke to Laudonniere. 
 
 Thus did their trials end ; and they 
 Lived long upon the tropic shore 
 Where sweet geraniums in full bloom 
 Grew in profusion near their home : 
 The fig, the grape, and pomegranate — 
 With luscious fruit, red-ripe and sweet, — 
 And trailing, rosy eglantine 
 Greeted the fragrant wild woodbine ; 
 And fruit, in clusters fair to see. 
 Swayed over them from orange tree. 
 
 Before them lay the ocean beach 
 Where great white billows leap and reach 
 And sport like children, while the sea 
 Uplifts its arms to greet the day ; 
 Behind, the town of Augustine — 
 As quaint a town as e'er was seen — 
 And, far as eye could see, the blue 
 Of mighty ocean charmed the view. 
 
THE EXILE. 113 ] 
 
 'Tis there one sees how balmy eve i 
 
 Doth make the sun its traces leave , 
 
 In golden trails athwart the skies, ] 
 
 Till orange into amber dies ; 
 
 And then the heavens wide assume 
 
 The loveliest cerulean bloom, ; 
 
 Which down the twilight vales of night \ 
 
 Smiles on the earth with mellow light. \ 
 
 \ 
 J 
 
 'Tis there the moon, like lamp of gold 
 
 High-hung amid the massive fold 
 
 Of night-clouds in the azure sky, \ 
 
 Keeps sentry watch. 'Twas there her smile ,1 
 
 So radiant, so free from guile, — j 
 
 And naive as an infant's smile, — i 
 
 Greeted his own, which looked with pride \ 
 
 Upon his lovely Southern bride. \ 
 
 And angels seemed to hover o'er \ 
 
 The happy home of Leonore. , 
 
 Home of the exile ! hail to thee, 
 Thou fairest land of liberty ! 
 One century hath passed alone. 
 Yet it has welded into one 
 
114 ^^^ EXILE. 
 
 Thy varied peoples ; and each race 
 
 And sect, and faith, finds welcome place. 
 
 Each one for all, all for each one, 
 
 Each citizen his country's son, 
 
 Each man a citizen and free : 
 
 The eyes of all humanity 
 
 Are turned, America, to thee ! 
 
 Beacon of liberty ! thy form 
 
 Far lights the waters 'mid the storm ; 
 
 Goddess of Freedom, lift thy hand 
 
 And summon exiles to this land; 
 
 For wars may come, and wars may go, 
 
 And human currents ebb and flow 
 
 But, Rock of Ages, like to thee 
 
 Is this bright sun-land of the free ! 
 
 THE END.