MODERN CLASSICS. 
 
 THE convenient little volumes published under 
 this general title, are in the best sense classic though 
 all of them are modern. They include selections 
 from the works of the most eminent writers of Eng- 
 land and America, and translations of several mas- 
 terpieces by continental aulh 
 
 These selections are not what are generally known 
 as " elegant extracts," single paragraphs which are 
 peculiarly quotable ; but they consist in most cases 
 of entire poems, essays, sketches, and stories. The 
 authors are not only shown at their best, but so 
 fully as to give an adequate idea of their various 
 styles, modes of thought, and distinguishing traits. 
 
 In several instances the selections from an author 
 are accompanied by a biographical or critical essay 
 from another writer, an arrangement which cannot 
 fail to lend additional interest both to the essay and 
 to the selections, especially when the books are 
 used in schools. The choice character of the selec- 
 tions in these volumes makes them peculiarly suit- 
 able for use in schools for supplementary reading ; 
 as indeed it also makes them peculiarly desirable 
 for household libraries.
 
 AJ.6SB LIBKAJU 
 
 MODERN CLASSICS. 
 
 .rtship of Miles Standish. 
 Favorite Poems. 
 
 or, Beauty. J 
 
 > EMERSON. 
 
 as. ) 
 
 i EtlE 
 
 .;ess, Immortality. ) 
 
 fi. j WHITTIBS. 
 
 1 
 
 e Beach. 
 Sir Launfal. ' 
 
 IvOWEU- 
 
 Cbarles Dickeoc. KIBL 
 of his Friends. FIBLM 
 
 T!l r:ner - 1 PriT DDinr-i 
 
 Taw f t-OLERIDG 
 
 Favorite Pcx.-ms. WURDSWORTM. 
 
 
 ST. PIERRE. 
 : da ; Marjorie Fleming. 
 
 
 Da. JOHK BOWK 
 
 Enoch Arden. j 
 
 In Memoriam. > TBNNYSOM. 
 
 F arotite Poems. ) 
 
 See page opposite inside of la.st caver,
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 HOUGHTOX, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. 
 
 Cije Bttm-s'itre
 
 Copyright, 1858, 18^3. and 1866, 
 BY HENRY WADS*\ORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Copyright, i8S6, 
 BY ERNEST W. LONGFELLOW. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass , U. S. A. 
 Electrotyped auU Printed by IL O. Uoughton & Company.
 
 EVANGELINE.
 
 EVANGBLINB. 
 
 A TALE OF ACADIE. 
 
 ] HIS is the forest primeval. The mur- 
 muring pines and the hemlocks, 
 Bearded with moss, and in garments 
 
 green, indistinct in the twilight, 
 Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and 
 
 prophetic, 
 Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on 
 
 their bosoms. 
 Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced 
 
 neighboring ocean 
 
 Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the 
 wail of the forest. 
 
 This is the forest primeval ; but where are the 
 hearts that beneath it 
 
 Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the wood- 
 land the voice of the huntsman? 
 
 Where is the thatch -roofed village, the home of 
 Acadian fanners, 
 
 Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water 
 the woodlands, 
 
 Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an. 
 image of heaven ?
 
 6 EVANGEL1NE. 
 
 Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers 
 
 forever departed ! 
 Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty 
 
 blasts of October 
 Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle 
 
 them far o'er t lie ocean. 
 Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful 
 
 village of Graud-Pre. 
 
 Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and 
 
 endures, and is patient, 
 Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of 
 
 woman's devotion, 
 List to the mournful tradition still sung by the 
 
 pines of the forest ; 
 List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the 
 
 happy.
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 X the Acadian land, on the shores of the 
 
 Basin of Minas, 
 Distant, secluded, still, the little village 
 
 of Grand-Pre 
 Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched 
 
 to the eastward, 
 Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks 
 
 without number. 
 Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised 
 
 with labor incessant, 
 
 Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated sea- 
 sons the flood-gates 
 Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will 
 
 o'er the meadows. 
 West and south there were fields of flax, and 
 
 orchards and cornfields 
 Spreading afar and unfeuced o'er the plain ; and 
 
 away to the northward 
 Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on 
 
 the mountains 
 Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the 
 
 m:glity Atlantic 
 Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their 
 
 station descended. 
 There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the 
 
 Acadian village.
 
 8 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Strongly built were the houses, with frames of 
 
 oak and of hemlock, 
 Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the 
 
 reign of the Henries. 
 Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows ; 
 
 and gables projecting 
 Over the basement below protected and shaded 
 
 the doorway. 
 There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when 
 
 brightly the sunset 
 Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes 
 
 on the chimneys, 
 Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and 
 
 in kirtles 
 Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning 
 
 the golden 
 
 Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shut- 
 tles within doors 
 Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels 
 
 and the songs of the maidens. 
 Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, 
 
 and the children 
 Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended 
 
 to bless them. 
 Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose 
 
 matrons and maidens, 
 
 Hailing his slow approach with words of affec- 
 tionate welcome. 
 Then came the laborers home from the field, and 
 
 serenely the sun sank 
 Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon 
 
 from the belfry 
 Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs 
 
 cf the village
 
 EVANGELINE, 9 
 
 >lumns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of in- 
 cense ascending, 
 Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace 
 
 and contentment. 
 Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian 
 
 farmers, 
 Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were 
 
 they free from 
 Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the 
 
 vice of republics. 
 Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to 
 
 their windows ; 
 But their dwellings were open as day and the 
 
 hearts of the owners ; 
 There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived 
 
 in abundance. 
 
 Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer 
 
 the Basm of Minas, 
 Benedict Bellefontaiue, the wealthiest farmer of 
 
 Grand-Pre, 
 
 Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, direct- 
 ing his household, 
 Gentle Evaugeline lived, his child, and the pride 
 
 of the village. 
 Stal worth and stately in form was the man of 
 
 seventy winters ; 
 Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered 
 
 with snow-flakes; 
 White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks 
 
 as brown as the oak-leaves. 
 Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen 
 
 summers. 
 Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on 
 
 the thorn by the wayside,
 
 10 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the 
 
 brown shade -of her tresses ! 
 Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that 
 
 feed in the meadows. 
 When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers 
 
 at noontide 
 Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth 
 
 was the maiden. 
 Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the 
 
 bell from its turret 
 Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest 
 
 with his hyssop 
 Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings 
 
 upon them, 
 Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet 
 
 of beads and her missal, 
 Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, 
 
 and the ear-rings, 
 Brought in the olden time from France, and since, 
 
 as an heirloom, 
 Handed down from mother to child, through long 
 
 generations. 
 But a celestial brightness a more ethereal 
 
 beauty 
 Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, 
 
 after confession, 
 
 Homeward serenely she walked with God's bene- 
 diction upon her. 
 When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing 
 
 of exquisite music. 
 
 Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house 
 
 of the fanner 
 
 Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ; 
 and a shady
 
 EVANGELINE. 13 
 
 Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine 
 
 wreathing around it. 
 Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; 
 
 and a footpath 
 Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in 
 
 the meadow. 
 Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by 
 
 a penthouse, 
 Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the 
 
 roadside, 
 Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image 
 
 of Mary. 
 Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the 
 
 well with its moss-grown 
 Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough 
 
 for the horses. 
 Shielding the house from storms, on the north, 
 
 were the barns and the farm-yard. 
 There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the 
 
 antique ploughs and the harrows ; 
 There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, in 
 
 his feathered seraglio, 
 Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, 
 
 with the selfsame 
 Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent 
 
 Peter. 
 Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a 
 
 village. In each one 
 Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and 
 
 a staircase, 
 Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous 
 
 corn-loft. 
 There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and 
 
 innocent inmates
 
 14 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the 
 
 variant breezes 
 Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang 
 
 of mutation. 
 
 Tbus, at peace with God and the world, the 
 farmer of Grand-Pre 
 
 Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline gov- 
 erned his household. 
 
 Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and 
 opened his missal, 
 
 Fixed bis eyes upon her as the saint of his 
 deepest devotion ; 
 
 Happy was he who might touch her hand or the 
 hem of her garment ! 
 
 Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness 
 befriended, 
 
 And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound 
 of her footsteps, 
 
 Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the 
 knocker of iron ; 
 
 Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the 
 village, 
 
 Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance 
 as he whispered 
 
 Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the 
 music. 
 
 But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was 
 welcome ; 
 
 Gabriel Lajeuncsse, the son of Basil the black- 
 smith, 
 
 Who was a mighty man in the village, and hon- 
 ored of all men ; 
 
 For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages 
 and nations,
 
 EVANGELINE. 15 
 
 Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by 
 
 the people. 
 Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from 
 
 earliest childhood 
 Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father 
 
 1'eliciau, 
 Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had 
 
 taught them their letters 
 Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the 
 
 church and the plain-song. 
 But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson 
 
 completed, 
 Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the 
 
 blacksmith. 
 There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes 
 
 to behold him 
 Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as 
 
 a plaything, 
 Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the 
 
 tire of the cart-wheel 
 Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of 
 
 cinders. 
 
 Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gather- 
 ing darkness 
 Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through 
 
 every cranny and crevice, 
 
 Warm by the forge wit hint hey watched the labor- 
 ing bellows, 
 And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired 
 
 in the ashes, 
 Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going 
 
 into the chapel. 
 Oft ou sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of 
 
 the eagle,
 
 16 EVANGEL1NE. 
 
 Down the hillside bounding, they glided away 
 
 o'er the meadow. 
 Oft in the barus they climbed to the populous 
 
 nests on the rafters, 
 Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, 
 
 which the swallow 
 Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight 
 
 of its fledglings ; 
 Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of 
 
 the swallow ! 
 Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer 
 
 were children. 
 He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face 
 
 of the morning, 
 Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened 
 
 thought into action. 
 She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes 
 
 of a woman. 
 " Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called ; for 
 
 that was the sunshine 
 Which, as the farmers believed, would load their 
 
 orchards with apples ; 
 She, too, would bring to her husband's house 
 
 delight and abundance, 
 Tilling it full of love and the ruddy faces of 
 
 children. 
 
 Now had the season returned, when the nights 
 
 grow colder and longer, 
 And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion 
 
 enters. 
 Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, 
 
 from the ire-bound.
 
 EVANGELINE. 17 
 
 Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical 
 islands. 
 
 Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the 
 winds of September 
 
 Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old 
 with the angel. 
 
 All the signs foretold a winter long and inclem- 
 ent, i 
 
 Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded 
 their honey 
 
 Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters 
 asserted 
 
 Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur 
 of the foxes. 
 
 Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed 
 that beautiful season, 
 
 Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer 
 of All-Saints ! 
 
 Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical 
 light ; and the landscape 
 
 Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of child- 
 hood. 
 
 Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the rest- 
 less heart of the ocean 
 
 Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were 
 in harmony blended. 
 
 Voices of children at, play, the crowing of cocks 
 in the farm -yards, 
 
 Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing 
 of pigeons, 
 
 All were subdued and low as the murmurs of 
 love, and the great sun 
 
 Looked with the eye of love through the golden 
 vapors around him ;
 
 18 EVANGELINE. 
 
 While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet 
 
 and yellow, 
 Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering 
 
 tree of the forest 
 Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned 
 
 with mantles and jewels. 
 
 Now recommenced the reign of rest and affec- 
 tion and stillness. 
 Day with ils burden and heat had departed, and 
 
 Iwilight descending 
 Brought back the evening star to the sky, and 
 
 the herds to the homestead. 
 Pawing the ground they came, and resting their 
 
 necks on each other, 
 And with their nostrils distended inhaling the 
 
 freshness of evening. 
 
 Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beauti- 
 ful heifer, 
 Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon 
 
 that waved from her collar, 
 Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human 
 
 affection. 
 Then came the shepherd back with his bleating 
 
 flocks from the seaside, 
 Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them 
 
 followed the watch-dog, 
 Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride 
 
 of his instinct, 
 Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and 
 
 superbly 
 Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the 
 
 stragglers ; 
 Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept ; 
 
 tlioir proterfor,
 
 EVANGELINE. 19 
 
 When from the forest at night, through the starry 
 
 silence, the wolves howled. 
 Late, with the rising nioou, returned the wains 
 
 from the marshes, 
 Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its 
 
 odor. 
 Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their 
 
 manes and their fetlocks, 
 While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and 
 
 poudarous saddles, 
 
 Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tas- 
 sels of crimson, 
 Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy 
 
 with blossoms. 
 Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded 
 
 their udders 
 Unto the milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud and in 
 
 regular cadence 
 Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets 
 
 descend :d. 
 Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard 
 
 in ihs farm-yard, 
 Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into 
 
 stillness ; 
 Hsavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves 
 
 of the barn-doors, 
 Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season 
 
 was silent. 
 
 lii-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, 
 
 idly tlis farmer 
 Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames 
 
 and the smoke-wreaths 
 Struggled together like foes in a burning city. 
 
 Behind him,
 
 20 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Nodding and mocking along the wall, with ges- 
 tures fantastic, 
 
 Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away 
 into darkness. 
 
 Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his 
 arm-chair 
 
 Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter 
 plates on the dresser 
 
 Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of 
 armies the sunshine. 
 
 Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols 
 of Christmas, 
 
 Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers 
 before him 
 
 Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Bur- 
 gundian vineyards. 
 
 Close at her father's side was the gentle Evange- 
 line seated, 
 
 Spinning (lax for the loom, that stood in the cor- 
 ner behind her. 
 
 Silent, awnile were its treadles, at rest was its 
 diligent shuttle, 
 
 While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like 
 the drone of a bagpipe, 
 
 Followed the old man's song, and united the frag- 
 ments together. 
 
 .As in a church, when the chaut of the choir at 
 intervals ceases, 
 
 Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the 
 priest at the altar, 
 
 So, in each pause of the song, with measured 
 motiou the clock clicked. 
 
 Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, 
 and, suddenly lifted,
 
 EVANGELINE. 21 
 
 Souuded tlie -wooden latch, and the door swung 
 back on its hinges. 
 
 Benedict knew by the hobnailed shoes it was 
 Basil the blacksmith, 
 
 And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who 
 was with him. 
 
 " Welcome ! " the farmer exclaimed, as their foot- 
 steps paused on the threshold, 
 
 "..Welcome, Basil, my friend ! Come, take thy 
 place on the settle 
 
 Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty 
 without thee ; 
 
 Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the 
 box of tobacco ; 
 
 Never so much thyself art thou as when through 
 the curling 
 
 Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and 
 jovial face gleams 
 
 Round and red as the harvest moon through the 
 mist of the marshes." 
 
 Then, with a smile of content, thus answered 
 Basil the blacksmith, 
 
 Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the 
 fireside : 
 
 " Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest 
 and thy ballad ! 
 
 Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others 
 are filled with 
 
 Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin be- 
 fore them. 
 
 Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked 
 up a horseshoe." 
 
 Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evan- 
 geline brought him,
 
 22 EVANGELINE. 
 
 And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he 
 
 slowly continued : 
 "Pour days now are passed since the English 
 
 ships at their anchors 
 
 Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their can- 
 non pointed against us. 
 What their design may be is unknown ; but all 
 
 are commanded 
 On the morrow to meet in the church, where his 
 
 Majesty's mandate 
 Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in 
 
 the mean time 
 Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the 
 
 people." 
 Then made answer the farmer : " Perhaps some 
 
 friendlier purpose 
 Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the 
 
 harvests in England 
 By untimely rains or uutimelier heat have been 
 
 blighted, 
 And from our bursting barns they would feed 
 
 their cattle and children." 
 "Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said, 
 
 warmly, the blacksmith, 
 Shaking his head, as in doubt; then, heaving a 
 
 sigh, he continued : 
 "Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Bsau Sejour, 
 
 nor Port Royal. 
 Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on 
 
 its outskirts, 
 Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of 
 
 to-morrow. 
 Arms have been taken from us, and warlike 
 
 weapons of all kinds ;
 
 EVANGELINE. 23 
 
 Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and 
 
 the scythe of the mower." 
 Then with a pleasant smile made answer the 
 
 jovial farmer : 
 " Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks 
 
 and our cornfields, 
 Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the 
 
 ocean, 
 
 Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the ene- 
 my's cannon. 
 Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no 
 
 shadow of sorrow 
 Fall on this house and hearth; for this is the 
 
 night of the contract. 
 Built are the house and the barn. The merry 
 
 lads of the village 
 
 Strongly have built them and well ; and, break- 
 ing the glebe round about them, 
 Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food 
 
 for a twelvemonth. 
 Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers 
 
 and inkhorn. 
 Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy 
 
 of our children ? " 
 As apart by the window she stood, with her hand 
 
 in her lover's, 
 Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her 
 
 father had spoken, 
 And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary 
 
 entered. 
 
 III. 
 
 BENT, like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf 
 of the ocean,
 
 24 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the 
 
 notary-public ; 
 Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the 
 
 maize, hung 
 Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and 
 
 glasses with horn bows 
 Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom 
 
 supernal. 
 Father of twenty children was he, and more than 
 
 a hundred 
 Children's children rode on his knee, and heard 
 
 his great watch tick. 
 Four long years in the times of the war had he 
 
 languished a captive, 
 Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend 
 
 of the English. 
 Now, though warier grown, without all guile or 
 
 suspicion, 
 Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, 
 
 and childlike. 
 He was beloved by all, and most of all by the 
 
 children ; 
 For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the 
 
 forest, 
 And of the goblin that came in the night to water 
 
 the horses, 
 And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child 
 
 who unchristened 
 
 Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the cham- 
 bers of children ; 
 And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in 
 
 the stable, 
 And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up 
 
 in a nutshell,
 
 EVAXGELINE. 25 
 
 And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clo- 
 ver and horseshoes, 
 With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the 
 
 village. 
 Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil 
 
 the blacksmith, 
 
 Knocked from his pipe the ashes, aud slowly ex- 
 tending his right hand, 
 "Father Leblauc," he exclaimed, "thou hast 
 
 heard the talk in the village, 
 And, perchance, canst tell us some uews of these 
 
 ships and their errand." 
 Theu with modest demeanor made answer the 
 
 notary-public, 
 " Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am 
 
 never the wiser ; 
 And what their errand may be I know not better 
 
 than others. 
 Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil 
 
 intention 
 Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why 
 
 then molest us ? " 
 " God's name ! " shouted the hasty and somewhat 
 
 irascible blacksmith ; 
 " Must we in all things look for the how, and the 
 
 why, and the wherefore ? 
 Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of 
 
 the strongest ! " 
 But, without heeding his warmth, continued the 
 
 notary-public, 
 "Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally 
 
 justice 
 Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, tliat 
 
 often consoled me,
 
 6 EYAXGEL1NE. 
 
 Wlien as a captive I lay in the old French fort at 
 
 Port Royal." 
 This was the old man's i'avorite tale, and he loved 
 
 to repeat it 
 When his neighbors complained that any injustice 
 
 was done them. 
 " Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer 
 
 remember, 
 Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of 
 
 Justice 
 Stood in the public square, upholding the scales 
 
 in its left hand, 
 
 And in its right a sword, as an emblem that jus- 
 tice presided 
 Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and 
 
 homes of the people. 
 Even the birds had built their nests in the scales 
 
 of the balance, 
 Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the 
 
 sunshine above them. 
 But in the course of time the laws of the land 
 
 were corrupted ; 
 Might took the place of right, and the weak were 
 
 oppressed, and the mighty 
 Ruled With an iron rod. Ttieu it chanced in a 
 
 nobleman's palace 
 That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a 
 
 suspicion 
 Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the 
 
 household. 
 She, after form of trial condemned to die on the 
 
 scaffold, 
 Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue 
 
 of Justice.
 
 EVANGELINE. 27 
 
 As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit 
 
 ascended, 
 Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts 
 
 of the thunder 
 Smote the statue, of bronze, and hurled in wrath 
 
 from its left hand 
 Down on the pavement below the clattering scales 
 
 of the balance, 
 And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of 
 
 a magpie, 
 Into whose clay -built walls the necklace of pearls 
 
 was inwoven." 
 Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was 
 
 ended, the blacksmiih 
 Stood like a man who fain would speak, but 
 
 faideth no language ; 
 All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his 
 
 face, as the vapors 
 Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window -panes 
 
 in the winter. 
 
 Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on 
 
 the table, 
 Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with 
 
 home-brewed 
 Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength 
 
 in the village of Graud-Pre ; 
 While from his pocket the notary drew his papers 
 
 and inkhoru, 
 Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age 
 
 of the parties, 
 Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep 
 
 and in cattle. 
 Orderly all thiugs proceeded, and duly and well 
 
 were completed,
 
 28 EVANGELINE. 
 
 And the great seal of the law was set. like a sun 
 ou t.hs margin. 
 
 Then from his leathern pouch the fanner threw 
 on the table 
 
 Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of 
 silver ; 
 
 And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and 
 the bridegroom, 
 
 Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their 
 welfare. 
 
 Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed 
 and departed, 
 
 While in silence the others sat and mused by the 
 firesida, 
 
 Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out 
 of its corner. 
 
 Soon was the game begun. In friendly conten- 
 tion the old men 
 
 Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful ma- 
 noeuvre, 
 
 Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach 
 was made in the king-row. 
 
 Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a win- 
 dow's embrasure, 
 
 Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding 
 the moon rise 
 
 Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the 
 meadows. 
 
 Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of 
 heaven, 
 
 Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of 
 the angels. 
 
 Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell 
 from the belfrv
 
 EVANGELINE. 29 
 
 Hang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, 
 
 and straightway 
 Rose the guests and departed ; and silence reigned 
 
 in the household. 
 Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on 
 
 tlie door-step 
 Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it 
 
 with gladness. 
 Carefully then were covered the embers that 
 
 glowed on the hearth-stone, 
 And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of 
 
 the farmer. 
 Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline 
 
 followed. 
 Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the 
 
 darkness, 
 Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face 
 
 of the maiden. 
 Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door 
 
 of her chamber. 
 Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of 
 
 white, and its clothes-press 
 Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were 
 
 carefully folded 
 
 Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evange- 
 line woven. 
 This was the precious dower she would bring to 
 
 her husband in marriage, 
 Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her 
 
 skill as a housewife. 
 Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow 
 
 and radiant moonlight 
 Streamed through the windows, and lighted the 
 
 room, till the heart of the maiden
 
 30 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous 
 tides of the ocean. 
 
 Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as 
 she stood with 
 
 Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of 
 her chamber ! 
 
 Little she dreamed that below, among the trees 
 of the orchard, 
 
 Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of 
 her lamp and her shadow. 
 
 Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a 
 feeling of sadness 
 
 Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds 
 in the moonlight 
 
 Flitted across the floor and darkened the room 
 for a moment. 
 
 And, as she gazed from the window, she saw 
 serenely the moon pass 
 
 Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star fol- 
 low her footsteps, 
 
 As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wan- 
 dered with Hagar ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 PLEASANTLY rose next morn the sun on the vil- 
 lage of Grand-Pre. 
 
 Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin 
 of Minas, 
 
 Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, 
 were riding at anchor. 
 
 Life had long been astir in the village, and clam- 
 orous labor 
 
 Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden 
 <?ates of the morni""-.
 
 EVAXGELINE. 31 
 
 Now from the country around, from the farmi 
 
 and neighboring hamlets, 
 Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian 
 
 peasants. 
 Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from 
 
 the young folk 
 
 Made the bright air brighter, as up from the nu- 
 merous meadows, 
 Where no path could be seen but the track of 
 
 wheels in the greensward, 
 Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed 
 
 on the highway. 
 Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor 
 
 were silenced. 
 Thronged were the streets with people; and 
 
 noisy groups at the house-doors 
 Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped 
 
 together. 
 Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed 
 
 and feasted; 
 
 For with this simple people, who lived like broth- 
 ers together, 
 All things were held in common, and what one 
 
 had was another's. 
 Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed 
 
 more abundant : 
 For Evangeline stood among the guests of her 
 
 fat her ; 
 Bright was her face with smiles, and words of 
 
 welcome and gladness 
 Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup 
 
 as she gave it. 
 
 Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the 
 orchard.
 
 32 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feasi of 
 betrothal. 
 
 There hi the shade of the porch were the priest 
 aud the notary seated; 
 
 There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the 
 blacksmith. 
 
 Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-pres* 
 and the beehives, 
 
 Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest 
 of hearts and of waistcoats. 
 
 Shadow and light from the leaves alternately 
 played on his snow-white 
 
 Hair, as it' waved in the wind; and the jolly face 
 of the fiddler 
 
 Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are 
 blown from the embers. 
 
 Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of 
 his fiddle, 
 
 Tons les Bourgeois de Churtres, and Le Carillon 
 de Dunkerque, 
 
 And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the 
 music. 
 
 Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzy- 
 ing dances 
 
 Under the orchard-trees and down the path to 
 the meadows ; 
 
 Old folk and young together, and children min- 
 gled among them. 
 
 Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Bene- 
 dict's daughter ! 
 
 Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the 
 blacksmith ! 
 
 80 passed the morning away. And lo ! with 
 a summons sonorous
 
 EVANGELISE. 33 
 
 Bounded the bell from its tower, and over the 
 
 meadows a drum beat. 
 Thronged erelong was the church with men. 
 
 Without, in the churchyard, 
 Waited the women. They stood by the graves, 
 
 and hung on the headstones 
 Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh 
 
 from the forest. 
 
 Then came the guard from the ships, and march- 
 ing proudly among them 
 
 Entered the sacred portal. With loud and disso- 
 nant clangor 
 Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from 
 
 ceiling and casement, 
 Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous 
 
 portal 
 Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will 
 
 of the soldiers. 
 Then uprose their commander, and spake frcm 
 
 the steps of the altar, 
 Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the 
 
 royal commission. 
 " You are convened this day," he said, "by his 
 
 Majesty's orders. 
 Clement and kind has he been ; but how you 
 
 have answered his kindness, 
 Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural 
 
 make and my temper 
 Painful the task is I do, which to you I know 
 
 must be grievous. 
 Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of 
 
 our monarch ; 
 Namely, that all vour lauds, and dwellings, and 
 
 cattle of all kinds
 
 34 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you your- 
 selves from this province 
 
 Be transported to other lands. God grant you 
 may dwell there 
 
 Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable 
 people ! 
 
 Prisoners now I declare you ; for such is his Maj- 
 esty's pleasure ! " 
 
 As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice 
 of summer, 
 
 Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling 
 of the hailstones 
 
 Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and 
 shatters his windows, 
 
 Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with 
 thatch from the house-roofs, 
 
 Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their 
 enclosures ; 
 
 So on the hearts of the people descended the 
 words of the speaker. 
 
 Silent a moment they stood in speechless won- 
 der, and then rose 
 
 Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and an- 
 ger, 
 
 And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed 
 to the doorway. 
 
 Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and fierce 
 imprecations 
 
 Rang through the house of prayer ; and high 
 o'er the heads of the others 
 
 Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil 
 
 the blacksmith, 
 
 As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the 
 billows.
 
 EVANGELINE. 35 
 
 Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; 
 
 and wildly lie shouted, 
 " Down witli Ihe tyrants of England! we never 
 
 have sworn them allegiance ! 
 Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our 
 
 homes and our harvests ! " 
 More he fain would have said, but the merciless 
 
 hand of a soldier 
 Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him 
 
 down to the pavement. 
 
 In the midst of the strife and tumult of ar,gry 
 
 contention, 
 Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father 
 
 Felician 
 Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the 
 
 steps of the altar. 
 Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he 
 
 awed into silence 
 All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to 
 
 his people ; 
 Deep were his tones and solemn; in accents 
 
 measured and mournful 
 Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly 
 
 the clock strikes. 
 "What is this that ye do, my children? what 
 
 madness has seized you ? 
 Forty years of my life have I labored among you, 
 
 and taught you, 
 Xot in word alone, but in deed, to love one 
 
 another! 
 Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and 
 
 prayers and privations ? 
 Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love 
 
 and forgiveness ?
 
 36 EVAXGEL1NE. 
 
 This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and 
 
 would you profane it 
 Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing 
 
 with hatred ? 
 Lo ! where the crucified Christ from his cross is 
 
 gazing upon von ! 
 See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and 
 
 holy compassion ! 
 Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, ' O 
 
 Father, forgive them ! ' 
 Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the 
 
 wicked assail us, 
 Let us repeat it now, and say, ' O Father, forgive 
 
 them ! ' ' 
 Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the 
 
 hearts of his people 
 Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the 
 
 passionate outbreak, 
 While they repeated his prayer, and said, " O 
 
 Father, forgive them ! " 
 
 Then came the evening service. The tapers 
 
 gleamed from the altar. 
 Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and 
 
 the people responded. 
 Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and 
 
 the Ave Maria 
 Sang they, and foil on their knees, and their souls, 
 
 with devotion translated, 
 Rose on the ardor of prascr, like Elijah ascending 
 
 to heaven. 
 
 Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings 
 of ill, and on all sides
 
 KVAXGELIXE. 37 
 
 Wandered, wailing, from house to bouse the 
 women and children. 
 
 Long at her father's door Evaugeline stood, with 
 her right hand 
 
 Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, 
 that, descending, 
 
 Lighted the village street with mysterious splen- 
 dor, and roofed each 
 
 Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and embla- 
 zoned its windows. 
 
 Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth 
 on the table ; 
 
 There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fra- 
 grant with wild-flowers ; 
 
 There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese 
 fresh brought from the dairy ; 
 
 And, at the head of the board, the great arm-chair 
 of the farmer. 
 
 Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as 
 the sunset 
 
 Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad 
 ambrosial meadows. 
 
 Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had 
 fallen, 
 
 And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celes- 
 tial asceuded, 
 
 Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgive- 
 ness, and patience ! 
 
 Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the 
 villa 
 
 Cheering with looks and words the mournful 
 hearts of the women, 
 
 As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps 
 they departed,
 
 38 E V A N G E L 1 N E . 
 
 Urged by their household cares, and the weary 
 feet of their children. 
 
 Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, 
 glimmering vapors 
 
 Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet de- 
 scending from Sinai. 
 
 Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus 
 sounded. 
 
 Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church 
 
 Evangeline lingered. 
 All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and 
 
 the windows 
 Stood she, and listened and looked, till, overcome 
 
 by emotion, 
 " Gabriel ! " cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; 
 
 but no answer 
 Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier 
 
 grave of the living. 
 Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless 
 
 house of her father. 
 Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board 
 
 was the supper untasted, 
 Empty and drear was each room, and haunted 
 
 with phantoms of terror. 
 Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor 
 
 of her chamber. 
 In the dead of the night she heard the disconsolate 
 
 rain fall 
 Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree 
 
 by the window. 
 Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of the 
 
 echoing thunder 
 Told her that God was in heaven, and governed 
 
 the world he created !
 
 EVANGELINE. 39 
 
 Then she remembered the tale she had heard of 
 
 the justice of Heaven ; 
 Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully 
 
 slumbered till morning. 
 
 v. 
 
 FOUR times the sun had risen and set ; and no\? 
 
 on the lit'th day 
 Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of 
 
 the farm-house. 
 Soon o'er the yellow lields, in silent and mournful 
 
 procession, 
 Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms 
 
 the Acadian women, 
 Driving in ponderous wains their household goods 
 
 to the sea-shore, 
 Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on 
 
 their dwellings, 
 Ere they were shut from sight by the winding 
 
 road and the woodland. 
 Close at their sides their cliildren ran, and urged 
 
 on the oxen, 
 
 While in their little hands they clasped some frag- 
 ments of playthings. 
 
 Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; 
 
 and there on the sea-beach 
 Piled in contusion lay the household goods of the 
 
 peasants. 
 All day long between the shore and the ships did 
 
 the boats ply ; 
 All day long the wains came laboring down from 
 
 the village.
 
 40 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to 
 his setting, 
 
 Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums 
 from the churchyard. 
 
 Thither the women and children thronged. On a 
 sudden the church-doors 
 
 Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching 
 in gloomy procession 
 
 Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Aca- 
 dian farmers. 
 
 Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their 
 homes and their country, 
 
 Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are 
 weary and wayworn, 
 
 So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants 
 descended 
 
 Down from the church to the shore, amid their 
 wives and their daughters. 
 
 Foremost the young men came ; and, raising to- 
 gether their voices, 
 
 Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic 
 Missions : 
 
 " Sacred heart of the Saviour ! O inexhaustible 
 fountain ! 
 
 Fill our hearts this day with strength and submis- 
 sion and patience ! " 
 
 Then the old men, as they marched, and the 
 women that stood by the wayside, 
 
 Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the 
 sunshine above them 
 
 Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits 
 departed. 
 
 Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited 
 in silence.
 
 EYAXGELIXE. 41 
 
 Not overcome with grief, but strong ill the hour 
 
 of affliction, 
 Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession 
 
 approached her, 
 And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with 
 
 emotion. 
 Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running 
 
 to meet him, 
 Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his 
 
 shoulder, and whispered, 
 " Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one 
 
 another 
 
 Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mis- 
 chances may happen ! " 
 Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly 
 
 paused, for her father 
 Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed 
 
 was his aspect ! 
 Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire 
 
 from his eye, and his footstep 
 Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy 
 
 heart in his bosom. 
 But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck 
 
 and embraced him, 
 Speaking words of endearment where words of 
 
 comfort availed not. 
 Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that 
 
 mournful procession. 
 
 There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and 
 stir of embarking. 
 
 Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the con- 
 fusion 
 
 Wives were torn from their husbands, and moth- 
 ers, too late, saw their children
 
 42 EVANGEL1NE. 
 
 Left on the land, extending their arms, with 
 
 wildest entreaties. 
 So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel 
 
 carried, 
 While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood 
 
 with her father. 
 Half the task was not done when the sun went 
 
 down, and the twilight 
 Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste the 
 
 refluent ocean 
 Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the 
 
 sand-beach 
 Covered with wait's of the tide, with kelp and the 
 
 slippery sea-weed. 
 Farther back in the midst of the household goods 
 
 and the wagons, 
 Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a 
 
 battle/ 
 All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels 
 
 near them, 
 Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian 
 
 farmers. 
 
 Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bel- 
 lowing ocean, 
 Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, 
 
 and leaving 
 Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats 
 
 of the sailors. 
 Then, at the night descended, the herds returned 
 
 from llieir pastures ; 
 Sweet was 'lie moist still air with the odor of 
 
 milk from their udders ; 
 Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known 
 
 bars of the farm-yard,
 
 Wail 
 
 EVANGELISE. 43 
 
 aited and looked in vain for the voice and the 
 
 hand of the milkmaid. 
 Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church 
 
 no Angelas sounded, 
 Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no 
 
 lights from the windows. 
 
 But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires 
 
 had been kindled, 
 Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from 
 
 wrecks in the tempest. 
 Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces 
 
 were gathered, 
 Voices of women were heard, aud of men, and the 
 
 crying of children. 
 Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth 
 
 in his parish, 
 
 Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and bless- 
 ing and cheering, 
 Like unto ship wrecked Paul on Melita's desolate 
 
 sea-shore. 
 Thus he approached the place where Evaugeline 
 
 sat with her father, 
 And in the flickering light beheld the face of the 
 
 old man, 
 Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either 
 
 thought or emotion, 
 E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands 
 
 have been taken. 
 Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses 
 
 to cheer him, 
 Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he 
 
 looked not, he spake not, 
 
 But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flick- 
 ering firelight.
 
 44 E VANG EL INK. 
 
 " Benedicite ! " murmured the priest, in tones 
 
 of compassion. 
 More he fain would have said, but his heart was 
 
 full, and his accents 
 Paltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a 
 
 child on a threshold, 
 Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful 
 
 presence of sorrow. 
 Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head 
 
 of the maiden, 
 Raising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that 
 
 above them 
 Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs 
 
 and sorrows of mortals. 
 
 Then sat lie down at her side, and they wept to- 
 gether in silence. 
 
 Suddenly rose from the south a light, as iu 
 
 autumn the blood-red 
 Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er 
 
 the horizon 
 Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon 
 
 mountain and meadow, 
 Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge 
 
 shadows together. 
 Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs 
 
 of the village, 
 Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships 
 
 that lay in the roadstead. 
 Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of 
 
 flame were 
 Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like 
 
 the quivering hands of a martyr. 
 Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burn- 
 ing thatch, and, uplifting.
 
 EVAXGELINE. 45 
 
 lirled them aloft through the air, at once from 
 
 a hundred house-tops 
 Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame 
 intermingled. 
 
 These things beheld in dismay the crowd on 
 the shore and on shipboard. 
 
 Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in 
 their anguish, 
 
 " We shall behold no more our homes in the vil- 
 lage of Graud-Pre ! " 
 
 Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the 
 farm-yards, 
 
 Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the low- 
 ing of cattle 
 
 Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of 
 dogs interrupted. 
 
 Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the 
 sleeping encampments 
 
 Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt 
 the Nebraska, 
 
 When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with 
 the speed of the whirlwind, 
 
 Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to 
 the river. 
 
 Such was the sound that arose on the night, as 
 the herds and the horses 
 
 Broke through their folds and fences, and madly 
 rushed o'er the meadows. 
 
 Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, 
 
 the priest and the maiden 
 Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and 
 widened before them ;
 
 46 EVANGELINE. 
 
 And as they turned at length to speak to their 
 
 silent companion, 
 Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched 
 
 abroad on the sea-shore 
 Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had 
 
 departed. 
 Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and 
 
 the maiden 
 Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in 
 
 her terror. 
 Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head 
 
 on his bosom. 
 Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious 
 
 slumber ; 
 And when she woke from the trance, she beheld 
 
 a multitude near her. 
 Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully 
 
 gazing upon her, 
 Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest com- 
 
 passion. 
 Still the blaze of the burning village illumined 
 
 the landscape, 
 Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the 
 
 faces around her, 
 
 And like the day of doom it seemed to her waver- 
 ing senses. 
 Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the 
 
 people, 
 " Let us bury him here by the sea. When a 
 
 happier season 
 Brings us again to our homes from the unknown 
 
 land of our exile, 
 Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the 
 
 churchyard."
 
 EVAXGELIXE. 47 
 
 Such were the words of the priest. And there 
 in haste by the seaside, 
 
 Having the glare of the burning village for fu- 
 neral torches, 
 
 But without bell or book, they buried the fanner 
 of Graud-Pre. 
 
 And as the voice of the priest repeated the ser- 
 vice of sorrow, 
 
 Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a 
 vast congregation, 
 
 Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar 
 with the dirges. 
 
 'T was the returning tide, that afar from the waste 
 of the ocean, 
 
 "With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and 
 hurrying landward. 
 
 Then recommenced once more the stir and noise 
 of embarking : 
 
 And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out 
 of the harbor, 
 
 Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and 
 the village in ruins.
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 ANY a weary year had passed since the 
 
 burning of Grand-Pre, 
 When on the falling tide the freighted 
 vessels departed, 
 
 Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into 
 exile, 
 
 Exile without an end, and without an example in 
 story. 
 
 Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians 
 landed; 
 
 Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when 
 the wind from the northeast 
 
 Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the 
 Banks of Newfoundland. 
 
 Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered 
 from city to city, 
 
 From the cold lakes of the North to sultry South- 
 ern savannas, 
 
 From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands 
 where the Father of Waters 
 
 Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them 
 down to the oc^m, 
 
 Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones 
 of the mammoth. . 
 
 Friends they .sought and homes ; and many, de- 
 spairing, heart-broken,
 
 E V A X G E L I X E . 49 
 
 Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a 
 
 friend nor a fireside. 
 Written their history stands on tablets of stone 
 
 in the churchyards. 
 Long among them was seen a maiden who waited 
 
 and wandered, 
 Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering 
 
 all tilings. 
 Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her 
 
 extended, 
 Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with 
 
 its pathway 
 Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed 
 
 and suffered before her, 
 Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead 
 
 and abandoned, 
 As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is 
 
 marked by 
 Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach 
 
 in the sunshine. 
 
 Something there was in her life incomplete, im- 
 perfect, unfinished; 
 As if a morning of June, with all its music and 
 
 sunshine, 
 Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly 
 
 descended 
 Into the east again, from whence it late had 
 
 arisen. 
 Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by 
 
 the lever within her, 
 Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst 
 
 of the spirit, 
 She would commence again her endless search 
 
 and endeavor ;
 
 50 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on 
 
 the crosses and tombstones, 
 Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that 
 
 perhaps in its bosom 
 He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber 
 
 beside him. 
 Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate 
 
 whisper, 
 Came with its airy hand to point and beckon hei 
 
 forward. 
 Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her 
 
 beloved and known him, 
 
 But it was long ago, in some far-off place or for- 
 gotten. 
 " Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " they said ; " yes ! we 
 
 have seen him. 
 lie was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have 
 
 . gone to the prairies ; 
 Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous 1m: 
 
 and trappers." 
 " Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others ; " O yes ! we 
 
 have seen him. 
 He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of L 
 
 ana." 
 Then would they say, " Dear child ! why - 
 
 and wait for him longer ? 
 Are there not other youths as fair as C icl? 
 
 others 
 Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits 
 
 as loyal ? 
 Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who 
 
 has loved thee 
 Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand 
 
 and be happy !
 
 EVANGELISE. f. 1 
 
 Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Cathe 
 
 rine's tresses." 
 Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but 
 
 sadly, " I cannot ! 
 Whither my heart lias gone, there follows my 
 
 hand, and not elsewhere. 
 For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and 
 
 illumines the pathway, 
 Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden 
 
 in darkness." 
 
 Thereupon the priest, her friend and father-con- 
 fessor, 
 \\ith a smile, "O daughter! thy God thus 
 
 speaketh within thee ! 
 Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was 
 
 wasted ; 
 If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, 
 
 returning 
 Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them 
 
 full of refreshment ; 
 That which the fountain sends forth returns again 
 
 to the fountain. 
 Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; accomplish thy 
 
 work of affection ! 
 
 Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endur- 
 ance is godlike. 
 Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the 
 
 heart is made godlike, 
 
 Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered 
 
 more worthy of heaven!" 
 Cheered by the good man's words, Evaugeline 
 
 labored and waited. 
 Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge o.' 
 
 the ocean,
 
 52 EVANGEHNE. 
 
 But with its sound there was mingled a voice that 
 
 whispered, " Despair not ! " 
 Thus did that poor soul wander in want and 
 
 cheerless discomfort, 
 Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns 
 
 of existence. 
 Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wanderer's 
 
 footsteps ; 
 Not through each devious path, each changeful 
 
 year of existence ; 
 But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course 
 
 through the valley : 
 Par from its margin at times, and seeing the 
 
 gleam of its water 
 
 Here and there, in some open space, and at in- 
 tervals only ; 
 Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan 
 
 glooms that conceal it, 
 Though he behold it not, he can hear its contain- 
 
 ous murmur ; 
 Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it 
 
 reaches an outlet. 
 
 IT was the month of May. Tar down the Beau- 
 tiful lliver, 
 
 Past *he Ohio shore and past the mouth of the 
 Wabash, 
 
 Into the golden stream of the broad and swift 
 Mississippi, 
 
 Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by 
 Acadian boatmen. 
 
 It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from 
 the slripwreekcd
 
 EVANGELINE. 55 
 
 Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating 
 
 together, 
 Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a 
 
 common misfortune ; 
 Men and women and children, who, guided by 
 
 hope or by hearsay, 
 Sought for their kith and their kin among the 
 
 few-acred farmers 
 On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair 
 
 Opelousas. 
 With them Evangeiine went, and her guide, the 
 
 Father Fclician. 
 Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness 
 
 sombre with forests, 
 Day after day they glided adown the turbulent 
 
 river ; 
 Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped 
 
 on its oorders. 
 Now through rushing chutes, among green 
 
 islands, where plumelike 
 Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they 
 
 - swept with the current, 
 Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery 
 
 sand-bars 
 Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves 
 
 of their margin, 
 Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of 
 
 pelicans waded. 
 Level the landscape grew, and along the shores 
 
 of the river, 
 Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant 
 
 gardens, 
 Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins 
 
 and dove-cots.
 
 56 EVANGELINE. 
 
 They were approaching the region where reigns 
 perpetual summer, 
 
 Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of 
 orange and citron, 
 
 Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the 
 eastward. 
 
 They, too, swerved from their course ; and, enter- 
 ing the Bayou of Plaquemine, 
 
 Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious 
 waters, 
 
 Which, like a network of steel, extended in every 
 direction. 
 
 Over their heads the towering and tenebrous 
 boughs of the cypress 
 
 Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid- 
 air 
 
 Waved like banners that hang on the Avails of 
 ancient cathedrals. . 
 
 Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save 
 by the herons 
 
 Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning 
 at sunset, 
 
 Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with de- 
 moniac laughter. 
 
 Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and 
 gleamed on the water, 
 
 Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sus- 
 taining the arches, 
 
 Down through whose broken vaults it fell as 
 through chinks in a ruin. 
 
 Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all 
 things around them ; 
 
 And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of 
 wonder and sadness,
 
 EVANGELINE. 57 
 
 Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot 
 
 be compassed. 
 As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of 
 
 the prairies, 
 Far in advance are closed the leaves of the 
 
 shrinking mimosa, 
 So, at the hoof-beats~of fate, with sad forebodings 
 
 of evil, 
 Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of 
 
 doom has attained it. 
 But Evangclme's heart was sustained by a vision, 
 
 that faintly 
 Pleated before her eyes, and beckoned her on 
 
 through the moonlight. 
 It was the thought of her brain that assumed the 
 
 shape of a phantom. 
 
 Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wan- 
 dered before her, 
 And every stroke of the oar now brought him 
 
 nearer and nearer. 
 
 Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, 
 
 rose one of the oarsmen, 
 And, as a signal sound, if others like them per- 
 
 ad vent ure 
 Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, 
 
 blew a blast on his bugle. 
 Wild through the d irk colonnades and corridors 
 
 leafy the blast rang, 
 Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues 
 
 to the forest. 
 Soundless above them the banners of moss just 
 
 stirred to the music. 
 Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the dis- 
 
 tnnc?,
 
 O5 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverber- 
 ant branches ; 
 
 But not a voice replied ; no answer came from 
 the darkness; 
 
 And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of 
 pain was the silence. 
 
 Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed 
 through the midnight, 
 
 Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian 
 boat-songs, 
 
 Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian 
 rivers, 
 
 While through the night were heard the mysteri- 
 ous sounds of the desert, 
 
 Far off, indistinct, as of wave or wind in 
 the forest, 
 
 Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar 
 of the grim alligator. 
 
 Thus ere another noon they emerged from the 
 shades ; and before them 
 
 Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafa- 
 laya. 
 
 Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight un- 
 dulations 
 
 Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in 
 beauty, .the lotus 
 
 Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the 
 boatmen. 
 
 Faint was the air with the odorous breath of 
 magnolia blossoms, 
 
 And with the heat of noon ; and numberless syl- 
 van islands, 
 
 Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossom- 
 ing hcdovs of ros"s,
 
 EVAXGELIXE. 59 
 
 Near to whose shores they glided along, invited 
 to slumber. 
 
 Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars 
 were suspended. 
 
 Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew 
 by the margin, 
 
 Safely their bout was moored ; and scattered 
 about on the greensward, 
 
 Tired with their midnight toil, the weary trav- 
 ellers slumbered. 
 
 Over them vast and high extended the cope of a 
 cedar. 
 
 Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower 
 and the grape-vine 
 
 Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder 
 of Jacob, 
 
 On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, 
 descending, 
 
 Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from 
 blossom to blossom. 
 
 Such was the vision Evaiigeline saw as she slum- 
 bered beneath it. 
 
 Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of 
 an opening heaven 
 
 Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of re- 
 gions celestial. 
 
 Nearer, ever nearer, among the numberless 
 islands, 
 
 Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er 
 the water, 
 
 Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunt- 
 ers and trapp 
 
 Northward its prow was turned, to the land o!' 
 the bison and beaver.
 
 60 EVAN CELINE. 
 
 At the helm sat a youth, with countenance 
 
 thoughtful and careworn. 
 Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, 
 
 and a sadness 
 Somewhat beyond his years on his face was 
 
 legibly written. 
 
 Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, un- 
 happy and restless, 
 Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and 
 
 of sorrow. 
 Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of 
 
 the island, 
 But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen 
 
 of palmettos, 
 
 So that they saw not the boat, where it lay con- 
 cealed in the willows, 
 All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and 
 
 unseen, were the sleepers, 
 Angel of God was there none to awaken the 
 
 slumbering maiden. 
 Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a 
 
 cloud on the prairie. 
 ' After the sound of their oars on the tholes had 
 
 died in the distance, 
 As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and 
 
 the maiden 
 Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, " O Father 
 
 Felician ! 
 Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel 
 
 wanders. 
 Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague supcrst i- 
 
 tion ? 
 Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth 
 
 to my spirit?"
 
 EVAXGELINE. 61 
 
 Then, with a blush, she added, "Alas for my 
 
 credulous fancy ! 
 Unto ears like thiiie such words as these have no 
 
 meaning.''' 
 But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled 
 
 as he answered, 
 " Daughter, thy words are not idle ; nor are they 
 
 to me without meaning. 
 Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that 
 
 floats on the surface 
 Is as the + ossing buoy, that betrays where the 
 
 anchor is hidden. 
 Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the 
 
 world calls illusions. 
 Gabriel truly is near thee; for not far away to 
 
 the southward. 
 On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. 
 
 Maur and St. Martin. 
 There the loner-wandering bride shall be given 
 
 again to her bridegroom, 
 There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and 
 
 his sheepfold. 
 Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests 
 
 of fruit-trees ; 
 Under the 1'eet a garden of flowers, and the bluest 
 
 of heavens 
 Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls 
 
 of the forest. 
 They who dwell there have named it the Eden 
 
 of Louisiana." 
 
 With these words of cheer they arose and con- 
 tinued their journey. 
 
 Softly the evening came. The sun from the 
 western horizon
 
 62 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Like a magician extended liis golden wand o'er 
 
 the landscape ; 
 Twinkling vapors arose ; and sky and water and 
 
 forest 
 Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and 
 
 mingled together. 
 Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges 
 
 of silver, 
 Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the 
 
 motionless water. 
 Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible 
 
 sweetness. 
 Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains 
 
 of feeling 
 Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and 
 
 waters around her. 
 
 Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking- 
 bird, wildest of singers, 
 Swinging aloft on a willow spray that, hung o'er 
 
 the water, 
 Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious 
 
 music, 
 That the whole air and the woods and the waves 
 
 seemed silent to listen. 
 Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; then 
 
 soaring to madness 
 
 Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of fren- 
 zied Bacchantes. 
 Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low 
 
 lamentation ; 
 Till, having gathered them all, he flung them 
 
 abroad in derision, 
 As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through 
 
 the tree-tops
 
 EVANGELINE. 63 
 
 Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower 
 oil the branches. 
 
 With such a prelude as this, and hearts that 
 throbbed with emotion, 
 
 Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows 
 through the green Opelousas, 
 
 And, through the amber air, above the crest of 
 the woodland, 
 
 Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neigh- 
 boring dwelling ; 
 
 Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant 
 lowing of cattle. 
 
 in. 
 
 K"EAR to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by 
 oaks, from whose branches 
 
 Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe 
 flaunted, 
 
 Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatch- 
 ets at Yule-tide, 
 
 Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herds- 
 man. A garden 
 
 Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant 
 blossoms, 
 
 rilling the air with fragrance. The house itself 
 was of timbers 
 
 Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted 
 together. 
 
 Large and low was the roof; and on slender 
 columns supported, 
 
 Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spa- 
 cious veranda, 
 
 Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended 
 around it.
 
 64 EVANGELINE. 
 
 At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the 
 
 garden, 
 Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual 
 
 symbol, 
 Scenes or endless wooing, and endless contentious 
 
 of rivals. 
 Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow 
 
 and sunshine 
 Ran near the tops of the trees; but the house 
 
 itself was iu shadow, 
 And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly 
 
 expanding 
 Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke 
 
 rose. 
 In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, 
 
 ran a pathway 
 Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of 
 
 the limitless prairie, 
 Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly 
 
 descending. 
 Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy 
 
 canvas 
 Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless 
 
 calm in the tropics, 
 Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of 
 
 grape-vines. 
 
 Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf 
 
 of the prairie, 
 Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and 
 
 stirrups, 
 Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of 
 
 deerskin. 
 Broad and brown was the face that from under 
 
 the Spanish sombrero
 
 EVAXGELINE. 65 
 
 Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look 
 
 of its master. 
 Round about him were numberless herds of kine, 
 
 that were grazing 
 
 Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the va- 
 pory freshness 
 That uprose from the river, and spread itself over 
 
 the landscape. 
 Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and 
 
 expanding 
 Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that 
 
 resounded 
 Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp 
 
 air of the evening. 
 Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns 
 
 of the cattle 
 Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents 
 
 of ocean. 
 Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing 
 
 rushed o'er the prairie, 
 And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in 
 
 the distance. 
 Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, 
 
 through the gate of the garden 
 Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden 
 
 advancing to meet him. 
 Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in 
 
 amazement, and forward 
 Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of 
 
 wonder ; . 
 When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil 
 
 the blacksmith. 
 Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to 
 
 the garden.
 
 66 EVANGELINE. 
 
 There in an arbor of roses with endless question 
 
 and answer 
 Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their 
 
 friendly embraces, 
 Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent 
 
 and thoughtful. 
 Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not ; and now dark 
 
 doubts and misgivings 
 
 Stole o'er the maiden's heart ; and Basil, some- 
 what embarrassed, 
 Broke the silence and said, " If you came by the 
 
 Atchafalaya, 
 How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's 
 
 boat on the bayous ? " 
 Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a 
 
 shade passed. 
 Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a 
 
 tremulous accent, 
 " Gone ? is Gabriel gone ? " and, concealing her 
 
 face on his shoulder, 
 All her o'erburdcued heart gave way, and she 
 
 wept and lamented. 
 Then the good Basil said, and his voice grew 
 
 blithe as he said it, 
 " Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only to-day 
 
 he departed. 
 Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds 
 
 and my horses. 
 Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, 
 
 his spirit 
 Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet 
 
 existence. 
 Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful 
 
 ever.
 
 E VANG El IXE. 67 
 
 Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and liis 
 
 troubles, 
 He at length had become so tedious to men and 
 
 to maidens, 
 Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought 
 
 me, and sent him 
 Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with 
 
 the Spaniards. 
 Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the 
 
 Ozark Mountains, 
 Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping 
 
 the beaver. 
 Therefore be of good cheer ; we will follow the 
 
 fugitive lover ; 
 He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the 
 
 streams are against him. 
 Up and away to-morrow, and through the red 
 
 d3w of the morning 
 ~\Ve will follow him fast, and bring him back to 
 
 his prison." 
 
 Then glad voices were heard, and up from the 
 
 banks of the river, 
 Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael 
 
 the fiddler. 
 Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god 
 
 on Olympus, 
 Having no other care than dispensing music to 
 
 mortals. 
 Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his 
 
 fiddle. 
 " Long live Michael," they cried, " our brave 
 
 Acadian minstrel ! " 
 As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; 
 
 and straightway
 
 68 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greet- 
 ing the old man 
 
 Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while 
 Basil, enraptured, 
 
 Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and 
 gossips, 
 
 Laughing loud and long, and embracing moth- 
 ers and daughters. 
 
 Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the 
 ci-devant blacksmith, 
 
 All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal 
 demeanor ; 
 
 Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil 
 and the climate, 
 
 And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were 
 his who would take them ; 
 
 Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would 
 go and do likewise. 
 
 Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the 
 breezy veranda, 
 
 Entered the hall of the house, where already the 
 supper of Basil 
 
 Waited his late return; and they rested and 
 feasted together. 
 
 Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness 
 descended. 
 
 All was silent without, and, illuming the land- 
 scape with silver, 
 
 Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; 
 but within doors, 
 
 Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in 
 the glimmering lamplight. 
 
 Then from his station aloft, at the head of the 
 table, the herdsman
 
 EVAXGELIXE. 69 
 
 Poured forth his heart arid his wine together in 
 
 endless profusion. 
 
 Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet 
 Natchitoches tobacco, 
 
 Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and 
 smiled as they listened : 
 
 \Vclcome once more, my friends, who long have 
 been friendless and homeless, 
 
 Welcome once more to a home, that is better per- 
 chance than the old one ! 
 
 Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like 
 the rivers; 
 
 Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the 
 farmer. 
 
 Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, 
 as a keel through the water. 
 
 All the year round the orange-groves are in blos- 
 som ; and grass grows 
 
 More in a single night than a whole Canadian 
 summer. 
 
 Here, too, numberless herds run wild and un- 
 claimed in the prairies ; 
 
 Here, too, knds may be had for the asking, and 
 forests of timber 
 
 With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed 
 into houses. 
 
 After your houses are built, and your fields are 
 yellow with harvests, 
 
 No King George of England shall drive you away 
 from your homesteads, 
 
 Burniug your dwellings and barns, and stealing 
 your farms and your cattle." 
 
 Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud 
 from his nostrils,
 
 70 EVANGELINE. 
 
 While his huge, brown hand came thundering 
 
 down on the table, 
 So that the guests all started; and Father Feli- 
 
 cian, astounded, 
 Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way 
 
 to his nostrils. 
 But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were 
 
 milder and gayer : 
 " Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware 
 
 of the fever ! 
 
 Tor it is not like that of our cold Acadian cli- 
 mate, 
 Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's 
 
 neck in a nutshell ! " 
 Then there were voices heard at the door, and 
 
 footsteps approaching 
 Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the 
 
 breezy veranda. 
 It was the neighboring Creoles and small Acadian 
 
 planters, 
 Who had been summoned all to the house of 
 
 Basil the Herdsman. 
 Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and 
 
 neighbors : 
 Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who 
 
 before were as strangers, 
 Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends 
 
 to each other, 
 Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country 
 
 together. 
 But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, 
 
 proceeding 
 
 From the accordant strings of Michael's melodi- 
 ous fiddle,
 
 EVANGELINE. 71 
 
 Broke up all further speech. Away, like children 
 
 delighted, 
 AJ1 things lorgotten beside, they gave themselves 
 
 to the inaddeuiug 
 Whirl of the dizzy daiice, as it swept and swayed 
 
 to tlie music, 
 Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of 
 
 nattering garments. 
 
 Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the 
 
 priest and the herdsman 
 oat, conversing together of past and present and 
 
 future ; 
 While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for 
 
 wit hiii her 
 Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of 
 
 the music 
 
 Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepres- 
 sible sadness 
 Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth 
 
 into the garden. 
 Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall 
 
 of the forest, 
 Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. 
 
 On the river 
 Fell here and there through the branches a 
 
 tremulous gleam of the moonlight, 
 Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened 
 
 and devious spirit. 
 Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers 
 
 of the garden 
 Poured out their souls in odors, that were their 
 
 prayers and confessions 
 Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent 
 
 Carthusian.
 
 72 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with 
 
 shadows and night-dews, 
 Hung the heart of the maiden. The cairn and 
 
 the magical moonlight 
 Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable 
 
 longings, 
 As, through the garden gate, and beneath the 
 
 shade of the oak-trees, 
 Passed she along the path to the edge of the 
 
 measureless prairie. 
 
 Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire- 
 flies 
 Gleaming and floating away in mingled and 
 
 infinite numbers. 
 Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in 
 
 the heavens, 
 Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to 
 
 marvel and worship, 
 Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls 
 
 of that temple, 
 As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, 
 
 " Upharsin." 
 And the soul of the maiden, between the stars 
 
 and the fire-flies, 
 Wandered alone, and she cried, " Gabriel ! O 
 
 my beloved ! 
 
 Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot be- 
 hold thee ? 
 Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does 
 
 not reach me ? 
 Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to 
 
 the prairie ! 
 Ah! how often thine eyes have looked on the 
 
 woodlands around me !
 
 EVANGELINE. 73 
 
 . ! how often beneath this oak, returning from 
 
 labor, 
 Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me 
 
 in thy slumbers. 
 When shall these eyes behold, these arms be 
 
 folded about thee ? " 
 Loud and sudden and near the note of a whip- 
 
 poorwill sounded 
 Like a flute in the woods ; and anon, through the 
 
 neighboring thickets, 
 Farther and farther away it floated and dropped 
 
 into silence. 
 " Patience ! " whispered the oaks from oracular 
 
 caverns of darkness : 
 A.nd, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, 
 
 " To-morrow ! " 
 
 Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the 
 
 flowers of the garden 
 Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and 
 
 anointed his tresses 
 With the delicious balm that they bore in their 
 
 vases of crvstal. 
 " Farewell ! " said the priest, as he stood at the 
 
 shadowy threshold ; 
 " See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from 
 
 his mating and famine, 
 And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when 
 
 the bridegroom was coming." 
 " Farewell ! " answered the maiden, and, smiling, 
 
 with B^sil descended 
 Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen 
 
 already were waiting.
 
 74 EVANGELIXE. 
 
 Thus beginning their journey with morning, and 
 
 sunshine, and gladness, 
 Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was 
 
 speeding before them, 
 Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf ovei 
 
 the desert. 
 Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that 
 
 succeeded, 
 Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest 
 
 or river, 
 Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but 
 
 vague and uncertain 
 Rumors alone were their guides through a wild 
 
 and desolate country ; 
 Till, at the little inn of 'the Spanish town of 
 
 Adayes, 
 Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from 
 
 the garrulous landlord, 
 That on the day before, with horses and guides 
 
 and companions, 
 Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the 
 
 prairies. 
 
 IV. 
 
 FAR in the West there lies a desert land, where 
 
 the mountains 
 Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and 
 
 luminous summits. 
 Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the 
 
 gorge, like a gateway, 
 Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emi- 
 
 grant's wagon, 
 Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway 
 
 and Owyhee.
 
 EVANGELISTS. 75 
 
 Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind- 
 river Mountains, 
 
 Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps 
 the Nebraska ; 
 
 And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and 
 the Spanish sierras, 
 
 Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the 
 wind of the desert, 
 
 Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, de- 
 scend to the ocean, 
 
 Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and sol- 
 emn vibrations. 
 
 Spreading between these streams are the won- 
 drous, beautiful prairies, 
 
 Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and 
 sunshine, 
 
 Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and pur- 
 ple amorphas. 
 
 Over them wander the buffalo herds, and the elk 
 and the roebuck ; 
 
 Over them wander the wolves, and herds of rider- 
 less horses ; 
 
 Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are 
 weary with travel; 
 
 Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ish- 
 mael's children, 
 
 Staining the desert with blood; and above their 
 terrible war-trails 
 
 Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the 
 vulture, 
 
 Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered 
 in battle, 
 
 By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the 
 heavens.
 
 76 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Here and there rise smokes from the camps of 
 
 these savage marauders ; 
 Here and there rise groves from the margins of 
 
 swift-running rivers ; 
 And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk 
 
 of the desert, 
 Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots 
 
 by the brookside, 
 And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline 
 
 heaven, 
 Like the protecting hand of God inverted above 
 
 them. 
 
 Into this wonderful land, at the base of the 
 
 Ozark Mountains, 
 
 Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trap- 
 pers behind him. 
 Day after day, with their Indian guides, the 
 
 maiden and Basil 
 Followed his flying steps, and thought each day 
 
 to o'ertake him. 
 Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the 
 
 smoke of his camp-fire 
 Rise in the morning air from the distant plain ; 
 
 but at nightfall, 
 When they had reached the place, they found 
 
 only embers and ashes. 
 And, though their hearts were sad at times and 
 
 their bodies were weary, 
 Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata 
 
 Morgana 
 Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated 
 
 and vanished before them.
 
 
 EVAXGELIXE. 77 
 
 Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there 
 
 silently entered 
 Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose 
 
 features 
 Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great 
 
 as her sorrow. 
 She was a Shawnee woman returning home to 
 
 her people, 
 From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel 
 
 Camanches, 
 Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des- 
 
 Bois, had been murdered. 
 
 Touched were their hearts at her story, and warm- 
 est aud friendliest welcome 
 Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and 
 
 feasted among them 
 On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on 
 
 the embers. 
 But when their meal was done, and Basil and all 
 
 his companions, 
 Wom with the long day's march and the chase 
 
 of the deer and the bison, 
 Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept 
 
 where the quivering firelight 
 Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms 
 
 wrapped up in their blankets, 
 Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and 
 
 repeated 
 Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of 
 
 her Indian accent, 
 All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and 
 
 pains, and reverses. 
 Much Evaugeline wept at the tale, and to know 
 
 that another
 
 78 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Hapless heart like her own had loved and had 
 
 been disappointed. 
 Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and 
 
 woman's compassion, 
 
 Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suf- 
 fered was near her, 
 
 She in turn related her love and all its disas- 
 ters. 
 Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when 
 
 she had ended 
 Still was mute ; but at length, as if a mysterious 
 
 horror 
 Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated 
 
 the tale of the Mowis ; 
 Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and 
 
 wedded a maiden, 
 But, when the morning came, arose and passed 
 
 from the wigwam, 
 Fading and melting away and dissolving into the 
 
 sunshine, 
 Till she beheld him no more, though she followed 
 
 far into the forest. 
 Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like 
 
 a weird incantation, 
 Told she the tale of the lair Lilinau, who was 
 
 wooed by a phantom, 
 That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, 
 
 in the hush of the twilight, 
 Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered 
 
 love to the maiden, 
 Till she followed his green and waving plume 
 
 through the forest, 
 And nevermore returned, nor was seen again by 
 
 her people.
 
 EVAXGELIXE. 79 
 
 Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evange- 
 
 liiie listened 
 To the soft flow of her magical words, till the 
 
 region around her 
 Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy 
 
 guest the enchantress. 
 Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the 
 
 moon rose, 
 Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious 
 
 splendor 
 Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and 
 
 filling the woodland. 
 With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and 
 
 the branches 
 Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible 
 
 whispers. 
 Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's 
 
 heart, but a secret, 
 
 Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, 
 As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest 
 
 of the swallow. 
 It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region 
 
 of spirits 
 Seemed to float in the air of night ; and she felt 
 
 for a moment 
 
 That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursu- 
 ing a phantom. 
 \\ ith this thought she slept, and the fear and the 
 
 phantom had vanished. 
 
 Early upon the morrow the march was r^- 
 
 sumed ; and the Shawnee 
 
 Said, as they journeyed along, " On the western 
 slope of these mountains
 
 80 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief 
 
 of the Mission. 
 Much he teaches the people, and tells them of 
 
 Mary and Jesus ; 
 Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with 
 
 pain, as they hear him." 
 -^"hen, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evange- 
 
 line answered, 
 ' Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings 
 
 await us ! " 
 Thither they turned their steeds ; and behind a 
 
 spur of the mountains, 
 Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur 
 
 of voices, 
 jtnd in a meadow green and broad, by the bank 
 
 of a river, 
 caw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the 
 
 Jesuit Mission. 
 Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of 
 
 the village, 
 Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A 
 
 crucifix fastened 
 High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed 
 
 by grape-vines, 
 Looked with its agonized face on the multitude 
 
 kneeling beneath it. 
 This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the 
 
 intricate arches 
 
 Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their ves- 
 pers, 
 Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and 
 
 sighs of the branches. 
 Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer 
 
 approaching,
 
 EVAXGELIXE. 81 
 
 Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the 
 evening devotions. 
 
 But when the service was done, and the benedic- 
 tion had fallen 
 
 Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from 
 the-hands of the sower, 
 
 Slowly the reverend man advanced to the stran- 
 gers, and bade them 
 
 Welcome ; and when they replied, he smiled with 
 benignant expression, 
 
 Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue 
 in the forest, 
 
 And, with words of kindness, conducted them 
 into his wigwam. 
 
 There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on 
 cakes of the maize-ear 
 
 Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water- 
 gourd of the teacher. 
 
 Soon was their story told; and the priest with 
 solemnity answered : 
 
 "Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, 
 seated 
 
 On this mat by my side, where now the maiden 
 reposes, 
 
 Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and con 
 tinned his journey ! " 
 
 Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake 
 with an accent of kindness ; 
 
 But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in 
 winter the snow-flakes 
 
 Fall into some lone nest from which the birds 
 have departed. 
 
 "Far to the north he has gone," continued the 
 priest; " but in autumn,
 
 SJJ EVANGELINE. 
 
 When the chase is done, will return again to the 
 
 Mission." 
 Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek 
 
 and submissive, 
 "Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad 
 
 and afflicted." 
 So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and betimes 
 
 on the morrow, 
 Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian 
 
 guides and companions, 
 Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed 
 
 at the Mission. 
 
 Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each 
 
 other, 
 Days and weeks and months ; and the fields of 
 
 maize that were springing 
 Green from the ground when a stranger she came, 
 
 now waving above her, 
 Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, 
 
 and forming 
 
 Cloisters for mendicant crows aiid granaries pil- 
 laged by squirrels. 
 Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, 
 
 and the maidens 
 Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened 
 
 a lover, 
 But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief 
 
 in the cornfield. 
 Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought 
 
 not her lover. 
 " Patience ! " the priest would say ; " have faith, 
 
 and thy prayer will be answered ! 
 Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head 
 
 from the meadow,
 
 EVANGELIXE. 83 
 
 See bow its leaves are turned to the north, as true 
 
 as the magnet ; 
 This is the compass-flower, that the finger of 
 
 God has planted 
 
 Here in the houseless wild, to direct the travel- 
 ler's journey 
 Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the 
 
 desert. 
 Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms 
 
 of passion, 
 Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller 
 
 of fragrance, 
 But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their 
 
 odor is deadly. 
 Only this humble plant can guide us here, and 
 
 hereafter 
 Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with 
 
 the dews of nepenthe." 
 
 , 
 
 So came the autumn, and passed, and the win- 
 ter, yet Gabriel came not ; 
 ilossomed the opening spring, and the notes of 
 
 the robin and bluebird 
 Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet 
 
 Gabriel came not. 
 But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor 
 
 was wafted 
 Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of 
 
 blossom. 
 Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan 
 
 forests, 
 Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Sagiuaw 
 
 River. 
 And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes 
 
 of St. LaMTence,
 
 SI f:VAX(! Kf.I XE. 
 
 Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the 
 
 Mission. 
 When over weary ways, by long and perilous 
 
 marches, 
 She had attained at length the depths of the 
 
 Michigan forests, 
 Pound she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen 
 
 to ruin ! 
 
 Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in 
 
 seasons and places 
 Divers and distant far was seen the wandering 
 
 maiden ; 
 NOW in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian 
 
 Missions, 
 Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of 
 
 the army, 
 Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous 
 
 cities. 
 Like a phantom she came, and passed away un- 
 
 remembered. 
 Fair was she and young, when in hope began the 
 
 long journey; 
 Faded was she and old, when in disappointment 
 
 it ended. 
 Each succeeding year stole something away from 
 
 her boa id \ . 
 Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom 
 
 and the shadow. 
 Then there appeared and spread fault streaks of 
 
 gray o'er her forehead, 
 Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly 
 
 horizon, 
 As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the 
 
 morning.
 
 EVANGELIXE. 85 
 
 V. 
 
 Lv that delightful land which is washed by the 
 
 Delaware's waters, 
 Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the 
 
 apostle, 
 Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the 
 
 city he founded. 
 There all the air is balm, and the peach is the 
 
 emblem of beauty, 
 And the streets still re-echo the names of the 
 
 trees of the forest, 
 As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose 
 
 haunts they molested. 
 There from the troubled sea had E vangeline landed, 
 
 an exile, 
 Finding among the children of Penn a home and 
 
 a country. 
 There old Rene Leblanc had died ; and when he 
 
 departed, 
 
 Saw at his side only one of all his hundred de- 
 scendants. 
 Something at least there was in the friendly streets 
 
 of the city, 
 Something that spake to her heart, and made her 
 
 no longer a stranger ; 
 And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou 
 
 of the Quakers, 
 
 For it recalled the past, the old Acadian coun- 
 try, 
 Where all men were equal, and all were brothers 
 
 and sisters. 
 So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed 
 
 endeavor,
 
 86 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, un- 
 complaining, 
 Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her 
 
 thoughts and her footsteps. 
 As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the 
 
 morning 
 Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape 
 
 below us, 
 Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and 
 
 hamlets, 
 So fell the mist s from her mind, and she saw the 
 
 world far below her, 
 Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; 
 
 and the pathway 
 Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and 
 
 fair in the distance. 
 Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was 
 
 his image, 
 Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last 
 
 she beheld him, 
 Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence 
 
 and absence. 
 Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it 
 
 was not. 
 Over him years had no power ; he was not changed, 
 
 but transfigured ; 
 He had become to her heart as one who is dead, 
 
 and not' absent ; 
 Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to 
 
 others, 
 This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had 
 
 taught her. 
 
 So was her love diffused, but, like to some odor- 
 ous spices,
 
 EVANGELINE. 87 
 
 Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air 
 
 with aroma. 
 Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to 
 
 follow 
 Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of 
 
 "her Saviour. 
 Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy ; 
 
 frequenting 
 Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes 
 
 of the city, 
 Where distress and want concealed themselves 
 
 from the sunlight, 
 "Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished 
 
 neglected. 
 Night after night, when the world was asleep, as 
 
 the watchman repeated 
 Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well 
 
 in the city, 
 High at some lonely window he saw the light of 
 
 her taper. 
 Day after d;ty, in the gray of the dawn, as slow 
 
 through the suburbs 
 Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and 
 
 fruits for the market, 
 Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from 
 
 its watchings. 
 
 Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on 
 
 the city, 
 Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks 
 
 of wild pigeons, 
 Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught 
 
 in their craws but an acorn. 
 And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month 
 
 of September,
 
 88 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a 
 
 lake iu the meadow, 
 So death flooded life, and, o'erflowiug its natural 
 
 margin, 
 Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of 
 
 existence. 
 Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to 
 
 charm, the oppressor ; 
 But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his 
 
 anger; 
 Only, alas ! the f oor, who had neither friends 
 
 nor attendants, 
 Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the 
 
 homeless. 
 Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of 
 
 meadows and woodlands ; 
 Now the city surrounds it; but still, with its 
 
 gateway and wicket 
 Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls 
 
 seem to echo 
 Softly the words of the Lord: "The poor ye 
 
 always have with you." 
 Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of 
 
 Mercy. The dying 
 Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to 
 
 behold there 
 Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead 
 
 with splendor, 
 Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints 
 
 and apostles, 
 Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a 
 
 distance. 
 Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city 
 
 celestial,
 
 EVANGELINE. 89 
 
 Into whose sliming gates erelong their spirits 
 would enter. 
 
 Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, 
 deserted and silent, 
 
 Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of 
 the ahnshouse. 
 
 Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers 
 in the garden; 
 
 And she paused on her way to gather the fairest 
 among them, 
 
 That the dying once more might rejoice in their 
 fragrance and beauty. 
 
 Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, 
 cooled by the east -wind, 
 
 Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from 
 the belfry of Christ Church, 
 
 While, intermingled with these, across the mead- 
 ows were wafted 
 
 Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes 
 in their church at Wicaco. 
 
 Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour 
 on her spirit ; 
 
 Something within her said, "At length thy trials 
 are ended " ; 
 
 And, with light in her looks, she entered the cham- 
 bers of sickness. 
 
 Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful 
 attendants, 
 
 Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, 
 and in silence 
 
 Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and con- 
 cealing 1 heir faces, 
 
 Where ou their pallets thev lay, like drifts of 
 snow by the roadside.
 
 90 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeliue 
 
 entered, 
 Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she 
 
 passed, for her presence 
 Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the 
 
 walls of a prison. 
 And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, 
 
 the consoler, 
 Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed 
 
 it forever. 
 
 Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night- 
 time ; 
 Vacant their places were, or filled already by 
 
 strangers. 
 
 Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of 
 
 wonder, 
 Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while 
 
 a shudder 
 Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flow 
 
 erets dropped from her fingers, 
 And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom 
 
 of the morning. 
 Then there escaped from her lips a cry of sucli 
 
 terrible anguish, 
 That the dying heard it, and started up from 
 
 their pillows. 
 On the pallet before her was stretched the form 
 
 of an old man. 
 Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that 
 
 shaded his temples ; 
 But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for 
 
 a mom put 
 Seemed to assume once more the forms of its 
 
 earlier manhood ;
 
 EVANGELINE. 91 
 
 So are wont to be changed the faces of those who 
 
 are dying. 
 Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of 
 
 the fever, 
 
 As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had be- 
 sprinkled its portals, 
 That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and 
 
 pass over. 
 Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit 
 
 exhausted 
 Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths 
 
 in the darkness, 
 "Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking 
 
 and sinking. 
 Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied 
 
 reverberations, 
 Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush 
 
 that succeeded 
 Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and 
 
 saint-like, 
 " Gabriel ! O my beloved ! " and died away into 
 
 silence. 
 Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home 
 
 of his childhood ; 
 Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among 
 
 them, 
 Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and, 
 
 walking under their shadow, 
 As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in 
 
 his vision. 
 Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted 
 
 his eyelids, 
 Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt 
 
 bv his bedside.
 
 92 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the 
 accents unuttered 
 
 Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what 
 his tongue would have spoken. 
 
 Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evaugeline, kneel- 
 ing beside him, 
 
 Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her 
 bosom. 
 
 Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly 
 sank into darkness, 
 
 As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind 
 at a casement. 
 
 All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and 
 
 tlic sorrow, 
 All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied 
 
 longing, 
 All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of 
 
 - patience ! 
 And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head 
 
 to her bosom, 
 Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, 
 
 "Father, I thank thee!"
 
 :TILL stands the forest primeval ; but far 
 
 away from its shadow, 
 CB2|j Side by side, in their nameless graves, 
 
 the lovers are sleeping. 
 Under the humble walls of the little Catholic 
 
 churchyard, 
 In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and 
 
 unnoticed. 
 Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing 
 
 beside them, 
 Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are 
 
 at rest and forever, 
 Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no 
 
 longer are busy, 
 Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have 
 
 ceased from their labors, 
 
 Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have com- 
 pleted their journey ! 
 
 Still stands the forest primeval ; but under the 
 shade of its branches 
 
 Dwells another race, with other customs and lan- 
 guage. 
 
 Only along the shore of the mournful and misty 
 Atlantic 
 
 Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers 
 from exile
 
 96 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Wandered back to their native land to die in its 
 
 bosom. 
 In the fisherman's cot the wheel and -the loom 
 
 are still busy ; 
 Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their 
 
 kirtles of homespun, 
 And by the evening lire repeat Evangeline's 
 
 story, 
 While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, 
 
 neighboring ocean 
 Speaks, and hi accents disconsolate answers the 
 
 wail of the forest.
 
 THE 
 
 COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 I. MILES STAXDISH 7 
 
 II. LOVE AXD FRIENDSHIP .... 13 
 
 III. THE LOVER'S EUUAND 20 
 
 IV. JOHN ALDEX 35 
 
 V. THE SAILING OF THE MAT FLOWER . . 48 
 
 VI. PRISCILLA *l 
 
 VII. THE MARCH OF MILES STAXDISH . 70 
 
 VIH. THE SPINNING- WHEEL 77 
 
 IX. THE WEDDING-DAY 87
 
 THE 
 
 COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 i. 
 
 MILES STAXDISH. 
 
 the Old Colony days, in Plymouth 
 
 the land of the Pilgrims, 
 To and fro in a room of his simple 
 
 and primitive dwelling, 
 
 Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordo- 
 van leather, 
 Strode, with a martial air, Miles Staudish the 
 
 Puritan Captain. 
 Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands 
 
 behind him, and pausing 
 Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons 
 
 of warfare, 
 
 Hanging in shining array along the walls of 
 the chamber,
 
 8 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Cutlass and corselet of steel, and Ins trusty 
 sword of Damascus, 
 
 Curved at the point and inscribed with its mys- 
 tical Arabic sentence, 
 
 While underneath, in a, corner, were fowling- 
 piece, musket, and matchlock. 
 
 Short of stature he was, but strongly built and 
 athletic, 
 
 Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with 
 muscles and sinews of iron ; 
 
 Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet 
 beard was already 
 
 Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges some- 
 times in November. 
 
 Near him was seated John Alden, his friend, 
 and household companion, 
 
 Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine 
 by the window ; 
 
 Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon. 
 (Complexion, 
 
 Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty 
 thereof, as the captives 
 
 Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, 
 " Not Angles, but Angels." 
 
 Youngest of all was he of the men who cume 
 in the May Flower. 
 
 Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent 
 scribe interrupting,
 
 MILES STANDISH. 9 
 
 Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Blandish 
 
 the Captaiii of Plymouth. 
 "Look at these arms," he said, "the warlike 
 
 weapons that hang here 
 Burnished and bright and clean, as if for pa- 
 
 r?de or inspection ! 
 This is the sword of Damascus I fcaglit with 
 
 in Flanders ; this breastplate, 
 Well I remember tlie day ! oiice saved my life 
 
 in a skirmish ; 
 Here in front you can see the very dint of the 
 
 bullet 
 Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish 
 
 arcabucero. 
 Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten 
 
 bones of Miles St?jidish 
 Would at this moment be mould, in their grave 
 
 in the Flemish morasses." 
 Thereupon answered John Aldeii, but looked 
 
 not up from bis writing: 
 "Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened 
 
 the speed of the bullet ; 
 He in his mercy preserved you, to be our 
 
 shield and our weapon ! " 
 Still +he Cumalu continued, unheeding the 
 
 words of the stripling : 
 " See, bow blight they are burnished, as if in 
 
 an arsenal hanging ;
 
 10 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 
 
 That is because I have done it myself, and not 
 
 left it to others. 
 Serve yourself, would you be well served, is 
 
 an excellent adage ; 
 So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens 
 
 and your iukhorn. 
 Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, 
 
 invincible army, 
 Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest 
 
 and his matchlock, 
 Eighteen shillings a mouth, together with diet 
 
 and pillage, 
 And, like Csesar, I know the name of each of 
 
 my soldiers ! " 
 This he said with a smile, that danced in his 
 
 eyes, as the sunbeams 
 Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish 
 
 again in a moment. 
 
 Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Cap- 
 tain continued : 
 " Look ! you can see from this window my 
 
 brazen howitzer planted 
 High on the roof of the church, a preacher 
 
 who speaks to the purpose, 
 Steady, straightforward, and strong, with irre- 
 sistible logic, 
 Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the 
 
 hearts of the heathen.
 
 MILES STAN' DISH. 11 
 
 Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of 
 
 the Indians ; 
 Let them come, if they like, and the sooner 
 
 they try it the better, 
 Let them come if they like, be it sagamore, 
 
 sachem, or pow-wow, 
 Aspiuet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or To- 
 
 kamahamoii ! " 
 
 Long at the window he stood, and wistfully 
 
 gazed on the landscape, 
 Washed witli a cold gray mist, the vapory 
 
 breath of the east-wind, 
 Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue 
 
 rim of the ocean, 
 Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows 
 
 and sunshine. 
 Over his countenance flitted a shadow like 
 
 those on the landscape, 
 Gloom intermingled with light; and his voice 
 
 was subdued witli emotion, 
 Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he 
 
 proceeded : 
 "Yonder there, on the liill by the sea, lies 
 
 buried Rose Stamlish ; 
 Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by 
 
 the wayside ! 
 She was the first to die of all who came in the 
 
 May Flower !
 
 12 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Green above her is growing the field of wheat 
 
 we have sown there. 
 Better to hide from the Indian scouts the 
 
 graves of our people, 
 Lest they should count them and sec bow many 
 
 already have perished ! " 
 Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and 
 
 down, and was thoughtful. 
 
 Fixed to the opposite Avail was a shelf of 
 books, and among them 
 
 Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk 
 and for binding ; 
 
 Bariffe's Artillery Guide, and the Commenta- 
 ries of^Csesar 
 
 Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge 
 of London, 
 
 And, as if guarded by these, between them was 
 standing the Bible. 
 
 Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish 
 paused, as if doubtful 
 
 Which of the three he should choose for his 
 consolation and comfort, 
 
 Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous 
 campaigns of the Romans, 
 
 Or the Artillery practice, designed for belliger- 
 ent Christians. 
 
 Finally down from its shelf he dragged the 
 ponderous Roman,
 
 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 13 
 
 Seated himself at the window, and opened the 
 book, and in silence 
 
 Turned o'er the well-worn leaves, where thumb- 
 marks thick on the margin, 
 
 Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle 
 was hottest. 
 
 Nothing was heard in the room but the hurry- 
 nig pen of the stripling, 
 
 Busily writing epistles important, to go by the 
 May Flower, 
 
 Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at 
 latest, God willing ! 
 
 Homeward bound with the tidings of all that 
 terrible winter, 
 
 Letters written by Alden, and full of the name 
 of Priscilla, 
 
 Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan 
 maiden Priscilla ! 
 
 II. 
 
 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 NOTHING was heard in the room but the'hur- 
 rying pen of the stripling, 
 
 Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart 
 of the Captain, 
 
 Reading the marvellous words and achieve- 
 ments of Julius Caesar.
 
 14 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAND1SH. 
 
 After a while he exclaimed, as lie smote with 
 
 his hand, palm downwards, 
 Heavily 011 the page: "A wonderful man was 
 
 this Csesar ! 
 You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here 
 
 is a fellow 
 Who could both write and fight, and in both 
 
 was equally skilful ! " 
 Straightway answered and spake John Alden, 
 
 the comely, the youthful: 
 " Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with 
 
 his pen and his weapons. 
 Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, 
 
 he could dictate 
 Seven letters at once, at the same time writing 
 
 his memoirs." 
 "Truly," continued the Captain, not heeding 
 
 or hearing the other, 
 "Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius 
 
 Cffisar ! 
 
 Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village; 
 Than be second in Rome, and I think he was 
 
 right when lie said it. 
 Twice was he married before be was twenty^ 
 
 and many times after; 
 Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand 
 
 cities he conquered ; 
 He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself ha> 
 
 recorded ;
 
 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 15 
 
 Finally he was stabbed by his frieud, the ora- 
 tor Brutus! 
 Now, do YOU know what he did oil a certain 
 
 occasion iu Flanders, 
 When the rear-guard of his army retreated, 
 
 the trout giving way too, 
 And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded 
 
 so closely together 
 There was no room for their swords ? Why, 
 
 he seized a shield from a soldier, 
 Put himself straight at.the head of his troops, 
 
 and commanded the captains, 
 Calling on each by his name, to order forward 
 
 the ensigns ; 
 Then to widen the ranks, and give more room 
 
 for their weapons ; 
 So he won the day, the battle of something-or- 
 
 other. 
 That 's what I always say ; if you wish a thing 
 
 to be well done, 
 You must do it yourself, you must not leave it 
 
 to others ! " 
 
 All was silent again ; the Captain continued 
 his reading. 
 
 Nothing was heard in the room but the hurry- 
 ing pen of the stripling 
 
 Writing epistles important to go next day by 
 the May Flower,
 
 16 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Filled with the name and the fame of the 
 
 Puritan maiden Priscilla ; 
 Every sentence began or closed with the 
 
 uame of Priscilla, 
 Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided 
 
 the secret, 
 Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the 
 
 name of Priscilla ! 
 Finally closing his book, with a bang of the 
 
 ponderous cover, 
 Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier 
 
 grounding his musket, 
 Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish 
 
 the Captain of Plymouth : 
 " When you have finished your work, I have 
 
 something important to tell you. 
 Be not however in haste ; I can wait ; I shall 
 
 not be impatient ! " 
 Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last 
 
 of his letters, 
 
 Pushing his papers aside, and giving respect- 
 ful attention : 
 " Speak ; for whenever you speak, I am always 
 
 ready to listen, 
 Always ready to hear whatever pertains to 
 
 Miles Standish." 
 Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, 
 
 and culling his phrases :
 
 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 17 
 
 ' J T is not good for a man to be alone, say the 
 
 Scriptures. 
 This I have said before, and again and again I 
 
 repeat it ; 
 Every hour in the day, I think it, and feel it, 
 
 and say it. 
 Since Rose Standish died, my life has been 
 
 weary and dreary, 
 Sick at heart have I been, beyond the healing 
 
 of friendship. 
 Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the 
 
 maiden Priscilla. 
 She is alone in the world; her father and 
 
 mother and brother 
 Died in the winter together ; I saw her going 
 
 and coming, 
 Now to the grave of the dead, and now to the 
 
 bed of the dying, 
 Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to 
 
 myself, that if ever 
 There were angels on earth, as there are angels 
 
 in heaven, 
 Two have I seen and known ; and the angel 
 
 whose name is Priscilla 
 Holds in my desolate life the place which the 
 
 other abandoned. 
 Long have I cherished the thought, but never 
 
 have dared to reveal it,
 
 18 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Being a coward in this, though valiant enough 
 
 for the most part. 
 Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden 
 
 of Plymouth, 
 Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of 
 
 words but of actions, 
 Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and 
 
 heart of a soldier. 
 Not in these words, you know, but this in short 
 
 is my meaning ; 
 
 I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases. 
 You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in 
 
 elegant language, 
 Such as you read in your books of the pleadings 
 
 and wooings of lovers, 
 Such as you think best adapted to win the heart 
 
 of a maiden." 
 
 When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair- 
 haired, taciturn stripling, 
 
 All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, 
 bewildered, 
 
 Trying to mask his dismay by treating the sub- 
 ject with lightness, 
 
 Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand 
 still in his bosom, 
 
 Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is 
 stricken by lightning,
 
 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 19 
 
 Thus made answer and spake, or rather stam- 
 
 mered than answered : 
 " Such a message as that, I am sure I should 
 
 mangle and mar it ; 
 If you would have it well done, I am only 
 
 repeating your maxim, 
 You must do it yourself, you must not leave it 
 
 to others ! " 
 But with the air of a man whom nothing can 
 
 turn from his purpose, 
 Gravely shaking his head, made answer the 
 
 Captain of Plymouth : 
 "Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean 
 
 to gainsay it ; 
 But we must use it discreetly, and not waste 
 
 powder for nothing. 
 Xow, as I said before, I was never a maker of 
 
 phrases. 
 I can march up to a fortress and summon the 
 
 place to surrender, 
 
 But march up to a woman with such a pro- 
 posal, I dare not. 
 I 'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the 
 
 mouth of a cannon, 
 But of a thundering 'No! ' point-blank from 
 
 the mouth of a woman, 
 That I confess I 'm afraid of, nor am I ashamed 
 
 to confess it !
 
 20 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 So you must grant my request, for you are an 
 
 elegant scholar, 
 Having the graces of speech, and skill in the 
 
 turning of phrases." 
 Taking the hand of his friend, who still was 
 
 reluctant and doubtful, 
 Holding it long in his own, and pressing it 
 
 kindly, he added : 
 " Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep 
 
 is the feeling that prompts me ; 
 Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the 
 
 name of our friendship ! " 
 Then made answer John Alden : " The name 
 
 of friendship is sacred ; 
 What you demand in that name, I have not the 
 
 power to deny you ! " 
 So the strong will prevailed, subduing and 
 
 moulding the gentler, 
 Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went 
 
 on his errand. 
 
 III. 
 
 THE LOVER'S ERRAND. 
 
 So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on 
 
 his errand, 
 Out of the street of the village, and into the 
 
 paths of the forest,
 
 THE LOVER'S ERRAND. 23 
 
 Into the tranquil woods, where bluebirds and 
 
 robins were building 
 Towns in the populous trees, with hanging 
 
 gardens of verdure, 
 Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and 
 
 freedom. 
 
 All around him was calm, but within him com- 
 motion and conflict, 
 Love contending with friendship, and self with 
 
 each generous impulse. 
 To and fro in his breast his thoughts were 
 
 heaving and dashing, 
 As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the 
 
 vessel, 
 Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of 
 
 the ocean ! 
 " Must 1 relinquish it all," he cried with a wild 
 
 lamentation, 
 " Must I relinquish it all, the joy, the hope, the 
 
 illusion ? 
 Was it for this I have loved, and waited, and 
 
 worshipped in silence ? 
 Was it for this I have followed the flying feet 
 
 and the shadow 
 Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of 
 
 New England? 
 Truly the heart i& deceitful, and out of its depths 
 
 of corruption
 
 24 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 
 
 Rise, like an exhalation, the misty phantoms 
 of passion ; 
 
 Angels of light they seem, but are only delu- 
 sions of Satan. 
 
 All is clear to me now ; I feel it, I see it dis- 
 tinctly ! 
 
 This is the hand of the Lord ; it is laid upon 
 me in anger, 
 
 For I have followed too much the heart's de- 
 sires and devices, 
 
 Worshipping Astaroth blindly, and impious 
 idols of Baal. 
 
 This is the cross I must bear; the sin and the 
 swift retribution." 
 
 So through the Plymouth woods John Alden 
 
 went on his errand ; 
 Crossing the brook at the ford, where it brawled 
 
 over pebble and shallow, 
 Gathering still, as he went, the May-flowers 
 
 blooming around him, 
 Fragrant, filling the air with a strange and 
 
 wonderful sweetness, 
 Children lost in the woods, and covered with 
 
 leaves in Ilieir slumber. 
 "Puritan flowers," he said, "and the type of 
 
 Puritan maidens, 
 Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of 
 
 Priscilla !
 
 THE LOVER'S ERRAND. 25 
 
 So I will take them to her; to Priscilla the 
 
 May-flower of Plymouth, 
 Modest and simple and sweet, as a parting gift 
 
 will I take them ; 
 Breathing their silent farewells, as they fade 
 
 and wither and perish, 
 Soon to be thrown away as is the heart of the 
 
 giver." 
 So through the Plymouth woods John Alden 
 
 went on his errand ; 
 Came to an open space, and saw the disk of 
 
 the ocean, 
 Sailless, sombre and cold with the comfortless 
 
 breath of the east-wind ; 
 Saw the new-built house, and people at work 
 
 in a meadow ; 
 Heard, as he drew near the door, the musical 
 
 voice of Priscilla 
 Singing the hundredth Psalm, the grand old 
 
 Puritan anthem, 
 Music that Luther sang to the sacred words of 
 
 the Psalmist, 
 Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and 
 
 comforting many. 
 Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the 
 
 form of the maiden 
 ^Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool 
 
 like a snow-drift
 
 26 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the 
 
 ravenous spindle, 
 While with her foot on the treadle she guided 
 
 the wheel in its motion. 
 
 Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm- 
 book of Ainswortli, 
 Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music 
 
 together, 
 Rough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the 
 
 wall of a churchyard, 
 Darkened and overhung by the running vine of 
 
 the verses. 
 Such was the book from whose pages she sang 
 
 the old Puritan anthem, 
 She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the 
 
 forest, 
 
 Making the humble house and the modest ap- 
 parel of homespun 
 Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the 
 
 wealth of her being ! 
 Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and 
 
 cold and relentless, 
 Thoughts of what might have been, and the 
 
 weight, and woe of his errand ; 
 All the dreams I hal had faded, and all the hopes 
 
 that had vanished, 
 All bis life henceforth a dreary and teuantless* 
 
 mansion,

 
 THE LOVER'S ERRAND. 29 
 
 Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrowful 
 faces. 
 
 Still he said to himself, and almost fiercely he 
 said it, 
 
 " Let not him that putteth his hand to the 
 plough look backwards ; 
 
 Though the ploughshare cut through the flow- 
 ers of life to its fountains, 
 
 Though it pass o'er the graves of the dead and 
 the hearths of the living, 
 
 It is the will of the Lord ; and his mercy en- 
 dureth forever ! " 
 
 So he entered the house : and the hum of 
 
 the wheel and the singing 
 Suddenly ceased ; for Priscilla, aroused by his 
 
 step on the threshold, 
 Rose as he entered, and gave him her hand, in 
 
 signal of welcome, 
 Saying, " I knew it was you, when I heard your 
 
 step in the passage ; 
 
 For I was thinking of you, as I sat there sing- 
 ing and spinning." 
 Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought 
 
 of him had been mingled 
 Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the 
 
 heart of the maiden, 
 SiJv.nt before her he stood, and gave her the 
 
 flowers for an answer,
 
 30 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Finding no words for bis thought. He re- 
 membered that day in the winter, 
 
 After the first great snow, when he broke a 
 path from the village, 
 
 Reeling and plunging along through the drifts 
 that encumbered the doorway, 
 
 Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered 
 the house, and Priscilla 
 
 Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave Lim a 
 seat by the fireside, 
 
 Grateful and pleased to know he had thought 
 of her in the snow-storm. 
 
 Had he but spoken then ! perhaps not in vain" 
 had he spoken ; 
 
 Now it was all too lute ; the golden moment 
 had vanished ! 
 
 So he stood there abashed, and gave her the 
 flowers for an answer. 
 
 Then they sat down and talked of the birds 
 
 and the beautiful Spring-time, 
 Talked of their friends at home, and the May 
 
 Flower that sailed on the morrow. 
 "I have been thinking all day," said gently 
 
 the Puritan maiden, 
 "Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of 
 
 the hedge-rows of England, 
 They are in blossom now, and the country is 
 
 all like a garden;
 
 THE LOVER'S ERRAND. 31 
 
 Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of 
 
 the lark and the linnet, 
 Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of 
 
 neighbors 
 Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip 
 
 together, 
 And, at the end of the street, the village church, 
 
 with the ivy 
 Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet 
 
 graves in the churchyard. 
 Kind are the people I live with, and dear to 
 
 me my religion; 
 Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself 
 
 back in Old England. 
 You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it : 
 
 I almost 
 Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so 
 
 lonely and wretched." 
 
 Thereupon answered the youth : " Indeed I 
 
 do not condemn you ; 
 Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in 
 
 this terrible winter. 
 Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a 
 
 stronger to lean on ; 
 So I have come to you now, with an offer and 
 
 proffer of marriage 
 Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish 
 
 the Captain of Plymouth ! "
 
 32 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Thus he delivered his message, the dexter- 
 ous writer of letters, 
 
 Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in 
 beautiful phrases, 
 
 But came straight to the point, and blurted it 
 out like a school-boy ; 
 
 Even the Captain himself could hardly have 
 said it more bluntly. 
 
 Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the 
 Puritan maiden 
 
 Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with 
 wonder, 
 
 Teeling his words like a blow, that stunned 
 her and rendered her speechless ; 
 
 Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the 
 ominous silence : 
 
 " If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very 
 eager to wed me, 
 
 Why does he not come himself, and take the 
 trouble to woo me ? 
 
 If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not 
 worth the winning ! " 
 
 Then John Alden began explaining and smooth- 
 ing the matter, 
 
 Making it worse as he went, by saying the Cap- 
 tain was busy, 
 
 Had no time for such things; such things) 
 the words grating harshly
 
 THE LOVER'S ERRAND. 33 
 
 Fell on the ear of Priscilla ; and swift as a flash 
 she made answer : 
 
 " Has no time for such tilings, as you call it, 
 before he is married, 
 
 Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after 
 the wedding ? 
 
 That is the way with you men ; you don't un- 
 derstand us, you cannot. 
 
 When you have made up your minds, after 
 thinking of this one and that one, 
 
 Choosing, selecting, rejecting, comparing one 
 with another, 
 
 Then you make known your desire, with abrupt 
 and sudden avowal, 
 
 And are offended and hurt, and indignant per- 
 haps, that a woman 
 
 . Does not respond at once to a love that she 
 never suspected, 
 
 Does not attain at a bound the height to which 
 you have been climbing. 
 
 This is not right nor just : for surely a wo- 
 man's affection 
 
 Is not a thing to be asked for, and had for only 
 the asking. 
 
 When one is truly in love, one not only says 
 it, but shows it. 
 
 Had he but waited awhile, had he only showed 
 that he loved me,
 
 84 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Even this Captain of yours -\vlio knows ? 
 
 at last might have won me, 
 Old and rough as he is ; but now it never can 
 
 happen." 
 
 Still John Alden went on, unheeding the 
 words of Priscilla, 
 
 Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, per- 
 suading, expanding ; 
 
 Spoke of his courage and skill, and of all his 
 battles in Flanders, 
 
 How with the people of God he had chosen to 
 suffer affliction, 
 
 How, in return for his zeal, they had made him 
 Captain of Plymouth ; 
 
 He was a gentleman born, could trace his pedi- 
 gree plainly 
 
 Back to Hugh Standish of Duxbury Hall, in 
 Lancashire, England, 
 
 Who was the son of Ralph, and the grandson 
 of Thurston de Standish ; 
 
 Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely 
 defrauded, 
 
 Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest 
 a cock argent 
 
 Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of 
 the blazon.
 
 THE LOVER'S EKUAND. 35 
 
 He was a man of honor, of noble and generous 
 
 nature ; 
 Though he was rough, he was kindly ; she knew 
 
 how during the winter 
 
 He had attended the sick, with a hand as gen- 
 tle as woman's; 
 Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, 
 
 and headstrong, 
 Stem as a soldier might be, but hearty, and 
 
 placable always, 
 Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he 
 
 was little of stat ure ; 
 For he was great of heart, magnanimous, 
 
 courtly, courageous; 
 Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in 
 
 England, 
 Might be h;ip;y and proud to be called the 
 
 wife of Miles Standish ! 
 
 But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple 
 and eloquent language, 
 
 Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of 
 his rival, 
 
 Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes over- 
 running with laughter, 
 
 Said, in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you 
 speak for yourself, John ? "
 
 36 THK COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 
 
 IV. 
 
 JOHN ALDEX. 
 
 INTO the open air John Aldeu, perplexed and 
 
 bewildered, 
 Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone 
 
 by the seaside ; 
 Paced up and down the sands, and bared his 
 
 head to the east-wind, 
 Cooling his heated brow, and the fire and fever 
 
 within him. 
 
 Slowly as out of the heavens, with apocalypti- 
 cal splendors, 
 Sank the City of God, in the vision of John the 
 
 Apostle, 
 So, with its cloudy walls of chrysolite, jasper, 
 
 and sapphire, 
 Sank the broad red sun, aud over its turrets 
 
 uplifted 
 Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who 
 
 measured the city. 
 
 " Welcome, wind of the East ! " he ex- 
 claimed in his wild exultation, 
 
 "Welcome, O wind of the East, from the caves 
 of the misty Atlantic ! 
 
 Blowing o'er fields of dulse, aud measureless 
 meadows of sea-grass,
 
 JOHN ALDEX. 37 
 
 Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottos and 
 gardens of ocean ! 
 
 Lay thy cold, moist hand oil my burning fore- 
 head, and wrap me 
 
 Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever 
 within me ! " 
 
 Like an awakened conscience, the sea was 
 
 moaning and tossing, 
 Beating remorseful and loud the mutable sands 
 
 of the sea-shore. 
 Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult 
 
 of passions contending ; 
 Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship 
 
 wounded and bleeding, 
 Passionate cries of desire, and importunate 
 
 pleadings of duty ! 
 " Is it my fault," he said, " that the maiden has 
 
 chosen between us ? 
 Is it my fault that he failed, my fault that I 
 
 am the victor?" 
 Then within him there thundered a voice, like 
 
 the voice of the Prophet : 
 " It hath displeased the Lord ! " and he 
 
 thought of David's transgression, 
 Bathsheba's beautiful face, and his friend in the 
 
 front of the battle I
 
 38 THE COUKTyHIP OF MILKS STANUISH. 
 
 Shame and confusion of guilt, and abasement 
 and self-condemnation, 
 
 Overwhelmed him at once ; and he cried in the 
 deepest contrition : 
 
 " It hath displeased the Lord ! It is the temp- 
 tation of Satan ! " 
 
 Then, uplifting his liead, he looked at the sea, 
 
 and beheld there 
 Dimly the shadowy form of the May Mower 
 
 riding at anchor, 
 Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on 
 
 the morrow ; 
 Heard the voices of men through the mist, the 
 
 rattle of cordage 
 Thrown on the deck, the shouts of the mate, 
 
 and the sailors' " Ay, ay, Sir ! " 
 Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the drip- 
 ping air of the twilight. 
 Still for a moment he stood, and listened, and 
 
 stared at the vessel, 
 Then went hurriedly on, as one who, seeing a 
 
 phantom, 
 Stops, then quickens his pace, and follows the 
 
 beckoning shadow. 
 " Yes, it is plain to me now," he murmured ; 
 
 " the hand of the Lord is 
 Leading me out of the land of darkness, the 
 
 bondage of error,
 
 JOHN ALDEX. 41 
 
 Through the sea, that shall lift the walls of 
 
 its waters around me, 
 Hiding me, cutting me off, from the cruel 
 
 thoughts that pursue me. 
 Back will I go o'er the ocean, this dreary land 
 
 will abandon, 
 Her whom I may not love, and him whom my 
 
 heart has offended. 
 Better to be in my grave in the green old 
 
 churchyard in England, 
 Close by my mother's side, and among the 
 
 dust of my kindred ; 
 Better be dead and forgotten, than living in 
 
 shame and dishonor ! 
 Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark of the 
 
 narrow chamber 
 With me my secret shall lie, like a buried jewel 
 
 that glimmers 
 Bright on the hand that is dust, in the chambers 
 
 of silence and darkness, 
 Yes, as the marriage ring of the great espousal 
 
 hereafter ! " 
 
 Thus as he spake he turned, m the strength 
 
 of his strong resolution, 
 Leaving behind him the shore, and hurried 
 
 along in the twilight, 
 Through the congenial gloom of the forest 
 
 silent and sombre,
 
 42 THE COUKTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Till he beheld the lights in the seven houses of 
 Plymouth, 
 
 Shining like seven stars in the dusk and mist 
 of the evening. 
 
 Soon he entered his door, and found the re- 
 doubtable Captain 
 
 Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pagea 
 of Ciesar, 
 
 Pighting some great campaign in Hainault 01 
 Brabant or Flanders. 
 
 "Long have you been on your errand," he said 
 with a cheery demeanor, 
 
 Even as one who is waiting an answer, and 
 fears not the issue. 
 
 " Not far off is the house, although the woods 
 are between us ; 
 
 But you have lingered so long, that while you 
 were going and coming 
 
 I have fought ten battles and sacked and de- 
 molished a city. 
 
 Come, sit down, and in order relate to me all 
 that has happened." 
 
 Then John Aldon spake, and related the 
 
 wondrous adventure, 
 From beginning to end, minutely, just as it 
 
 happened ; 
 How he had seen Priscilla, and how he had sped 
 
 in his courtship,
 
 JOHN ALDEN. 43 
 
 Only smoothing a little, and softening down 
 her refusal. 
 
 But when he came at length to the words 
 
 Priscilla had spoken, 
 
 Words so tender and cruel : " Why don't you 
 spsak for yourself, John ? " 
 
 Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped 
 on the floor, till his armor 
 
 Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a 
 sound of sinister omen. 
 
 All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden 
 explosion, 
 
 E'en as a hand-grenade, that scatters destruc- 
 tion around it. 
 
 Wildly he shouted and loud : " John Alden ! 
 you have betrayed me ! 
 
 Me, Miles Standish, your friend! have sup- 
 planted, defrauded, betrayed me ! 
 
 One of my ancestors ran his sword through the 
 heart of Wat Tyler ; 
 
 Who shall prevent me from running my own 
 through the heart of a traitor ? 
 
 Yours is the greater treason, for yours is a 
 treason to friendship ! 
 
 You, who lived under my roof, whom I cher- 
 ished and loved as a brother ; 
 
 You, who have fed at my board, and drunk at 
 my cup, to whose keeping
 
 44 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 I have intrusted my honor, my thoughts the 
 
 most sacred and secret, 
 You too, Brutus ! ah woe to the name of 
 
 friendship hereafter ! 
 Brutus was Caesar's friend, and you were mine, 
 
 but henceforward 
 Let there be nothing between us save war, and 
 
 implacable hatred ! " 
 
 So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode 
 
 about in the chamber, 
 Chafing and choking with rage ; like cords were 
 
 the veins on his temples. 
 But in the midst of his anger a man appeared 
 
 at the doorway, 
 Bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent 
 
 importance, 
 
 Rumors of danger and war and hostile incur- 
 sions of Indians ! 
 Straightway the Captain paused, and, without 
 
 farther question or parley, 
 Took from the nail on the wall his sword with 
 
 its scabbard of iron, 
 Buckled the belt round his waist, and, frowning 
 
 fiercely, departed. 
 Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of 
 
 the scabbard 
 Growing fainter and fainter, and dying away in 
 
 the distance.
 
 JOHN ALDEN. 45 
 
 Then lie arose from his seat, and looked forth 
 
 into the darkness, 
 Felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was 
 
 hot with the insult, 
 Lifted his eyes to the heavens, and, folding his 
 
 hands as in childhood, 
 Prayed in the silence of night to the Father 
 
 who seeth in secret. 
 
 Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrath- 
 ful away to the council, 
 
 Found it already assembled, impatiently wait- 
 ing his coming ; 
 
 Men in the middle of life, austere and grave in 
 deportment, 
 
 Only one of them old, the hill that was nearest 
 to heaven, 
 
 Covered with snow, but erect, the excellent 
 Elder of Plymouth. 
 
 God had sifted three kingdoms to find the 
 wheat for this planting, 
 
 Then had sifted the wheat, as the living seed 
 of a nation ; 
 
 So say the chronicles old, and such is the faith 
 of the people ! 
 
 Near them was standing an Indian, in attitude 
 stern and defiant, 
 
 Naked down to the waist, and grim and fero- 
 oinns in aspect ;
 
 46 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 While on the table before them was lying un- 
 opened a Bible, 
 
 Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, 
 printed in Holland, 
 
 And besids it outstretched the skin of a rattle- 
 snake glittered, 
 
 Filled, like a quiver, with arrows ; a signal and 
 challenge of warfare. 
 
 Brought by the Indian, and speaking with 
 arrowy tongues of defiance. 
 
 This Miles Standish beheld, as he entered, and 
 heard them debating 
 
 What were an answer befitting the hostile 
 messnge and menace, 
 
 Talking of this and of that, contriving, sug- 
 gesting, objecting ; 
 
 One voice only for peace, and that the voice of 
 the Elder, 
 
 Judging it wise and well that some at least were 
 converted, 
 
 Rather than any were slain, for this was but 
 Christian behavior ! 
 
 Then out spake Miles Standish, the stalwart 
 Captain of Plymouth, 
 
 Muttering deep in his throat, for his voice was 
 husky with anger, 
 
 " What ! do you mean to make war with milk 
 and the water of roses ?
 
 JOHX ALDEX. 47 
 
 Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your how- 
 itzer planted 
 
 There on the roof of the church, or is it to 
 shoot red devils ? 
 
 Truly the only tongue that is understood by a 
 savage 
 
 Must be the tongue of fire that speaks from the 
 mouth of the cannon ! " 
 
 Thereupon ansM-ered and said the excellent 
 Elder of Plymouth, 
 
 Somewhat amazed and alarmed at this irrever- 
 ent language.: 
 
 "Not so thought Saint Paul, nor yet the other 
 Apostles ; 
 
 Not from the cannon's mouth were the tongues 
 of fire they spake with ! " 
 
 But unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the 
 Captain, 
 
 Who had advanced to the table, and thus con- 
 tinued discoursing : 
 
 "Leave this matter to me, for to me by right 
 it pertaineth. 
 
 War is a terrible trade ; but in the cause that 
 is righteous, 
 
 Sweet is the smell of powder ; and thus I an- 
 swer the challenge ! " 
 
 Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a 
 suddon. contemptuous gesture,
 
 48 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Jerking the Indian arrows, lie filled it with 
 powder and bullets 
 
 Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the 
 savage, 
 
 Saying, in thundering tones: "Here, take it ! 
 this is your answer ! " 
 
 Silently out of the room then glided the glis- 
 tening savage, 
 
 Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming him- 
 self like a serpent, 
 
 Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the 
 depths of the forest. 
 
 V. 
 
 THE SAILING OF THE MAY FLOWEE. 
 
 JUST in the gray of the dawn, as the mists up- 
 rose from the meadows, 
 
 There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering 
 village of Plymouth ; 
 
 Clanging and clicking of arms, and the order 
 imperative, " Forward ! " 
 
 Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and 
 then silence. 
 
 Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of 
 the village. 
 
 Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of his 
 valorous armv.
 
 THE SAILING OF THE MAY FLOWEK. -i9 
 
 Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend 
 of the white men, 
 
 Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt 
 of the savage. 
 
 Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty 
 men of King David ; 
 
 Giants in heart they were, who believed in God 
 and the Bible, 
 
 Ay. who believed in the smiting of Midiauites 
 and Philistines. 
 
 Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners 
 of morning ; 
 
 Under them loud on the sands, the serried bil- 
 lows, advancing, 
 
 Fired along the line, and in regular order re- 
 treated. 
 
 Many a mile had they marched, when at 
 length the village of Plymouth 
 
 TToke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its 
 manifold labors. 
 
 Sweet was the air and soft; and slowly the 
 smoke from the chimneys 
 
 Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily 
 ard ; 
 
 Men came forth from the doors, and paused 
 and talked of the weather. 
 
 Said that the wind had changed, and was blow- 
 ing fair for the May Flower ;
 
 50 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 
 
 Talked of their Captain's departure, and all the 
 
 dangers that menaced, 
 He being gone, the town, and what should be 
 
 done in his absence. 
 Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices 
 
 of women 
 Consecrated with hymns the common cares of 
 
 the housshold. 
 Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows 
 
 rejoiced at his coining ; 
 Beautiful were his feet ou the purple tops of 
 
 the mountains ; 
 Beautiful on the sails of the May Flower riding 
 
 at anchor, 
 Battered and blackened and worn by all the 
 
 storms of the winter. 
 Loosely against her masts was hanging and 
 
 napping her canvas, 
 Rent by so many gales, and patched by the 
 
 hands of the sailors. 
 Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over 
 
 the ocean, 
 Darted a puff of smoke, and floated seaward ; 
 
 anon rang 
 Loud over field and forest the cannon's roar, 
 
 and the echoes 
 
 Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun 
 of departure !
 
 THE SAILIN'G OF THE MAY FLOWER. 51 
 
 Ah ! but with louder echoes replied the hearts 
 
 of the people ! 
 Meekly, iu voices subdued, the chapter was 
 
 read from the Bible, 
 Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in 
 
 fervent entreaty ! 
 Then from their houses in haste came forth the 
 
 Pilgrims of Plymouth, 
 Men and women and children, all hurrying 
 
 down to the sea-shore, 
 Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the 
 
 May Flower, 
 Homeward bound o'er the sea, and leaving 
 
 them here in the desert. 
 
 Foremost among them was Alden. All night 
 he had lain without slumber, 
 
 Turning and tossing about in the heat and un- 
 rest of his fever. 
 
 He had beheld Miles Standish, who came back 
 late from the council, 
 
 Stalking into the room, and heard him mutter 
 and murmur, 
 
 Sometimes it seemed a prayer, and sometimes 
 it sounded like swearing. 
 
 Once he had come to the bed, and stood there 
 a moment in silence ; 
 
 Then he turned away, and said: "I will not 
 awake him :
 
 52 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Let him sleep on, it is best ; for what is the 
 use of more talking ! " 
 
 Then he extinguished the light, and threw him- 
 self down on his pallet, 
 
 Dressed as he was, and ready to start at the 
 break of the morning, 
 
 Covered himself with the cloak he had worn in 
 his campaigns in Flanders, 
 
 Slept as a soldier sleeps in his bivouac, ready 
 for action. 
 
 But with the dawn he arose ; in the twilight 
 Alden beheld him 
 
 Put on his corselet of steel, and all the rest of 
 his armor, 
 
 Buckle about his waist his trusty blade of Da- 
 mascus, 
 
 Take from the corner his musket, and so stride 
 out of the chamber. 
 
 Often the heart of the youth had burned and 
 yearned to embrace him, 
 
 Often his lips had essayed to speak, imploring 
 for pardon ; 
 
 All the old friendship came back, with its ten- 
 der and grateful emotions ; 
 
 But his pride overmastered the nobler nature 
 within him, 
 
 Pride, and the sense of his wrong, and the 
 burning fire of the insult.
 
 THE SAILING OF THE MAY FLOWER. 53 
 
 So he beheld his friend departing in anger, but 
 
 spake not, 
 Saw him go forth to danger, perhaps to death, 
 
 and he spake not ! 
 Then he arose from his bed, and heard what 
 
 the people were saying, 
 Joined in the talk at the door, with Stephen 
 
 and Richard and Gilbert, 
 Joined in the morning prayer, and in the read- 
 ing of Scripture, 
 And, with the others, in haste went hurrying 
 
 down to the sea-shore, 
 Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to 
 
 their feet as a doorstep 
 Into a world unknown, the corner-stone of 
 
 a nation! 
 
 There with his boat was the Master, already 
 a little impatient 
 
 Lest he should lose the tide, or the wind might 
 shift to the eastward, 
 
 Square-built, hearty, and strong, with an odor 
 of ocean about him, 
 
 Speaking with this one and that, and cram- 
 ming letters and parcels 
 
 Into his pockets capacious, and messages min- 
 gled together 
 
 Into his narrow brain, till at last he was 
 wholly bewildered.
 
 54 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 
 
 Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one fool 
 
 placed on the gunwale, 
 One still firm on the rock, and talking at times 
 
 with the sailors, 
 Seated erect on the thwarts, all ready and eager 
 
 for starting. 
 He too was eager to go, and thus put an end 
 
 to his anguish, 
 Thinking to fly from despair, that swifter than 
 
 keel is or canvas, 
 Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that 
 
 would rise and pursue him. 
 But as he gazed on the crow;!, he beheld the 
 
 form of Priscilla 
 Standing dejected among them, unconscious of 
 
 all that was passing. 
 Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined 
 
 his intention, 
 
 Fixed with a look so snd, so reproachful, im- 
 ploring, and patient, 
 That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled 
 
 from its purpose, 
 As from the verge of a crag, where one step 
 
 more is destruction. 
 Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, 
 
 mysterious instincts! 
 Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated 
 
 are- 

 
 THE SAILING OF THE MAY FLOAVER. 57 
 
 Whereupon turn, as on liiuges, the gates of the 
 
 wall adamantine ! 
 "Here I remain ! " lie exclaimed, as he looked 
 
 at the heavens a'love him, 
 Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered 
 
 the mist and the madness, 
 Wherein, blind a-id lost, to death he was stag- 
 gering headlong. 
 "Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the 
 
 ether above me, 
 
 Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckon- 
 ing over the ocean. 
 There is another hand, that is not so spectral 
 
 and ghost-like, 
 Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping 
 
 mine for protection. 
 Float, O hand of cloud, and vanish away in the 
 
 ether ! 
 Roll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and 
 
 daunt me ; I heed not 
 Either your warning- or menace, or any omen 
 
 of evil ! 
 There is no land so ?acred, no air so pure and 
 
 so wholesome, 
 As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is 
 
 pressed by her footsteps. 
 Here for her sake will I stay, and like an 
 
 invisible presence
 
 58 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Hover around her forever, protecting, support- 
 ing her weakness ; 
 
 Yes ! as my foot was the first that stepped on 
 this rock at the lauding, 
 
 So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the 
 last at the leaving ! " 
 
 Meanwhile the Master alert, but with digni- 
 fied air and important, 
 
 Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the 
 wind and the weather, 
 
 Walked about on the sands, and the people 
 crowded around him 
 
 Saying a few last words, and enforcing his 
 careful remembrance. 
 
 Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were 
 grasping a lillcr, 
 
 Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved 
 off to his vessel, 
 
 Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry 
 and flurry, 
 
 Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sick- 
 ness and sorrow, 
 
 Short alloM-anoe of victual, and plenty of noth- 
 ing but Gospel ! 
 
 Lost in the sound of the oars was the last fare- 
 well of the Pilgrims. 
 
 strong hearts and true ! not one went, back 
 in the Mav "Flower !
 
 THE SAILING OF 'THE MAY FLOWER. 59 
 
 No, not one looked back, who had set his hand 
 to this ploughing ! 
 
 Soon were heard on board tho shouts and 
 
 sougs of tho sailors 
 Heaving tlie windlass round, and hoisting the 
 
 ponderous anchor. 
 Then the yards were braced, and all sails set 
 
 to the west -wind, 
 Blowing steady and strong; and the May 
 
 Tbwer sailed from, the harbor, 
 Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving 
 
 far to the southward 
 Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the 
 
 First Encounter, 
 Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for 
 
 ths open Atlantic, 
 Borne on the send of the sea, and the swelling 
 
 hearts of the Pilgrims. 
 
 Long in silence they watched the receding 
 
 sail of the vessel, 
 Much endeared to them all, as something living 
 
 and human ; 
 Then, as if filled with the spirit, and wrapt in 
 
 a vision prophetic, 
 Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of 
 
 Plymouth
 
 60 THE COURTSHIP OP MILES STAXDISH. 
 
 Said, " Lef, us pray ! " and they prayed, and 
 
 tlianked tlie Lord and took courage. 
 Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of 
 
 ill rock, and above them 
 Bowed aud whispered the wheat on the h'.ll of 
 
 death, and their kindred 
 Seemed to awake in their graves, and to join 
 
 in the prayer thai they uttered. 
 Sun-illumined and while, 011 the eastern verge 
 
 of the ocean 
 Gleamed the departing sail, like a marble slab 
 
 in a graveyard ; 
 
 Buried beneath it lay forever all hope of escap- 
 ing. 
 Lo ! as they turned to depart, they saw the 
 
 form of an Indian, 
 "Watching them from the hill ; but while they 
 
 spake with each other, 
 Pointing with outstretched hands, and saying, 
 
 " Look ! " lie had vanished. 
 So they returned to their homes: but Alden 
 
 lingered a little, 
 Musing alone on the shore, and watching ihe 
 
 wash of the billows 
 Round the base of the rock, and the sparkle 
 
 and flash of the sunshine, 
 Like the spirit of God, moving visibly over the 
 
 waters.
 
 PEISCILLA. 61 
 
 VI. 
 
 PUISCILLA. 
 
 TTTCS for a while he stood, and mused by the 
 shore of the ccean, 
 
 Thinking of many things, and most of all of 
 Priseiila ; 
 
 And as if thought had the power to draw to 
 itself, like the loadstone, 
 
 Whatsoever it touches, by subtile laws of its 
 nature, 
 
 Lo ! as he turned to depart, Priscilla was stand- 
 ing beside him. 
 
 "Are you so much offended, you will not 
 
 speak to me ? " said she. 
 " Am I so much to blame, that yesterday, when 
 
 you were pleading 
 
 Warmly the cause of another, my heart, im- 
 pulsive and wayward, 
 Pleaded your own, and spake out, forgetful 
 
 perhaps of decorum ? 
 Certainly you can forgive me for speakiug so 
 
 frankly, for sayiug 
 What I ought not to have said, yet now I can 
 
 never unsay it ; 
 Tor there are moments in life, when the heart 
 
 is so full of emotion,
 
 02 THK COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 That if by chance it be shaken, or into its 
 
 depths like a pebble 
 Drops some careless word, it overflows, and 
 
 its seeivt, 
 Spilt on the ground like water, can never be 
 
 gathered together. 
 Yesterday I was shocked, when I heard you 
 
 speak of Miles Standish, 
 Praising his virtues, transforming his very 
 
 defects into virtues, 
 Praising his courage and strength, and even 
 
 his fighting iu Flanders, 
 As if by fighting alone you could win the heart 
 
 of a woman. 
 Quite overlooking yourself and the rest, in 
 
 exalting your hero. 
 Therefore I spake as I did, by an irresistible 
 
 impulse. 
 You will forgive me, I hope, for the sake of 
 
 the friendship between us, 
 Which is too true and too sacred to be so easily 
 
 broken ! " 
 Thereupon answered John Alden, the scholar, 
 
 the friend of Miles Slamlish : 
 "I was not angry with you, with myself alone 
 
 I was angry, 
 Seeing how badly I managed the matter I had 
 
 in my keeping."
 
 PRISCILLA. 65 
 
 ' ' No ! " internipted the maiden, with answer 
 
 prompt and decisive, 
 '' Xo ; you were angry with me, for speaking 
 
 so frankly and freely. 
 It was wrong, I acknowledge ; for it is the fate 
 
 of a woman 
 Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a 
 
 ghost that is speechless, 
 Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell 
 
 of its silence. 
 Hence is the inner life of so many suffering 
 
 women 
 Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean 
 
 rivers 
 Running through caverns of darkness, unheard, 
 
 unseen, and unfruitful, 
 Chafing their channels of stone, with endless 
 
 and profitless murmurs." 
 Thereupon answered John Alden, the young 
 
 man, the lover of women : 
 " Heaven forbid it, Priscilla ; and truly they 
 
 seem to me always 
 More like the beautiful rivers that watered the 
 
 garden of Eden, 
 More like the river Euphrates, through deserts 
 
 of Havilah flowing, 
 Filling the land with delight, and memories 
 
 sweet of the garden ! "
 
 06 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 " Ah, by these words, I can see," again inter- 
 rupted the maiden, 
 
 "How very little you prize me, or care foi 
 what I am saying. 
 
 When from the depths of my heart, in pain and 
 with secret misgiving, 
 
 Frankly I speak to you, asking for sympathy 
 only and kindness, 
 
 Straightway you take up my words, that are 
 plain and direct and in earnest, 
 
 Turn them away from their meaning, and an- 
 swer with flattering phrases. 
 
 This is not right, is not just, is not true to the 
 best that is in you ; 
 
 For I know and esteem you, and feel that your 
 nature is noble, 
 
 Lifting mine up to a higher, a more ethereal 
 level. 
 
 Therefore I value your friendship, and feel it 
 perhaps the more keenly 
 
 If you say aught that implies I ain only as one 
 among many, 
 
 If you make use of those common and compli- 
 mentary phrases 
 
 Most men think so fine, in dealing and speak- 
 ing with women, 
 
 But which women reject as insipid, if not as 
 insulting."
 
 PKISCILLA. 67 
 
 Mate and amazed was Alden ; and listened 
 
 and looked at Priscilla, 
 Thinking he never had seen her more fair, 
 
 more divine in her beauty. 
 He who but yesterday pleaded so glibly the 
 
 cause of another, 
 
 Stood there embarrassed and silent, and seek- 
 ing in vain for an answer. 
 So the maiden went on, and little divined or 
 
 imagined 
 What was at work in his heart, that made him 
 
 so awkward and speechless. 
 " Let us, then, be what we are, and speak 
 
 what we think, and in all things 
 Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred 
 
 professions of friendship. 
 It is no secret I tell you, nor am I ashamed to 
 
 declare it : 
 I have liked to be with you, to see you, to 
 
 speak with you always. 
 So I was hurt at your words, and a little 
 
 affronted to hear you 
 Urge me to marry your friend, though he were 
 
 the Captain Miles Standish. 
 For I must tell you the truth : much more to 
 
 me is your friendship 
 Than all the love he could give, were he twice 
 
 the hero you think him."
 
 f>8 THE COURTSHIP OV MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Then she extended her hand, and Alden, who 
 eagerly grasped it, 
 
 Felt all the wounds in his heart, that were 
 aching and bleeding so sorely, 
 
 Healed by the touch of that hand, and he said, 
 with a voice full of feeling : 
 
 " Yes, we must ever be friends ; and of all who 
 offer you friendship 
 
 Let me be ever the first, the truest, the near- 
 est and dearest ! " 
 
 Casting a farewell look at the glimmering 
 
 sail of the May Flower, 
 Distant, but still in sight, and sinking below 
 
 the horizon, 
 Homeward together they walked, with a 
 
 strange, indefinite feeling, 
 That all the rest had departed and left them 
 
 alone in the desert. 
 But, as they went through the fields in the 
 
 blessing and smile of the sunshine, 
 Lighter grew their hearts, and Priseilla said 
 
 very archly : 
 " Now that our terrible Captain has gone in 
 
 pursuit of the Indians, 
 
 Where he is happier far. than he would be com- 
 manding a household, 
 You may speak boldly, and tell me of all that 
 
 happened between you,
 
 PRISCILLA. 69 
 
 When you returned last night, and said how 
 
 ungrateful you found me." 
 Thereupon answered John Alden, and told hei 
 
 the whole of the story, 
 Told her his own despair, and the direful wrath 
 
 of Miles Staudish. 
 "Whereat the maiden smiled, and said between 
 
 laughing and earnest, 
 " He is a little chimney, and heated hot in a 
 
 moment ! " 
 But as he gently rebuked her, and told her how 
 
 he had suffered, 
 How he had even determined to sail that day 
 
 in the May Flo\ver, 
 And had remained for her sake, on hearing the 
 
 dangers that threatened, 
 All her manner was changed, and she said with 
 
 a faltering accent, 
 " Truly I thank you for this : how good you 
 
 have been to me always ! " 
 
 Thus, as a pilgrim devout, who toward Je- 
 rusalem journeys, 
 
 Taking three steps in advance, and one reluc- 
 tantly backward, 
 
 Urged by importunate zeal, and withheld by 
 pangs of contrition ; 
 
 Slowly but steadily onward, receding yet ever 
 advancing,
 
 70 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 
 
 Journeyed this Puritan youth to the Holy 
 
 Land of his longings, 
 Urged by the fervor of love, and withheld by 
 
 remorseful misgivings. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 MEANWHILE the stalwart Miles Standish 
 was marching steadily northward, 
 
 Winding through forest and swamp, and along 
 the trend of the sea-shore, 
 
 All day long, with hardly a halt, the fire of his 
 anger 
 
 Burning and crackling within, and the sul- 
 phurous odor of powder 
 
 Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all 
 the scents of the forest. 
 
 Silent and moody he went, and much he re- 
 volved his discomfort ; 
 
 He who was used to success, and to easy vic- 
 tories always, 
 
 Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to 
 scorn by a maiden, 
 
 Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend 
 whom most he had trusted ! 
 
 Ah ! 't was too much to be borne, and he 
 fretted and chafed in his armor !
 
 THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH. 71 
 
 " I alone am to blame," he muttered, " for 
 
 mine was the folly. 
 What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and 
 
 gray in the harness, 
 Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the 
 
 wooing of maidens ? 
 'T was but a dream, let it pass, let it 
 
 vanish like so many others ! 
 What I thought was a flower is only a weed, 
 
 and is worthless ; 
 Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it 
 
 awav, and henceforward 
 Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer 
 
 of dangers ! " 
 Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat 
 
 and discomfort, 
 While he was marching by day or lying at 
 
 night in the forest, 
 Looking up at the trees, and the constellations 
 
 beyond them. 
 
 After a three days' march he came to an 
 
 Indian encampment 
 Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the 
 
 sea and the forest ; 
 Women at work by the tents, and the warriors, 
 
 horrid with war-paint, 
 Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking 
 
 together ;
 
 72 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Who, when they saw from afar the sudden 
 approach of the white men, 
 
 Saw the flash of the sun on breastplate and 
 sabre and musket, 
 
 Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, fron^ 
 among them advancing, 
 
 Came to parley wilh Standish, and offer him 
 furs as a present ; 
 
 Friendship was in their looks, but in their 
 hearts there was hatred. 
 
 Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers 
 gigantic in stature. 
 
 Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, 
 king of Bashan ; 
 
 One was Pecksuot named, and the other was 
 called Wattawamat. 
 
 Round their necks were suspended their knives 
 in scabbards of wampum, 
 
 Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as 
 sharp as a needle. 
 
 Other arms had they none, for they were cun- 
 ning and crafty. 
 
 " Welcome, English ! " they said: these words 
 they had learned from the traders 
 
 Touching at times on the coast, to barter and 
 chaffer for peltries. 
 
 Then in their native tongue they began to par- 
 ley with Standish,
 
 THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH. 73 
 
 Through his guide and interpreter, Hobomok, 
 
 friend of the white man, 
 Bsgging for blankets and knives, but mostly 
 
 for muskets and powder, 
 Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, 
 
 with the plague, in his cellars, 
 Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother 
 
 the red man ! 
 But when Stanclisli refused, and said he would 
 
 give them the Bible, 
 Suddenly changing their tone, they began to 
 
 boast and to bluster. 
 Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride iu 
 
 front of the other, 
 And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly 
 
 spake to the Captain : 
 " Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes 
 
 of the Captain, 
 Angry is he in his heart ; but the heart of the 
 
 brave Wattawamat 
 Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born 
 
 of a woman, 
 But on a mountain, at night, from an oak-tree 
 
 riven by lightning, 
 
 Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weap- 
 ons about him, 
 Shouting; ' Who is there here to fight with the 
 
 brave Wattawamat ? ' "
 
 74 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting 
 the blade on his let'l hand, 
 
 Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on. 
 the handle, 
 
 Saying, with bitter expression and look of sin- 
 ister meaning : 
 
 " I have another at home, with the face of a 
 man on the handle ; 
 
 By and by they shall marry ; and there will be 
 plenty of children ! " 
 
 Then, stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaunting, 
 
 insulting Miles Standisli : 
 While with his fingers he patted the knife that 
 
 hung at his bosom, 
 Drawing it half from its sheath, and plunging 
 
 it back, as he muttered, 
 " By and by it, shall see ; it shall eat ; ah, ha ! 
 
 v v 
 
 but shall speak not ! 
 This is the mighty Captain the white men have 
 
 sent to destroy us ! 
 He is a little man ; let him go and work with 
 
 the women ! " 
 
 Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and 
 
 figures of Indians 
 
 Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree 
 in the forest,
 
 THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH. 75 
 
 Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on 
 
 their bow-striugs, 
 Drawing about him still closer and closer the 
 
 net of their ambush. 
 But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and 
 
 treated them smoothly ; 
 So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the 
 
 days of the fathers. 
 But when he heard their defiance, the boast, 
 
 the taunt, and the insult, 
 All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and 
 
 of Thurstou de Staudish, 
 Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the 
 
 veins of his temples. 
 
 Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatch- 
 ing his knife from its scabbard, 
 Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling back- 
 ward, the savage 
 Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiendlike 
 
 fierceness upon it. 
 Straight there arose from the forest the awful 
 
 sound of the war-whoop, 
 And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling 
 
 wiud of December, 
 Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of 
 
 feathery arrows. 
 Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the 
 
 cloud came the lightning,
 
 76 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Out of the lightning thunder ; and death un- 
 
 sesn ran before it. 
 Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp 
 
 and in thicket, 
 Hotly pursued and beset; but their sachem, 
 
 the brave Wattawamat, 
 Fled not ; he was dead. Unswerving and 
 
 swift had a bullet 
 Passed though his brain, and he fell with both 
 
 hands clutching the greensward, 
 Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the 
 
 land of his fathers. 
 
 There on the flowers of the meadow the war- 
 riors lay, and above them, 
 
 Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, 
 friend of the white man. 
 
 Smiling at length he exclaimed to the stalwart 
 Captain of Plymouth : 
 
 " Pecksuot bragged very loud, of his courage, 
 his strength, and his stature, 
 
 Mocked the great Captain, and called him a 
 little man ; but I see now 
 
 Big enough have you been to lay him speech- 
 less before you ! " 
 
 Thus the first battle was fought and won by 
 the stalwart Miles Standish.
 
 THE SPINNING-WHEEL. 77 
 
 When the tidings thereof were brought to the 
 
 village of Plymouth, 
 And as a trophy of war the head of the brave 
 
 Wattawamat 
 Scowled from the roof of the fort, which at 
 
 once was a church and a fortress, 
 All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord, 
 
 and took courage. 
 Only Priscilla averted her face from this spectre 
 
 of terror, 
 Thanking God in her heart that she had not 
 
 married Miles Staudish; 
 Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home 
 
 from his battles, 
 He should lay claim to her hand, as the prize 
 
 and reward of his valor. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE SPINNING-WHEEL. 
 
 MONTH after month passed away, and in Au- 
 tumn the ships of the merchants 
 
 Came with kindred and friends, with cattle and 
 corn for the Pilgrims. 
 
 All in the village was peace; the men were 
 intent on their labors, 
 
 Busy with hewing and building, with garden, 
 plot and with merestead.
 
 78 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Busy -with breaking the glebe, and mowing the 
 
 grass in the meadows, 
 Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the 
 
 deer in the forest. 
 All in the village was peace ; but at times the 
 
 rumor of warfare 
 Filled the air with alarm, and the apprehension 
 
 of danger. 
 Bravely the stalwart Standish was scouring the 
 
 land with his forces, 
 Waxing valiant in fight and defeating the alien 
 
 armies, 
 Till his name had become a sound of fear to the 
 
 nations. 
 Anger was still in his heart, but at times the 
 
 remorse and contrition 
 
 Which in all noble natures succeed the pas- 
 sionate outbreak, 
 Came like a rising tide, that encounters the 
 
 rush of a river, 
 
 Staying its current awhile, but making it bitter 
 and brackish. 
 
 Meanwhile Alden at home had built him a 
 
 new habitation, 
 Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from 
 
 the firs of the forest. 
 Wooden-barred was the door, and the roof was 
 
 royered with rushes :
 
 THE SPINNING-WHEEL. 79 
 
 Latticed the windows were, and the window- 
 panes were of paper, 
 Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain 
 
 were excluded. 
 There too he dug a well, and around it planted 
 
 an orchard : 
 Still may be seen to this day some trace of the 
 
 well and the orchard. 
 Close to the house was the stall, where, safe 
 
 and secure from annoyance, 
 Raghorn, the snow-white bull, that had fallen 
 
 to Aldeu's allotment 
 In the division of cattle, might ruminate in the 
 
 night-time 
 Over the pastures he cropped, made fragrant 
 
 by sweet pennyroyal. 
 
 Oft when his labor was finished, with eager 
 feet would the dreamer 
 
 Follow the pathway that ran through the woods 
 to the house of Priscilla, 
 
 Led by illusions romantic and subtile decep- 
 tions of fancy, 
 
 Pleasure disguised as duty, and love in the 
 semblance of friendship. 
 
 Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned the 
 walls of his dwelling ; 
 
 Ever of her he thought, when he delved in the 
 soil of his garden ;
 
 80 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 
 
 Ever of her he thought, when he read in his 
 
 Bible on Sunday 
 
 Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is de- 
 scribed in the Proverbs, 
 How the heart of her husband doth safely trust 
 
 in her always, 
 How all the days of her life she will do him 
 
 good, and not evil, 
 How she seeketh the wool and the flax and 
 
 worketh with gladness, 
 How she layeth her hand to the spindle and 
 
 holdeth the distaff, 
 How she is not afraid of the snow for herself 
 
 or her household, 
 Knowing her household are clothed with the 
 
 scarlet cloth of her weaving ! 
 
 So as she sat at her wheel one afternoon in 
 the Autumn, 
 
 Alden, who opposite sat, and was watching her 
 dexterous fingers, 
 
 As if the thread she was spinning were that of 
 his life and his fortune, 
 
 After a pause in their talk, thus spake to the 
 sound of the spindle. 
 
 " Truly, Priscilla," he said, " when I see you 
 spiniih'g and spinning, 
 
 Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thought- 
 ful of others,
 
 THE SPIXNIXG-WHEEL. 81 
 
 Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly 
 
 changed in a moment; 
 You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the 
 
 Beautiful Spinner." 
 Here the light foot on the treadle grew swifter 
 
 and swifter; the spindle 
 Uttered an angry snarl, and the thread snapped 
 
 short iii her fingers ; 
 While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the 
 
 mischief, continued : 
 "You are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, 
 
 the queen of Helvetia; 
 She whose story I read at a^tall in the streets 
 
 of Southampton, 
 Who, as she rode on her palfrey, o'er valley 
 
 and meadow and mountain, 
 Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff 
 
 fixed to her saddle. 
 She was so thrifty and good, that her name 
 
 passed into a proverb. 
 
 So shall it be with your own, when the spin- 
 ning-wheel shall no longer 
 Hum in the house of the farmer, and fill its 
 
 chambers with music. 
 Then shall the mothers, reproving, relate how 
 
 it was in their childhood, 
 Praising the good old times, and the days of 
 Priscilla the spinner ! "
 
 82 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Straight uprose from her wheel the beautiful 
 Puritan maiden, 
 
 Pleased with the praise of her thrift from him 
 whose praise was the sweetest, 
 
 Drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein 
 of her spinning, 
 
 Thus making answer, meanwhile, to the flatter- 
 ing phrases of Alden : 
 
 " Come, you must not be idle ; if I am a pat- 
 tern for housewives, 
 
 Show yourself equally worthy of being the 
 model of husbands. 
 
 Hold this skein on your hands, while I wind 
 it, ready for knitting ; 
 
 Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions 
 have changed and the manners, 
 
 Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old 
 times of John Alden ! " 
 
 Thus, with a jest and a laugh, the skein on his 
 hands she adjusted, 
 
 He sitting awkwardly there, with his arms ex- 
 tended before him 
 
 She standing graceful, erect, and winding the 
 thread from his fingers, 
 
 Sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner 
 of holding, 
 
 Sometimes touching his hands, as she disen- 
 tangled pxppvtly
 
 THE SPINNING-WHEEL. 85 
 
 Twist or knot in the yarn, unawares for bow 
 
 could she help it ? 
 Sending electrical thrills through every nerve 
 
 in his body. 
 
 Lo ! in the midst of this scene, a breathless 
 
 messenger entered, 
 Bringing in hurry and heat the terrible news 
 
 from the village. 
 Yes ; Miles Standish was dead ! an Indian 
 
 had brought them the tidings, 
 Slain by a poisoned arrow, shot down in the 
 
 front of the battle, 
 Into an ambush beguiled, cut off with the 
 
 whole of his forces ; 
 All the town would be burned, and all the 
 
 people be murdered ! 
 Such were the tidings of evil that burst on the 
 
 hearts of the hearers. 
 Silent and statue-like stood Priscilla, her face 
 
 looking backward 
 
 St.ill at the face of the speaker, her arms up- 
 lifted in horror; 
 But John Alden, upstarting, as if the barb of 
 
 the arrow 
 Piercing the heart of his friend had struck his 
 
 own, and had sundered 
 Once and forever the bonds that held him 
 
 bound as a captive,
 
 86 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 
 
 Wild with excess of sensation, the awful de- 
 light of his freedom, 
 
 Mingled with pain and regret, unconscious of 
 what he was doing, 
 
 Clasped, almost with a groan, the motionless 
 form of Priscilla, 
 
 Pressing her close to his heart, as forever his 
 own, and exclaiming : 
 
 " Those whom the Lord hath united, let no 
 man put them asunder ! " 
 
 Even as rivulets twain, from distant and 
 
 separate sources, 
 Seeing each other afar, as they leap from the 
 
 rocks, and pursuing 
 Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer 
 
 and nearer, 
 Rush together at last, at their trysting-place 
 
 in the forest ; 
 So these lives that had run thus far in separate 
 
 channels, 
 Coming in sight of each other, then swerving 
 
 and flowing asunder, 
 Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer 
 
 and nearer, 
 Rushed together at last, and one was lost in 
 
 the other.
 
 THE AVEDDING-DAY. 8? 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE WEUDING-DAY. 
 
 FORTH from the curtain of clouds, from the 
 
 tent of purple and scarlet. 
 Issued the sun, the great High-Priest, in his 
 
 garments resplendent, 
 Holiness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on 
 
 his forehead, 
 Round the hem of his robe the golden bells 
 
 and pomegranates. 
 Blessing the world he came, and the bars of 
 
 vapor beneath him 
 Gleamed like a grate of brass, and the sea at 
 
 his feet was a laver ! 
 
 This was the wedding morn of Priscilla the 
 
 Puritan maiden. 
 Friends were assembled together; the Elder 
 
 and Magistrate also 
 Graced the scene with their presence, and 
 
 stood like the Law and the Gospel, 
 One with the sanction of earth and one with 
 
 the blessing of heaven. 
 Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of 
 
 Ruth and of Boaz. 
 Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the 
 
 words of betrothal,
 
 88 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 
 
 Taking each other for husband and wife m the 
 Magistrate's presence, 
 
 After the Puritan way, and the laudable cus- 
 tom of Holland. 
 
 Fervently then, and devoutly, the excellent 
 Elder of Plymouth 
 
 Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were 
 founded that day in affection, 
 
 Speaking of life and of death, and imploring 
 Divine benedictions. 
 
 Lo ! when the service was ended, a form ap- 
 peared on the threshold, 
 
 Clad in armor of steel, a sombre and sorrowful 
 figure ! 
 
 Why does the bridegroom start and stare at 
 the strange apparition? 
 
 Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her 
 face on his shoulder? 
 
 Is it a phantom of air, a bodiless, spectral 
 illusion ? 
 
 Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to 
 forbid the betrothal? 
 
 Long had it stood there unseen, a guest unin- 
 vited, umvelcomed ; 
 
 Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times 
 an expression 
 
 Softening the gloom and revealing the warm 
 heart hidden beneath them,
 
 THE WEDDING-DAY. 89 
 
 As when across the sky the driving rack of the 
 
 rain-cloud 
 Grows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun 
 
 by its brightness. 
 Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, 
 
 but was silent, 
 
 As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting in- 
 tention. 
 But when were ended the troth and the prayer 
 
 and the last benediction, 
 Into the room it strode, and the people beheld 
 
 with amazement 
 Bodily there in his armor Miles Staudish the 
 
 Captain of Plymouth ! 
 Grasping the bridegroom's hand, he said with 
 
 emotion, " Forgive me ! 
 I have been angry and hurt, too long have 
 
 I cherished the feeling ; 
 I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank 
 
 God ! it is ended. 
 Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the 
 
 veins of Hugh Standish, 
 Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in aton- 
 ing for error. 
 Never so much as now was Miles Standish the 
 
 friend of John Alden." 
 Thereupon answered the bridegroom : " Let 
 
 all be forgotteii between us,
 
 90 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAND1S1I. 
 
 All save the dear old friendship, aud that shall 
 
 grow older and dearer ! " 
 Then the Captain advanced, avid, bowing, sa- 
 luted Priscilla, 
 Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned 
 
 gentry in England, 
 Something of camp and of court, of town and 
 
 of country, commingled, 
 Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly 
 
 lauding her husband. 
 Then he said with a smile : " I should have 
 
 remembered the adage, 
 If you would be well served, you must serve 
 
 yourself; and moreover, 
 No man can gather cherries in Kent at thf 
 
 season of Christmas ! " 
 
 Great was the people's amazement, and 
 
 greater yet their rejoicing, 
 Thus to behold once more the sun-burnt face 
 
 of their Captain, 
 Whom they had mourned as dead ; and they 
 
 gathered and crowded about him, 
 Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of 
 
 bride and of bridegroom, 
 Questioning, answering, laughing, and each 
 
 interrupting the other, 
 Till the good Captain declared, being quite 
 
 overpowered and bewildered,
 
 THE WEDDING-DAY. 91 
 
 He had rather by far break into an Indian 
 
 encampment, 
 Than come again to a wedding to which he had 
 
 not been invited. 
 
 Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and 
 
 stood with the bride at the doorway, 
 Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and 
 
 beautiful morning. 
 Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and 
 
 sad in the sunshine, 
 Lay extended before them the land of toil and 
 
 privation ; 
 There were the graves of the dead, and the 
 
 barren waste of the sea-shore", 
 There the familiar fields, the groves of pine, 
 
 and the meadows ; 
 But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the 
 
 Garden of Eden, 
 Filled with the presence of God, whose voice 
 
 was the sound of the ocean. 
 
 Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise 
 and stir of departure, 
 
 Friends coming forth from the house, and im- 
 patient of longer delaying, 
 
 Each with his plan for the day, and the work 
 that was left uncompleted.
 
 92 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclama- 
 tions of wonder, 
 Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so 
 
 proud of Priscilla, 
 Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the 
 
 hand of its master. 
 Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in 
 
 its nostrils, 
 Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion 
 
 placed for a saddle. 
 She should not walk, he said, through the dust 
 
 and heat of the noonday ; 
 Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod 
 
 along like a peasant. 
 Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by 
 
 the others, 
 Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in 
 
 the hand of her husband, 
 Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted 
 
 her palfrey. 
 "Nothing is wanting now," he said with a 
 
 smile, "but the distaff; 
 Then you would be in truth my queen, my 
 beautiful Bertha ! " 
 
 Onward the bridal procession now moved to 
 
 their new habitation, 
 
 Happy husband and wife, and friends convers- 
 ing together.
 
 THE WEDDING-DAY. 95 
 
 Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed 
 the ford in the forest, 
 
 Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream 
 of love through its bosom, 
 
 Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of 
 the azure abysses. 
 
 Down through the golden leaves the sun was 
 pouring his splendors, 
 
 Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches 
 above them suspended, 
 
 Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of 
 the pine and the fir-tree, 
 
 Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in 
 the valley of Eschol. 
 
 Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pas- 
 toral ages, 
 
 Fresh with the youth of the world, and recall- 
 ing Rebecca and Isaac, 
 
 Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful 
 
 always, 
 
 Love immortal and young in the endless suc- 
 cession of lovers. 
 
 So through the Plymouth woods passed on- 
 ward the bridal procession.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 A PSALM OF LIFE 
 
 THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS . 
 
 THE LIGHT OF STARS . 
 
 FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS 
 
 FLOWERS .... 
 
 THE RAINY DAY 
 
 IT is NOT ALWAYS MAY 
 
 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 
 
 THE GOBLET OF LIFE 
 
 MAIDENHOOD .... 
 
 EXCELSIOR .... 
 
 A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE . 
 
 RAIN IN SUMMER 
 
 To A CHILD .... 
 THE BRIDGE .... 
 THE DAY is DONE . 
 
 Page 
 . 11 
 
 13 
 
 . 17 
 19 
 
 . 21 
 24 
 
 . 25 
 27 
 
 . 31 
 34 
 
 . 37 
 42 
 45 
 49 
 60
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE ARROW AND THE SONG 
 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS 
 THE SECRET OF THE SEA . 
 THE LIGHTHOUSE 
 
 RESIGNATION 
 
 HAUNTED HOUSES . 
 
 SANDALPHON 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S HOUR . 
 A DAY OF SUNSHINE . 
 CHILDREN . . 
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 6(5 
 67 
 73 
 
 75 
 
 78 
 82 
 
 90 
 92 
 94
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Longfellow's Residence Frontispiece. 
 
 " 'T was an angel visited the green earth Page 
 
 And took the flowers away " 15 
 
 " Singing in the village choir " i!9 
 
 Excelsior o'J 
 
 " Thou driftest gently down the tides of sleep " . 55 
 
 "There groups of merry children played" . . . 69 
 
 Tail-piece 96
 
 A PSALM OF LIFE. 
 
 WHAT THE HEAET OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO 
 THE PSALMIST. 
 
 ELL me not, in mournful numbers, 
 " Life is but an empty dream ! " 
 For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
 And things are not what they seem. 
 
 Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 
 
 And the grave is not its goal ; 
 " Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 
 
 Was not spoken of the soul. 
 
 Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
 
 Is our destined end or way ; 
 But to act, that each to-morrow 
 
 Find us farther than to-day.
 
 12 FAVOKITE POEMS. 
 
 Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
 
 And our hearts, though stout and brave, 
 
 Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
 Funeral marches to the grave. 
 
 In the world's broad field of battle, 
 
 In the bivouac of Life, 
 Be not like dumb, driven cattle! 
 
 Be a hero in the strife ! 
 
 Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 
 
 Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
 Act, act in the living Present ! 
 
 Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 
 
 Lives of great men all remind us 
 We can make our lives sublime, 
 
 And, departing, leave behind us 
 Footprints on the sands of time; 
 
 Footprints, that perhaps another, 
 Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
 
 A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
 Seeing, shall take heart again.
 
 THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 13 
 
 Let us, then, be up and doing, 
 
 With a heart for any fate ; 
 Still achieving, still pursuing, 
 
 Learn to labor and to wait. 
 
 THE KEAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 
 
 'HERE is a Reaper, whose name is 
 
 Deatli, 
 
 And, with his sickle keen, 
 He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 
 And the flowers that grow between. 
 
 " Shall I have naught that is fair ? " sailh he ; 
 
 " Have naught but the bearded grain ? 
 Though the breath of these flowers is sweet io 
 me, 
 
 I will give them all back again." 
 
 He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, 
 He kissed their drooping leaves ;
 
 14 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 It was for the Lord of Paradise 
 He bound them in his sheaves. 
 
 " My Lord has need of these flowerets gay 
 
 The Reaper said, and smiled ; 
 " Dear tokens of the earth are they, 
 
 Where he was once a child. 
 
 " They shall alt bloom in fields of light, 
 
 Transplanted by my care, 
 And saints, upon their garments white, 
 
 These sacred blossoms wear." 
 
 And the mother gave, in tears and pain, 
 The flowers she most did love; 
 
 She knew she should find them all agaiiv 
 In the fields of light above. 
 
 0, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 
 
 The Reaper came that day ; 
 'T was an angel visited the green earth, 
 
 And took the flowers away.
 
 THE LIGHT OF STARS. 17 
 
 THE LIGHT OP STABS. 
 
 HE night is come, but not too soon ; 
 
 And sinking silently, 
 All silently, the little moon 
 
 Drops down behind the sky. 
 
 There is no light in earth or heaven, 
 But the cold light of stars; 
 
 And the first watch of night is given 
 To the red planet Mars. 
 
 Is it the tender star of love ? 
 
 The star of love and dreams ? 
 O no ! from that blue tent above 
 
 A hero's armor gleams. 
 
 And earnest thoughts within me rise, 
 
 When I behold afar, 
 Suspended in the evening skies, 
 
 The shield of that red star.
 
 18 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 star of strength ! I see thee stand 
 And smile upon my pain ; 
 
 Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, 
 And I am strong again. 
 
 Within my breast there is no light, 
 But the cold light of stars ; 
 
 1 give the first watch of the night 
 To the red planet Mars. 
 
 The star of the unconquered will, 
 
 He rises in my breast, 
 Serene, and resolute, and still, 
 
 And calm, and self-possessed ; 
 
 And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 
 That readest this brief psalm, 
 
 As one by one thy hopes depart, 
 Be resolute and calm. 
 
 O, fear not in a world like this, 
 And thou shalt know erelong, 
 
 Know how sublime a thing it is 
 To suffer and be strong.
 
 FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 19 
 
 FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 
 
 THEN the hours of Day are numbered, 
 And the voices of the Night 
 
 the better soul, that slumbered, 
 To a holy, calm delight ; 
 
 Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
 And, like phantoms grim and tall, 
 
 Shadows from the fitful firelight 
 Dance upon the parlor wall ; 
 
 Then the forms of the departed 
 
 Enter at the open door ; 
 The beloved, the true-hearted, 
 
 Come to visit me once more ; 
 
 He, the young and strong, who cherished 
 
 Noble longings for the strife, 
 By the roadside fell and perished, 
 
 Weary with the march of life !
 
 20 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 They, the holy ones and weakly, 
 Who the cross of suffering bore, 
 
 Folded their pale hands so meekly, 
 Spake with us on earth no more ! 
 
 And with them the Being Beauteous, 
 Who unto my youth was given, 
 
 More than all things else to love me, 
 And is now a saint in heaven. 
 
 With a slow and noiseless footstep 
 Comes that messenger divine, 
 
 Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
 Lays her gentle hand in mine. 
 
 And she sits and gazes at me 
 With those deep and tender eyes, 
 
 Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 
 Looking downward from the skies. 
 
 Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
 Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 
 
 Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 
 Breathing from her lips of air.
 
 FLOWERS. 21 
 
 O, though oft depressed and lonely, 
 
 All my fears are laid aside, 
 If I but remember only 
 
 Such as these have lived and died ! 
 
 FLOWERS, 
 
 :TAKE full well, in language quaint 
 
 and olden, 
 One who dvvelleth by the castled 
 
 Rhine, 
 
 When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, 
 Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. 
 
 Stars tl'ey are, wherein we read our history, 
 
 As astrologers and seers of eld ; 
 Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, 
 
 Like the burning stars, which they beheld. 
 
 Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, 
 God hath written in those stars above ; 
 
 But not less in the bright flowerets under us 
 Stands the revelation of his love.
 
 ~2'1 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Bright and glorious is that revelation, 
 Written all over this great world of ours ; 
 
 Makiug evident our own creation, 
 
 In these stars of earth, these golden 
 flowers. 
 
 And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, 
 Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part 
 
 Of the selfsame, universal being, 
 
 Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. 
 
 Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, 
 Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, 
 
 Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, 
 Buds that open only to decay ; 
 
 Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, 
 Flaunt ing gayly in the golden light ; 
 
 Large desires, with most uncertain issues, 
 Tender wishes, blossoming at night I 
 
 These in flowers and men are more than seemin fe > 
 Workings are they of the selfsame powers, 
 
 Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, 
 Seeth in himself and in the flowers.
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 Everywhere about us are they glowiug, 
 Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; 
 
 Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowiug, 
 Stand like Ruth amid the golden com; 
 
 Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, 
 And in Summer's green-emblazoned field, 
 
 But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, 
 In the centre of his brazen shield ; 
 
 Not alone in meadows and green alleys, 
 On the mountain-top, and by the brink 
 
 Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys, 
 Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink ; 
 
 Not alone in her vast dome of glory, 
 Not on graves of bird and beast alone, 
 
 But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, 
 On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone ; 
 
 In the cottage of the rudest peasant, 
 
 In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, 
 
 Speaking of the Past unto the Present, 
 Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers ;
 
 24 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 In all places, then, and in all seasons, 
 Flowers expand their light and soul-like 
 wings, 
 
 Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, 
 How akin they are to human things. 
 
 And with childlike, credulous affection 
 We behold their tender buds expand ; 
 
 Emblems of our own great resurrection, 
 Emblems of the bright and better land. 
 
 THE RAINY DAY. 
 
 HE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary 
 The vine still clings to the mouldering 
 
 wall, 
 
 But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 
 And the day is dark and dreary. 
 
 My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary ;
 
 IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY. 2-3 
 
 My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, 
 But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, 
 And the days are dark and dreary. 
 
 Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; 
 Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; 
 Thy fate is the common fate of all, 
 Into each life some rain must fall, 
 
 Some days must be dark and dreary. 
 
 IT IS WOT ALWAYS MAY. 
 
 No bay pajaros en los nidos de antaiio. 
 
 Spanish Prottrb. 
 
 [HE sun is bright, the air is clear, 
 The darting sxvallovrs soar and sing, 
 And from the stately elms I hear 
 The bluebird prophesying Spring. 
 
 So blue yon -winding river flows, 
 It seems an outlet from the sky,
 
 FAVOUITE POEMS. 
 
 Where waiting till the west-wind blows, 
 The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 
 
 All things are new ; the buds, the leaves, 
 That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, 
 
 And even the nest beneath the eaves ; 
 There are no birds in last year's nest ! 
 
 All things rejoice in youth and love, 
 The fulness of their first delight ! 
 
 And learn from the soft heavens above 
 The melting tenderness of night. 
 
 Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, 
 Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay ; 
 
 Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, 
 For 0, it is not always May ! 
 
 Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, 
 To some good angel leave the rest ; 
 
 For Time will teach thee soon the truth, 
 There are no birds in last year's nest 1
 
 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 
 
 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 
 
 NDER the spreading chestnut-tree 
 
 The village smithy stands ; 
 The smith, a mighty man is he, 
 With large and sinewy hands ; 
 And the muscles of his brawny arms 
 Are strong as iron bands. 
 
 His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 
 
 His face is like the tan ; 
 His brow is wet with honest sweat, 
 
 He earns whate'er he can, 
 And looks the whole world in the face, 
 
 For he owes not any man. 
 
 Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
 You can hear his bellows blow; 
 
 You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
 With measured beat and slow,
 
 28 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Like a sextou ringing the village bell, 
 When the evening sun is low. 
 
 And children coming home from school 
 
 Look in at the open door ; 
 They love to see the flaming forge, 
 
 And hear the bellows roar, 
 And catch the burning sparks that fly 
 
 Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 
 
 He goes on Sunday to the church, 
 
 And sits among his boys ; 
 He hears the parson pray and preach, 
 
 He hears his daughter's voice, 
 Singing in the village choir, 
 
 And it makes his heart rejoice. 
 
 It sounds to him like her mother's voice, 
 
 Singing in Paradise ! 
 He needs must think of her once more, 
 
 How in tlio grave she lies ; 
 And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 
 
 A tear out of his eyes. 
 
 Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, 
 Onward through life lie goes ;
 
 "Singing in the village choir."
 
 THE GOBLET OF LIFE. 31 
 
 Each morning sees some task begin, 
 
 Each evening sees it close ; 
 Something attempted, something done, 
 
 Has earned a night's repose. 
 
 Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
 For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
 
 Thus at the flaming forge of life 
 Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
 
 Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
 Each burning deed and thought ! 
 
 THE GOBLET OF LIFE. 
 
 BILLED is Life's goblet to the brim, 
 And though my eyes with tears are dim, 
 I see its sparkling bubbles swim, 
 And chant a melancholy hymn 
 With solemn voice and slow. 
 
 No purple flowers, no garlands green, 
 Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen,
 
 32 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Nor maddening draughts of Hippocrene, 
 Like gleams of sunshine, flash between 
 Thick leaves of mistletoe. 
 
 This goblet, wrought with curious art, 
 Is filled with waters, that upstart, 
 When the deep fountains of the heart, 
 By strong convulsions rent apart, 
 Are running all to waste. 
 
 And as it mantling passes round, 
 With fennel is it wreathed and crowned, 
 Whose seed and foliage suii-imbrowned 
 Are in its waters steeped and drowned, 
 And give a bitter taste. 
 
 Above the lowly plants it towers, 
 The fennel, with its yellow flowers, 
 And in an earlier age than ours 
 Was gifted with the wondrous powers, 
 Lost vision to restore. 
 
 It gave new strength, and fearless mood ; 
 And gladiators, fierce and rude, 
 Mingled it in their daily food ;
 
 THE GOBLET OF LIFE. 33 
 
 And lie who battled and subdued, 
 A wreath of feuuel wore. 
 
 Then iu Life's goblet freely press, 
 The leaves that give it bitterness, 
 Nor prize the colored waters less, 
 For in tliy darkness and distress 
 
 New light and strength they give ! 
 
 And he who has not learned to know 
 How false its sparkling bubbles show, 
 How bitter are the drops of woe, 
 "With which its brim may overflow, 
 He has not learned to live. 
 
 The prayer of Ajax was for light ; 
 Through all that dark and desperate fight, 
 The blackness of that noonday night, 
 He asked but the return of sight, 
 To see his foeman's face 
 
 Let our unceasing, earnest prayer 
 Be, too, for light, for strength to bear 
 Our portion of the weight of care, 
 That crushes into dumb despair 
 One half the human race.
 
 34 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 O suffering, sad humanity ! 
 
 ye afflicted ones, who lie 
 Steeped to the lips in misery, 
 Longing, and yet afraid to die, 
 
 Patient, though sorely tried ! 
 
 1 pledge you in this cup of grief, 
 Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf, 
 The Battle of our Life is brief, 
 
 The alarm, the struggle, the relief, 
 Then sleep we side by side. 
 
 MAIDENHOOD. 
 
 AJDEN ! with the meek, brown eyes, 
 In whose orbs a shadow lies 
 Like the dusk in evening skies ! 
 
 Thou whose locks outshine the sun, 
 Golden tresses, wreathed in one, 
 As the braided streamlets run !
 
 MAIDENHOOD. 35 
 
 Standing, with reluctant feet, 
 Where the brook and river meet, 
 Womanhood and childhood fleet ! 
 
 Gazing, with a timid glance, 
 On the brooklet's swift advance, 
 On the river's broad expanse ! 
 
 Deep and still, that gliding stream 
 Beautiful to thee must seem, 
 As the river of a dream. 
 
 Then why pause with indecision, 
 When bright angels in thy vision 
 Beckon thee to fields Elysiau ? 
 
 Seest thou shadows sailing by, 
 As the dove, with startled eye, 
 Sees the falcon's shadow fly ? 
 
 Hearest thou voices on the shore, 
 That our ears perceive no more, 
 Deafened by the cataract's roar ?
 
 36 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 O, thou child of many prayers ! 
 
 Life bath quicksands, Life hath snares, - 
 
 Care and age come unawares ! 
 
 Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
 Morning rises into noon, 
 May glides onward into June. 
 
 Childhood is the bough, where slumbered 
 Birds and blossoms many-numbered ; 
 Age, that bough with snows encumbered. 
 
 Gather, then, each flower that grows, 
 When the young heart overflows, 
 To embalm that tent of snows. 
 
 Bear a lily in thy hand ; 
 
 Gates of brass cannot withstand 
 
 One touch of that magic wand. 
 
 Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 
 In thy heart the dew of youth, 
 On thy lips the smile of truth.
 
 EXCELSIOR. 37 
 
 O, that dew, like balm, shall steal 
 Into wounds, that cannot heal, 
 Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; 
 
 And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
 Into many a sunless heart, 
 For a smile of God thou art. 
 
 EXCELSIOK. 
 
 '"HE shades of night were falling fast, 
 \ As through an Alpine village passed 
 -* A youth, who bore mid snow and ice 
 A banner with the strange device, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 His brow was sad ; his eye beneath 
 Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, 
 And like a silver clarion rung 
 The accents of that unknown tongue, 
 Excelsior !
 
 38 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 In happy homes he saw the light 
 Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; 
 Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
 And from his lips escaped a groan, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 " Try not the Pass ! " the old man said ; 
 " Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
 The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " 
 And loud that clarion voice replied, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 " O, stay," the maiden said, " and rest 
 Thy weary head upon this breast ! " 
 A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
 But still he answered, with a sigh* 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ' 
 Beware the awful avalanche ! " 
 This was the peasant's last Good-night, 
 A voice replied, far up the height, 
 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 At break of day, as heavenward 
 The pious monks of Saint Bernard
 
 EXCELSIOR. 41 
 
 Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
 A voice cried through the startled air, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
 Half-buried iu the snow was iouud, 
 Still grasping in his hand of ice 
 That banner with the strange device, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 There in the twilight cold and gray, 
 Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 
 And from the sky, serene and far, 
 A voice fell, like a falling star, 
 Excelsior !
 
 42 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE. 
 
 HIS is the place. Stand still, my steed, 
 
 Let me review the scene, 
 And summon from the shadowy Past 
 The forms that once have been. 
 
 The Past and Present here unite 
 
 Beneath Time's flowing tide, 
 Like footprints hidden by a brook, 
 
 But seen 011 either side. 
 
 Here runs the highway to the town ; 
 
 There the green lane descends, 
 Through which I walked to church with thee, 
 
 O gentlest of my frieuds ! 
 
 The shadow of the linden-trees 
 Lay moving on the grass ;
 
 A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE. 43 
 
 Between them and the moving boughs, 
 A shadow, thou didst pass. 
 
 Thy dress was like the lilies, 
 And thy heart as pure as they 
 
 One of God's holy messengers 
 Did walk with me that day. 
 
 I saw the branches of the trees 
 Bend down thy touch to meet, 
 
 The clover-blossoms in the grass 
 Rise up to kiss thy feet. 
 
 " Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, 
 
 Of earth and folly born ! " 
 Solemnly sang the village choir 
 
 On that sweet Sabbath mori>. 
 
 Through the closed blinds the golden sun 
 
 Poured in a dusty beam, 
 Like the celestial ladder seen 
 
 By Jacob in his dream.
 
 44 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 And ever and anon, the wind, 
 
 Sweet-scented with the hay, 
 Turned o'er the hymn-book's fluttering leaves 
 
 That on the window lay. 
 
 Long was the good man's sermon, 
 
 Yet it seemed not so to me ; 
 For he spake of Ruth the beautiful, 
 
 And still I thought of thee. 
 
 Long was the prayer he uttered, 
 
 Yet it seemed not so to me ; 
 For in my heart I prayed with him, 
 
 And still I thought of thee. 
 
 But now, alas ! the place seems changed ; 
 
 Thou art no longer here ; 
 Part of the sunshine of the scene 
 
 With thee did disappear. 
 
 Though thoughts, deep-rooted in my heart, 
 Like pine-trees dark and high, 
 
 Subdue the light of noon, and breathe 
 A low and ceaseless sigh ;
 
 BAIN IN SUMMER. 45 
 
 This memory brightens o'er the past, 
 
 As when the sun, concealed 
 Behind some cloud that near us hangs, 
 
 Shines on a distant field. 
 
 RAIN IN SUMMER. 
 
 "OW beautiful is the rain ! 
 After the dust and heat, 
 In the broad and fiery street, 
 
 In the narrow lane, 
 
 How beautiful is the rain ! 
 
 How it clatters along the roofs, 
 
 Like the tramp of hoofs ! 
 
 How it gushes and struggles out 
 
 From the throat of tbe overflowing spout ! 
 
 Across the window-pane 
 
 It pours and pours ; 
 
 And swift and wide, 
 
 With a muddy tide,
 
 46 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Like a river down the gutter roars 
 The raiu, the welcome raiu ! 
 
 The sick man from his chamber looks 
 
 At the twisted brooks ; 
 
 He cau feel the cool 
 
 Breath of each little pool ; 
 
 His fevered brain 
 
 Grows calm again, 
 
 And lie breathes a blessing on the rain. 
 
 From the neighboring school 
 
 Come the boys, 
 
 With more than their wonted noise 
 
 And commotion ; 
 
 And down the wet streets 
 
 Sail their mimic fleets, 
 
 Till the treacherous pool 
 
 Ingulfs them in its whirling 
 
 And turbulent ocean. 
 
 In the country, on every side. 
 
 Where, far and wide, 
 
 Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide, 
 
 Stretches the plain,
 
 RAIN IN SUMMER. 47 
 
 To the dry grass and the drier grain 
 How welcome is the raiu ! 
 
 In the furrowed land 
 
 The toilsome and patient oxen stand ; 
 
 Lifting the yoke-encumbered head, 
 
 With their dilated nostrils spread, 
 
 They silently inhale 
 
 The clover-scented gale, 
 
 And the vapors that arise 
 
 From the well-watered and smoking soil. 
 
 For this rest in the furrow after toil, 
 
 Their large and lustrous eyes 
 
 Seem to thank the Lord, 
 
 More than man's spoken word. 
 
 Near at hand, 
 
 From under the sheltering trees, 
 
 The farmer sees 
 
 His pastures, and his fields of grain, 
 
 As they bend their tops 
 
 To the numberless beating drops 
 
 Of the incessant rain. 
 
 He counts it as no sin 
 
 That he sees therein
 
 48 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Only liis own thrift and gain. 
 
 These, and Car more than these, 
 
 The Poet sees ! 
 
 He can behold 
 
 Aquarius old 
 
 Walking the fenceless fields of air ; 
 
 And from each ample fold 
 
 Of the clouds about him rolled 
 
 Scattering everywhere 
 
 The showery rain, 
 
 As the farmer scatters his grain. 
 
 He can behold 
 
 Things manifold 
 
 That have not yet been wholly told, 
 
 Have not been wholly sung nor said. 
 
 For his thought, that never stops, 
 
 Follows the water-drops 
 
 Down to the graves of the dead, 
 
 Down through chasms and gulfs profound, 
 
 To the dreary fountain-head 
 
 Of lakes and rivers under ground ; 
 
 And sees them, when the raiu is done, 
 
 On the bridge of colors seven 
 
 Climbing up once more to heaven, 
 
 Opposite the setting sun.
 
 TO A CHILD. 49 
 
 Thus the Seer, 
 
 With visiou clear, 
 
 Sees forms appear aud disappear, 
 
 In the perpetual round of strange, 
 
 Mysterious change 
 
 From birth to death, from death to birth, 
 
 From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth.- 
 
 Till glimpses more sublime 
 
 Of things, unseen before, 
 
 Uuto his wondering eyes reveal 
 
 The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel 
 
 Turning forevermore 
 
 In the rapid and rushing river of Time. 
 
 TO A CHILD. 
 
 EAR child ! how radiant on thy 
 
 mother's knee, 
 With merry-making eyes and jocund 
 
 smiles, 
 Thou gazest at the painted tiles,
 
 50 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Whnse figures grace, 
 With many a grotesque form and face, 
 The ancient clunmey of thy nursery ! 
 The lady with the gay macaw, 
 The dancing-girl, the grave bashaw 
 With bearded lip and chin ; 
 And, leaning idly o'er his gate, 
 Beneath the imperial fan of state, 
 The Chinese mandarin. 
 
 With what a look of proud command 
 
 Thou shakest in thy little hand 
 
 The coral rattle with its silver bells, 
 
 Making a merry tune ! 
 
 Thousands of years in Indian seas 
 
 That coral grew, by slow degrees, 
 
 Until some deadly and wild monsoon 
 
 Dashed it on CoromaudePs sand ! 
 
 Those silver bells 
 
 Reposed of yore, 
 
 As shapeless ore, 
 
 Far down in the deep-sunken wells 
 
 Of darksome mines, 
 
 In some obscure and sunless place, 
 
 Beneath huge Chimborazo's base,
 
 TO A CHILD. 51 
 
 Or Potosi's o'erhanging pines ! 
 
 Arid thus for thee, O little child, 
 
 Through many a danger and escape, 
 
 The tali ships passed the stormy cape; 
 
 For thee iii foreign lands remote, 
 
 Beneath the burning, tropic clime, 
 
 The Indian peasant, chasing the wild goat, 
 
 Himself as swift and wild, 
 
 In falling, clutched the frail arbute, 
 
 The iibres of whose shallow root, 
 
 Uplifted from the soil, betrayed 
 
 The silver veins beneath it laid, 
 
 The buried treasures of the pirate, Time. 
 
 But, lo ! thy door is left, ajar! 
 
 Thou Nearest footsteps from afar 1 
 
 And, at the sound, 
 
 Thou turnest round 
 
 With quick and questioning eyes, 
 
 Like one, who, in a foreign laud, 
 
 Beholds on every hand 
 
 Some source of wonder and surprise ! 
 
 And, restlessly, impatiently, 
 
 Thou strivest, struggles!, to be free. 
 
 The four walls of thy nursery
 
 52 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Are now like prison walls to thee. 
 
 No more thy mother's smiles, 
 
 No more the painted tiles, 
 
 Delight thee, nor the playthings on the floor 
 
 That won thy little, beating heart before ; 
 
 Thou strugglest for the open door. 
 
 Through these once solitary halls 
 
 Thy pattering footstep falls. 
 
 The sound of thy merry voice 
 
 Makes the old walls 
 
 Jubilant, and they rejoice 
 
 With the joy of thy young heart, 
 
 O'er the light of whose gladness 
 
 No shadows of sadness 
 
 From the sombre background of memory start. 
 
 Once, ab, once, within these walls, 
 One whom memory oft recalls, 
 The Father of his Country, dwelt. 
 And yonder meadows, broad and damp, 
 The fires of the besieging camp 
 Encircled with a burning belt. 
 Up and down these echoing stairs, 
 Hear? with the weight of cares,
 
 TO A CHILD. 53 
 
 Sounded his majestic tread ; 
 
 Yes, within this very room 
 
 Sat he in those hours of gloom, 
 
 Weary both in heart and head. 
 
 But what are these grave thoughts to thee ? 
 
 Out, out ! into the open air ! 
 
 Thy only dream is liberty, 
 
 Thou carest little how or where. 
 
 I see thee eager at thy play, 
 
 Now shouting to the apples on the tree, 
 
 With cheeks as round and red as they ; 
 
 And now among the yellow stalks, 
 
 Among the flowering shrubs and plants, 
 
 As restless as the bee. 
 
 Along the garden walks, 
 
 The tracks of thy small carriage-wheels I trace ; 
 
 And see at every turn how they efface 
 
 Whole villages of sand-roofed tents, 
 
 That rise like golden domes 
 
 Above the cavernous and secret homes 
 
 Of wandering and nomadic tribes of ants. 
 
 Ah, cruel little Tamerlane, 
 
 Who, with thy dreadful reign, 
 
 Dost persecute and overwhelm 
 
 These hapless Troglodytes of thy realm !
 
 54 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 What ! tired already ! with those snppliant 
 
 looks, 
 
 And voice more beautiful than a poet's books, 
 Or murmuring sound of water as it flows, 
 Thou comest back to parley with repose I 
 
 This rustic seat in the old apple-tree, 
 With its o'erhanging golden canopy 
 Of leaves illuminate with autumnal hues, 
 And shining with the argent light of dews, 
 Shall for a season be our place of rest. 
 Beneath us, like an oriole's pendent nest, 
 From which the laughing birds have taken wing, 
 By thee abandoned, hangs thy vacant swing. 
 Dream-like the waters of the river gleam ; 
 A sailless vessel drops adown the stream, 
 And like it, to a sea as wide and deep, 
 Thou driftest gently down the tides of sleep. 
 
 O child ! new-born denizen 
 Of life's great city ! on thy head 
 The glory of the morn is shed, 
 Like a celestial bcnison ! 
 Here at the portal thou dost stand, 
 And with thy little hand

 
 TO A CHILD. 57 
 
 Thou openest the mysterious gate 
 
 Into the future's undiscovered land. 
 
 I see its valves expand, 
 
 As at the touch of Fate ! 
 
 Into those realms of love and hate, 
 
 Into that darkness, blank and drear, 
 
 By some prophetic feeling taught, 
 
 I launch the bold, adventurous thought, 
 
 Freighted with hope and fear; 
 
 As upon Subterranean streams, 
 
 In caverns unexplored and dark, 
 
 Men sometimes launch a fragile bark, 
 
 Laden with flickering fire, 
 
 And watch its swift-receding beams, 
 
 Until at length they disappear, 
 
 And in the distant dark expire. 
 
 By what astrology of fear or hope 
 
 Dare I to cast thy horoscope ! 
 
 Like the new moon thy life appears ; 
 
 A little strip of silver light, 
 
 And widening outward into night 
 
 The shadowy disk of future years ; 
 
 And yet upon its outer rim, 
 
 A luminous circle, faint and dim, 
 
 And scarcely visible to us here,
 
 58 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Rounds and completes the perfect sphere ; 
 
 A prophecy and intimation, 
 
 A pale and feeble adumbration, 
 
 Of the great world of light, that lies 
 
 Behind all human destinies. 
 
 Ah ! if thy fate, with anguish fraught, 
 Should be to wet the dusty soil 
 With the hot tears and sweat of toil, 
 To struggle with imperious thought, 
 Until the overburdened brain, 
 Weary witli labor, faint with pain, 
 Like a jarred pendulum, retain 
 Only its motion, not its power, 
 Remember, in that perilous hour, 
 When most afflicted and oppressed, 
 From labor there shall come forth rest. 
 
 And if a more auspicious fate 
 On thy advancing steps await, 
 Still let it ever be thy pride 
 To linger by the laborer's side ; 
 With words of sympathy or song 
 To cheer the dreary march along 
 Of the great army of the poor, 
 O'er desert sand, o'er dangerous moor.
 
 TO A CHILD. 59 
 
 Nor to thyself the task shall be 
 
 Without reward; for tliou shalt learn 
 
 The wisdom early to discern 
 
 True beauty in utility ; 
 
 As great Pythagoras of yore, 
 
 Standing beside the blacksmith's door, 
 
 And hearing the hammers, as they smote 
 
 The anvils with a different note, 
 
 Stole from the varying tones, that hung 
 
 Vibrant on every iron tongue, 
 
 The secret of the sounding wire, 
 
 And formed the seven-chorded lyre. 
 
 Enough ! I will not play the Seer; 
 
 I will 110 longer st rive to ope 
 
 The mystic volume, where appear 
 
 The herald Hope, forerunning Fear, 
 
 And Fear, the pursuivant of Hope. 
 
 Thy destiny remains untold ; 
 
 For, like Acestes' shaft of old, 
 
 The swift thought kindles as it flies, 
 
 And burns to ashes in the skies.
 
 60 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 THE BRIDGE. 
 
 STOOD on the bridge at midnight, 
 
 As the clocks were striking the hour, 
 And the moon rose o'er the city, 
 Behind the dark church- tower. 
 
 I saw her bright reflection 
 
 In the waters under me, 
 Like a golden goblet falling 
 
 And sinking into the sea. 
 
 And far in the hazy distance 
 
 Of that lovely night in June, 
 The blaze of the flaming furnace 
 
 Gleamed redder than the moon. 
 
 Among the long, black rafters 
 
 The wavering shadows lay, 
 And the current that came from the ocean 
 
 Seemed to lift and bear them away ;
 
 THE BRIDGE. 61 
 
 As, sweeping and eddying through them, 
 
 Rose the belated tide, 
 And, streaming into the moonlight, 
 
 The sea-weed floated wide. 
 
 And like those waters rushing 
 
 Among the wooden piers, 
 A flood of thoughts came o'er me 
 
 That filled my eyes with tears. 
 
 How often, 0, how often, 
 
 In the days that had gone by, 
 I had stood on that bridge at midnight 
 
 And gazed on that wave and sky ! 
 
 How often, O, how often, 
 I had wished that the ebbing tide 
 
 Would bear me away on its bosom 
 O'er the ocean wild and wide ! 
 
 For my heart was hot and restless, 
 
 And my life was full of care, 
 And the burden laid upon me 
 
 Seemed greater than I could bear.
 
 62 ' FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 But, now it lias fallen from me, 
 It is buried in the sea; 
 
 And only the sorrow of others 
 Throws its shadow over me. 
 
 Yet whenever I cross the river 
 On its bridge witli wooden piers, 
 
 Like the odor of brine from the ocean 
 Comes the thought of other years. 
 
 And I think how many thousands 
 
 Of care-encumbered men, 
 Each bearing his burden of sorrow, 
 
 Have crossed the bridge since then. 
 
 I see the long procession 
 
 Still passing to and fro, 
 The young heart hot and restless, 
 
 And the old subdued and slow ! 
 
 /Ind forever and forever, 
 As long as the river flows, 
 
 Vs long- av; the heart has passions, 
 As ]ong a^ life ^ac. woes ;
 
 THE DAY IS DONE. 63 
 
 The moon and its broken reflection 
 And its shadows shall appear, 
 
 As the symbol of love in heaven, 
 And its wavering image here. 
 
 THE DAY IS DONE. 
 
 HE day is done, and the darkness 
 Tails from the wings of Night, 
 As a feather is wafted downward 
 From an eagle in his flight. 
 
 I see the lights of the village 
 
 Gleam through the rain and the mist, 
 And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, 
 
 That my soul cannot resist : 
 
 A feeling of sadness and longing, 
 
 That is not, akin to pain, 
 And resembles sorrow only 
 
 As the mist resembles the rain.
 
 64 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Come, read to me some poem, 
 Some simple aud heartfelt lay, 
 
 That shall soothe this restless feeling, 
 Aud banish the thoughts of day. 
 
 Not from the grand old masters, 
 Not from the bards sublime, 
 
 Whose distant footsteps echo 
 Through the corridors of Time. 
 
 For, like strains of martial music, 
 Their mighty thoughts suggest 
 
 Life's endless toil and endeavor; 
 And to-night I long for rest. 
 
 Read from some humbler poet, 
 
 Whose songs gushed from his heart, 
 
 As showers from the clouds of summer, 
 Or tears from the eyelids start ; 
 
 Who, through long days of labor, 
 
 And nights devoid of ease, 
 Still heard in his soul the music 
 
 Of wonderful melodies.
 
 THE DAY IS DONE. 65 
 
 Srrli songs have poorer to quiet 
 
 Tlie rest le^s pulse of care, 
 And come like the benediction 
 
 That follows after prayer. 
 
 Thpn rend from the treasured volume 
 
 The poem of tliy choice, 
 And lend to the rhyme of the poet 
 
 The beauty of thy voice. 
 
 And the night shall be filled with music, 
 And the cares, that infest the day, 
 
 Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
 And as silently steal away.
 
 66 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 THE ARROW AND THE SONG. 
 
 SHOT an arrow into the air, 
 It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
 For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
 Could not follow it in its flight. 
 
 I breathed a song into the air, 
 It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
 For who has sight so keen and strong, 
 That it can follow the flight of song? 
 
 Long, long afterward, in an oak 
 I found the arrow, still unbroke ; 
 And the song, from beginning to end, 
 I found again in the heart of a friend.
 
 THE OLD CLOC.i ON THE STAIRS. 67 
 
 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 
 
 " L'eternite est une pendule, dont le balancier dit et re- 
 dit saus cesse ces deux mots settlement, daus le silence 
 des tombeaux: 'Toujours! jamais! Jamais ! toujoure ! ' " 
 JACQUES BEIDAINE. 
 
 I OME WHAT back from the village street 
 Stauds the old-fashioued country-seat. 
 ^ Across its antique portico 
 Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw, 
 Aud from its station in the hall 
 An ancient timepiece says to all, 
 " Forever never ! 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 Half-way up the stairs it stands, 
 And points and beckons with its hands 
 From its case of massive oak, 
 Like a monk, who, under his cloak,
 
 68 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Crosses himself, and siglis, alas! 
 
 With sorrowful voice to all who pass, 
 
 "Forever never ! 
 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 By day its voice is low and light; 
 
 But iu the silent dead of night, 
 
 Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, 
 
 It echoes along the vacant hall, 
 
 Along the ceiling, along the floor, 
 
 And seems to say, at each chamber-door, 
 
 " Forever never ! 
 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
 Through days of death and days of birth, 
 Through every swift vicissitude 
 Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, 
 And as if, like God, it all things saw, 
 It calmly repeats those words of awe, 
 
 " Forever never ! 
 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 In that mansion used to be 
 Free-hearted Hospitality ;
 
 "There groups of merry children played."
 
 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 71 
 
 His great fires up the chimney roared ; 
 The stranger feasted at his board : 
 But, like the skeleton at the feast, 
 That warning timepiece never ceased, 
 
 " Forever never ! 
 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 There groups of merry children played, 
 
 There youths and maidens dreaming strayed. 
 
 O precious hours ! O golden prime, 
 
 And affluence of love and time ! 
 
 Even as a miser counts his gold, 
 
 Those hours the ancient timepiece told, 
 
 " Forever never ! 
 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 From that chamber, clothed in white, 
 The bride came forth on her wedding night ; 
 There, in that silent room below, 
 The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; 
 And in the hush that followed the prayer, 
 Was heard the old clock on the stair, 
 
 " Forever never ! 
 
 Never forever ! "
 
 7'J FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 All are scattered now and fled, 
 Some are married, some arc dead ; 
 And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
 "Ah! wlien shall they all mcel again?" 
 As in the duys long since gone by, 
 The ancient, timepiece makes reply, 
 
 " Forever never ! 
 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 Never here, forever there, 
 Where all parting, pain, and care, 
 And death, and time shall disappear, 
 Forever there, but never here ! 
 The horologe of Eternity 
 Sayeth this incessantly, 
 
 " Forever never ! 
 
 Never forever ! "
 
 THE SECRET OP THE SEA. 73 
 
 THE SECKET OF THE SEA. 
 
 H ! what pleasant visions liauut me 
 
 As I gaze upon the sea ! 
 All the old romantic legends, 
 All my dreams, come back to me. 
 
 Sails of silk and ropes of sendal, 
 Such as gleam in ancient lore; 
 
 And the singing of the sailors, 
 And the answer from the shore ! 
 
 Most of all, the Spanish ballad 
 Haunts me oft, and tarries long, 
 
 Of the noble Count Arnaldos 
 And the sailor's mystic song. 
 
 Like (lie long waves on a sea-beach, 
 Where the sand as silver shines,
 
 l-t FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 With a soft, monotonous cadence, 
 Flow its unrhymed lyric lines ; 
 
 Telling how the Count Arnaldos, 
 
 With his hawk upon his hand, 
 Saw a fair and stately galley, 
 
 Steering onward to the land ; 
 
 How he heard the ancient helmsman 
 
 Chant a song so wild and clear, 
 That the sailing sea-bird slowly 
 
 Poised upon the mast to hear, 
 
 Till his sonl was full of longing, 
 
 And he cried, with impulse strong, 
 
 " Helmsman ! for the love of heaven, 
 Teach me, too, that -wondrous song ! " 
 
 " Wouldst thou," so the helmsman answered, 
 
 " Learn the secret of the sea ? 
 Only those who brave its dangers 
 
 Comprehend its mystery ! " 
 
 In each sail that skims the horizon, 
 In eacli landward-blowing breeze,
 
 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 75 
 
 I behold that stately galley, 
 Hear those mournful melodies ; 
 
 Till my soul is full of longing 
 
 For the secret of the sea, 
 And the heart of the great ocean 
 
 Sends a thrilling pulse through me. 
 
 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 ''HE rocky ledge runs far into the sea, 
 And on its outer point, some miles 
 
 away, 
 
 The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry, 
 A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day. 
 
 Even at this distance I can see the tides, 
 Upheaving, break unheard along its base, 
 
 A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides 
 In the white lip and tremor of the face.
 
 76 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 And as the evening darkens, lo ! bow bright, 
 Through the deep purple of the twilight air, 
 
 Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light, 
 With strange, unearthly splendor in its glare ! 
 
 Not one alone ; from each projecting cape 
 And perilous reef along the ocean's verge, 
 
 Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape, 
 
 Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge. 
 
 Like the great giant Christopher it stands 
 Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave, 
 
 Wading far out among the rocks and sands, 
 The night-o'ertuken mariner to save. 
 
 And the great ships sail outward and return, 
 Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells, 
 
 And ever joyful, as they see it burn, 
 
 They wave their silent welcomes and fare- 
 wells. 
 
 They come forth from the darkness, and their 
 sails 
 
 Gleam for a moment only in the blaze, 
 And eagar faces, as the light unveils, 
 
 Gaze at the tower, and vanish while thev gaze.
 
 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 77 
 
 The mariner remembers when a child, 
 
 On his first voyage, he saw it lade and sink ; 
 
 And when, returning from adventures wild, 
 He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink. 
 
 t, serene, immovable, the same 
 Year after year, through all the silent night, 
 Burns on forevermore that quenchless flame, 
 Shines on that inextinguishable hglit ! 
 
 It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp 
 
 The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace; 
 
 It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp, 
 And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece. 
 
 The startled waves leap over it ; the storm 
 Smites it with all the scourges of the rain, 
 
 And steadily against its solid form 
 
 Press the great shoulders of the hurricane. 
 
 The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din 
 Of wings and winds and solitary cries, 
 
 Blinded and maddened by the light within, 
 Dashes himself against the glare, and dies.
 
 78 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 A new Prometheus, chained upon the rock, 
 Still grasping in his hand the fire of Jove, 
 
 It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock, 
 But hails the mariner with words of love. 
 
 "Sail on! " it says, "sail on, ye stately ships ! 
 
 And with your floating bridge the ocean spun; 
 Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse, 
 
 Be yours to bring mail neai'er unto man ! " 
 
 RESIGNATION. 
 
 HERE is no flock, however watched 
 
 and tended, 
 
 But one dead lamb is there ! 
 There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 
 But has one vacant chair ! 
 
 The air is full of farewells to the dying, 
 And mournings for the dead ;
 
 RESIGNATION. 79 
 
 The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, 
 Will not be comforted ! 
 
 Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions 
 
 Not from the ground arise, 
 But oftentimes celestial benedictions 
 
 Assume this dark disguise. 
 
 We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; 
 
 Amid these earthly damps, 
 What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers 
 
 May be heaven's distant lamps. 
 
 There is no Death ! What seems so is transi- 
 tion. 
 
 This life of mortal breath 
 Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 
 
 Whose portal we call Death. 
 
 She is not dead, the child of our affection, 
 
 But gone unto that school 
 Where she no longer needs our poor protection, 
 
 And Christ himself doth rule.
 
 80 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 In that gr^at cloister's stillness and seclusion, 
 By truardiaii anurels led, 
 
 f O O 
 
 Sufc I'm in temptation, safe from sin's pollution, 
 She lives, whom we call dead. 
 
 D iy after d ly we think what she is doing 
 
 In those bright realms of air ; 
 Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, 
 
 Behold her grown more fair. 
 
 Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken 
 
 The bond which nature gives, 
 Thinking that our remembrance, though un- 
 spoken, 
 
 May reach her where she lives. 
 
 Not as a child shall we again behold her ; 
 
 For when with raptures wild 
 In our embraces we again enfold her, 
 
 She will not be a child ; 
 
 t 
 
 But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, 
 Clothed with celestial grace ;
 
 RESIGNATION. 81 
 
 And beautiful with all the soul's expansion 
 Shall we behold her face. 
 
 And though at times impetuous with emotion 
 
 And anguish long suppressed, 
 The swelling heart heaves moaning like the 
 ocean, 
 
 That cannot be at rest, 
 
 We will be patient, and assuage the feeling 
 
 We may not wholly stay ; 
 By silence sanctifying, not concealing, 
 
 The grief that must have way.
 
 82 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 HAUNTED HOUSES. 
 
 LL houses wherein men have lived 
 
 and died 
 Are haunted houses. Through the 
 
 open doors 
 
 The harmless phantoms on their errands slide, 
 With feet that make no sound upon the floors. 
 
 We meet them at the doorway, on the stair, 
 Along the passages they come and go, 
 
 Impalpable impressions on the air, 
 
 A sense of something moving to and fro. 
 
 There are more guests at table, than the hosts 
 
 Invited ; the illuminated hall 
 Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, 
 
 As silent as the pictures^)ii the wall. 
 
 The stranger at my fireside cannot see 
 The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear ;
 
 HAUNTED HOUSES. 83 
 
 He but perceives what is ; while unto me 
 All that has been is visible and clear. 
 
 We have no title-deeds to house or lands ; 
 
 Owners and occupants of earlier dates 
 From graves forgotten stretch their dusty 
 hands, 
 
 And hold in mortmain still their old estates. 
 
 The spirit-world around this world of sense 
 Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere 
 
 Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors 
 
 dense 
 A vital breath of more ethereal air. 
 
 Our little lives are kept in equipoise 
 By opposite attractions and desires ; 
 
 The struggle of the instinct that enjoys, 
 And the more noble instinct that aspires. 
 
 These perturbations, this perpetual jar 
 Of earthly wants and aspirations high, 
 
 Come from the influence of an unseen star, 
 An undiscovered planet in our sky.
 
 84 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud 
 Throws o'er the sea a floating bridge of light, 
 
 Across whose trembling plaiiks our fancies 
 
 crowd 
 Into the realm of mystery and night, 
 
 So from the world of spirits there descends 
 A bridge of light, connecting it with this, 
 
 O'er whose unsteady floor, that swa3 r s and 
 
 bends, 
 Wander our thoughts above the dark abvss.
 
 SANDALPHON. 85 
 
 SANDALPHOW. 
 
 you read in the Talmud of old, 
 In the Legends the llabbius have told 
 Of the limitless realms of the air, 
 Have you read it, the marvellous story 
 Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory, 
 Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer ? 
 
 How, erect, at the outermost gates 
 Of the City Celestial he waits, 
 
 With his feet on the ladder of light, 
 That, crowded with angels unnumbered, 
 By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered 
 
 Alone in the desert at night ? 
 
 The Angels of Wind and of Tire 
 Chaunt only one hymn, and expire 
 
 With the song's irresistible stress ; 
 Expire in their rapture and wonder,
 
 86 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 As harp-strings are broken asunder 
 By music they throb to express. 
 
 But serene in the rapturous throng, 
 Unmoved by the rush of the song, 
 
 With eyes unimpassioned and slow, 
 Among the dead angels, the deathless 
 Sandalplion stands listening breathless 
 
 To sounds that ascend from below ; 
 
 Prom the spirits on earth that adore, 
 Prom the souls that entreat and implore 
 
 In the fervor and passion of prayer ; 
 From the hearts that are broken with losses 
 And weary with dragging the crosses 
 
 Too heavy for mortals to bear. 
 
 And he gathers the prayers as he stands, 
 And they change into flowers in his hands, 
 
 Into garlands of purple and red ; 
 And beneath the great arch of the portal, 
 Through the streets of the City Immortal 
 
 Is wafted the fragrance they shed. 
 
 It is but a legend, I know, 
 A fable, a phantom, a show,
 
 SANDALPHON. 87 
 
 Of the ancient Rabbinical lore ; 
 Yet the old mediaeval t radii ion, 
 The beautiful, strange superstition, 
 
 But haunts me and holds me the more. 
 
 When I look from my window at night, 
 And the welkin above is all white, 
 
 All throbbing and panting with stars, 
 Among them majestic is standing 
 Sandalphon the angel, expanding 
 
 His pinions in nebulous bars. 
 
 And the legend, I feel, is a part 
 
 Of the hunger and thirst of the heart, 
 
 The frenzy and fire of the brain, 
 That grasps at the fruitage forbidden, 
 The golden pomegranates of Eden, 
 
 To quiet its fever and pain.
 
 FAVORITlr, 'OEMS. 
 
 THE CHILDEEN'S HOUR. 
 
 ETWEEN the dark and the daylight, 
 When the night is beginning to lower, 
 Comes a pause in the day's occupations, 
 That is known as the Children's Hour. 
 
 I hear in the chamber above me 
 
 The patter of little feet, 
 The sound of a door that is opened, 
 
 And voices soft and sweet. 
 
 From my study I see in the lamplight, 
 
 Descending the broad hall stair, 
 Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, 
 
 And Edith with golden hair. 
 
 A whisper, and then a silence : 
 Yet I know by their merry eyes
 
 THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. 89 
 
 They are plotting and planning together 
 To take me by surprise. 
 
 A sudden rush from the stairway, 
 A sudden raid from the hall ! 
 
 By three doors left unguarded 
 They enter my castle wall ! 
 
 They climb up into my turret 
 
 O'er the arms and back of my chair ; 
 
 If I try to escape, they surround me ; 
 They seem to be everywhere. 
 
 They almost devour me with kisses, 
 Their arms about me entwine, 
 
 Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 
 In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine 1 
 
 Do you think, blue-eyed banditti, 
 Because you have scaled the wall, 
 
 Such an old moustache as I am 
 Is not a match for you all !
 
 90 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 I have you fast in my fortress, 
 And will not let you depart, 
 
 But put you down into the dungeon 
 In the round-tower of my heart. 
 
 And there will I keep you forever, 
 
 Yes, forever and a day, 
 Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 
 
 And moulder in dust away ! 
 
 A DAY OF SUNSHINE. 
 
 GIFT of God ! O perfect day : 
 Whereon shall no man work, but 
 
 play; 
 
 Whereon it is enough for me, 
 Not to be doing, but to be ! 
 
 Through every fibre of my brain, 
 Through every nerve, through every vein, 
 I feel the electric thrill, the touch 
 Of life, that seems almost too much.
 
 A DAY OF SUNSHINE. 91 
 
 I hear the wind among the trees 
 Playing celestial symphonies ; 
 I see the branches downward bent, 
 Like keys of some great instrument. 
 
 And over me unrolls on high 
 The splendid scenery of the sky, 
 Where through a sapphire sea the sun 
 Sails like a golden galleon, 
 
 Towards yonder cloud-land in the West, 
 Towards yonder Islands of the Blest, 
 Whose steep sierra far uplifts 
 Its craggy summits white with drifts. 
 
 Blow, winds ! and waft through all the rooms 
 The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms ! 
 Blow, winds ! and bend within my reach 
 The fiery blossoms of the peach ! 
 
 O Life and Love ! happy throng 
 Of thoughts, whose only speech is song ! 
 O heart of man ! canst thou not b* 
 Blithe as the air is, and as free ?
 
 92 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 OME to me, O ye children ! 
 
 For I hear you at your play, 
 And the questions that perplexed me 
 Have vanished quite away. 
 
 Ye open the eastern windows, 
 
 That look towards ihe sun, 
 Where thoughts are singing swallows 
 
 And the brooks of morning run. 
 
 In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine, 
 In your thoughts the brooklet's flow, 
 
 But in mine is the wind of Autumn 
 And the first fall of the snow. 
 
 Ah ! what would the world be to us 
 
 If the children were no more ? 
 We should dread the desert behind us 
 
 Worse than the dark before.
 
 CHILDREN. 93 
 
 What the leaves are to the forest, 
 
 With light and air for food, 
 Ere their sweet and lender juices 
 
 Have been hardened into wood, 
 
 That to the world are children; 
 
 Through them it feels the glow 
 Of a brighter and sunnier climate 
 
 Thau reaches the trunks below. 
 
 Come to me, O ye children ! 
 
 And whisper in my ear 
 What the birds and the wincb are siugiug 
 
 In your sunny atmosphere. 
 
 For what are all our coutrivings, 
 
 And the wisdom of our books, 
 When compared with your caresses, 
 
 And the gladness of your looks ? 
 
 Ye are better than all the ballads 
 
 That ever were sung or said ; 
 For ye are living poems, 
 
 And all the rest are dead.
 
 94 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 CHRISTMAS BELLS. 
 
 HEARD the bells on Christmas Day 
 Their old, familiar carols play, 
 
 And wild and sweet 
 
 The words repeat 
 Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 
 
 And thought how, as the day had come, 
 The belfries of all Christendom 
 
 Had rolled along 
 
 The unbroken song 
 Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 
 
 Till, ringing, singing on its way, 
 The world revolved from night to day, 
 
 A voice, a chime, 
 
 A chant sublime 
 Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 
 
 Then from each black, accursed mouth, 
 The cannon thundered in the South,
 
 CHRISTMAS BELLS. 95 
 
 And with the sound 
 
 The carols drowned 
 
 Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 
 
 It was as if au earthquake rent 
 The hearth-stones of a continent, 
 
 And made forlorn 
 
 The households born 
 Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 
 
 And in despair I bowed my head ; 
 "There is no peace on earth," I said; 
 
 " For hate is strong 
 
 And mocks the song 
 Of peace on earth, good- will to men 1 " 
 
 Then pealed the bells more loud and deep : 
 " God is not dead ; nor doth he sleep ! 
 
 The Wrong shall fail, 
 
 The Right prevail, 
 With peace on earth, good-will to men ! "
 
 
 it Go 
 
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