THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESENTED BY PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID ::. Sculp t o THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. ILLUSTRATED WITH ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-EIGHT DESIGNS, DRAWN BY JOHN GILBERT, ENGRAVED BY THE BROTHERS DALZ1EL. AUTHOR S EDITION. LONDON : GEORGE E OUT LEDGE & SONS, THE BEOADWAY, LUDGATE. 1871. In this Edition of the POETICAL WORKS OF MR. LONGFELLOW, the publishers have incorporated the latest productions of his pen, " THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES," the copyright of which belongs exclusively to them ; thereby rendering this the only complete Edition of his Poetical Works published in this country. LONDON : CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, BREAD STREET HILL. &.11 M/H CONTENTS. VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 1839. PAGE PRELUDE 1 HYMN TO THE NIGHT 6 , A PSALM OF LIFE 6 FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS . . . 7 THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS 8 THE LIGHT OF STARS 9 FLOWERS 10 THE BELEAGUERED CITY 13 MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR . . 14 L ENvoi 16 EAELIER POEMS. WOODS IN WINTER 18 AN APRIL DAY 19 AUTUMN 21 SUNRISE ON THE HILLS 22 HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS 24 BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK 24 THE SPIRIT OF POETRY . 26 TRANSLATIONS. 1839 1846 1850. THE GOOD SHEPHERD. From the Spanish . 29 TO-MORROW. Ditto . . 80 THE NATIVE LAND. Ditto . . 30 THE IMAGE OF GOD. Ditto . . 31 COPLAS DE MANRIQUE. Ditto . . -32 THE BROOK Ditto . . 40 THE CELESTIAL PILOT. From Dante ... 41 THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE. Ditto .... 42 BEATRICE. Ditto .... 43 SPRING. From the French . . ; . . . . 45 THE BIRD AND THE SHIP. From the German. 46 THE CHILD ASLEEP. From the French . . 47 KING ^CHRISTIAN. A National Song of Denmark 48 50 50 51 62 54 55 56 58 a.i.j.i>ur \jjn.mnjLlAX. J*. J.^ H. LIU 11 Ml OUllJ^ OI THE GRAVE. From the Anglo-Saxon WHITHER ? From the German THE WAVE Ditto THE HAPPIEST LAND Ditto SONG OF THE BELL. Ditto BEWARE ! Ditto THE DEAD. , Ditto THE CASTLE BY THE SEA. Ditto THE BLACK KNIGHT Ditto SONG OF THE SILENT LAND. Ditto .r \j JL nru ommn*; JUAIN.U, .L/ltiO THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD S SUPPER. From the Swedish . 62 THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR! From the German . 73 THE Two LOCKS OF HAIR. From the German 75 THE HEMLOCK-TREE. Ditto 75 ANNIE OF THARAW. From the Low German ! 76 THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS. From the German 77 THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL. [Ditto 77 TRANSLATIONS, continued PA(}E POETIC APHORISMS. From the Sinngedichte 78 THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE. From the Gascon 179 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. From the Noel Bour- guignon de Gui Barozai .92 BALLADS. 1842 THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR 94 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 98 THE LUCK OF EDENHALL. From the German 102 THE ELECTED KNIGHT. From the Danish . 103 POEMS ON SLAVERY. 1842. To WILLIAM E. CHANNING 105 THE SLAVE S DREAM 105 THE GOOD PART, THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN _ AWAY 106 THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP ... 107 THE QUADROON GIRL 108 THE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT . . 108 THE WITNESSES 109 THE WARNING no SONGS. 1846. SEA- WEED m To AN OLD DANISH SONG-BOOK . . . . ! . 112 THE ARROW AND THE SONG THE DAY is DONE 114 AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY 115 WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID 116 DRINKING SONG. Inscription for an Antique Pitcher f . 117 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS . . . . . 118 SONNETS. 1846. AUTUMN .120 DANTE 12! THE EVENING STAR .... 122 EVANGELINE, A TALE OF ACADIE. 1847 123 THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE. 1850. DEDICATION 182 BY THE SEASIDE. THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP THE SECRET OF THE SEA . , 183 189 CONTENTS. BY THE SEASIDE, continued PAGE SIB HUMPHREY GILBERT 190 TWILIGHT . 191 THE EVENING STAR 192 THE LIGHTHOUSE 192 THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD 195 BIRDS OF PASSAGE, continued PAGE SANDALPHON 271 DAYBREAK 272 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA . 273 BY THE FIRESIDE. RESIGNATION 196 THE BUILDERS 198 SONNET ON MRS. KEMBLE S READINGS FROM SHAKSPEARE 199 SAND OF THE DESERT IN AN HOUR-GLASS. . 199 BIRDS OF PASSAGE 201 THE SINGERS 202 THE OPEN WINDOW 203 GASPAR BECERRA 204 PEGASUS IN POUND 205 KING WITLAF S DRINKING-HORN 207 TEGNER S DEATH 209 SUSPIRIA 211 HYMN FOR MY BROTHER S ORDINATION . . . 212 THE GOLDEN LEGEND MISCELLANEOUS 18461858. POEMS. 1841 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 214 ENDYMION 215 IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY 216 GOD S-ACRE 216 THE GOBLET OF LIFE 218 BLIND BARTIMEUS 219 THE RAINY DAY 219 To THE RIVER CHARLES 220 EXCELSIOR 221 MAIDENHOOD 222 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 224 THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD 228 A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE 230 THE OCCULTATION OF ORION 231 NUREMBERG 232 THE NORMAN BARON 235 RAIN IN SUMMER . 237 To THE DRIVING CLOUD 238 To A CHILD 240 THE BRIDGE 242 CURFEW . ... 244 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 1858. THE ROPE WALK 246 THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS . . . 247 THE Two ANGELS 248 PROMETHEUS, OR THE POET S FORETHOUGHT. 250 THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE 251 THE PHANTOM SHIP . . . 252 HAUNTED HOUSES .... 253 IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE . . . 254 THE EMPEROR S BIRD S NEST 255 DAYLIGHT AND MOONLIGHT 256 THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE 257 THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT NEWPORT . . . 259 THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE. A Leaf from King Alfred s Orosius .... 261 OLIVER BASSELIN 263 VICTOR GALBRAITH 264 MY LOST YOUTH 266 CHILDREN 269 SANTA FILOMENA 270 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 1858 -.425 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. PRELUDE. THE WAYSIDE INN 467 THE LANDLORD S TALE. PAUL REVERE S RIDE 472 INTERLUDE 475 THE STUDENT S TALE. THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO 476 INTERLUDE 484 THE SPANISH JEW S TALE. THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI 485 INTERLUDE 487 THE SICILIAN S TALE. KING ROBERT OF SICILY 488 INTERLUDE 493 THE MUSICIAN S TALE. THE SAGA OF KING OLAF 494 INTERLUDE 519 THE THEOLOGIAN S TALE. TORQUEMADA . . 520 INTERLUDE 526 THE POET S TALE THE BIRDS OF KILLING- WORTH 527 FINALE 533 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. FLIGHT THE SECOND. THE CHILDREN S HOUR 534 ENCELADUS 534 THE CUMBERLAND 585 WEARINESS 536 SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE 536 SNOW-FLAKES 537 A DAY OF SUNSHINE 538 FLOWER-DE-LUCE. 1866. FLOWER-DE-LUCE 539 PALINGENESIS 540 THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD 542 HAWTHORNE 543 CHRISTMAS BELLS 544 KAMBALU 545 THE WIND OVER THE CHIMNEY 547 THE BELLS OF LYNN, HEARD AT NAHANT . . 549 KILLED AT THE FORD 549 GIOTTO S TOWER 550 TO-MORROW 551 DIVINA COMMEDIA 552 NOEL . 555 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. ENDICOTT 557 GILES COREY OF THE SALEM FARMS . . . 588 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. PRELUDE, PLEASANT it was, when woods were green, And winds were soft and low, To lie amid some sylvan scene, Where, the long drooping boughs between, Shadows dark and sunlight sheen Alternate come and go ; Or where the denser grove receives No sunlight from above, But the dark foliage interweaves In one unbroken roof of leaves, Underneath whose sloping eaves The shadows haidly move. Beneath some patriarchal tree I lay upon the ground ; His hoary arms uplifted he, And all the broad leaves over me Clapped their little hands in glee, With one continuous sound ; A slumberous sound, a sound that brings The feelings of a dream, As of innumerable wings, As, when a bell no longer swings, Faint the hollow murmur rings O er meadow, lake, and stream. And dreams of that which cannot die, Bright visions, came to me, As lapped in thought I used to lie, And gaze into the summer sky, Where the sailing clouds went by, Like ships upon the sea; Dreams that the soul of youth engage Ere Fancy has been quelled ; Old legends of the monkish page, VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Traditions of the saint and sage, Tales that have the rime of age, And chronicles of eld. And, loving still these quaint old themes, Even in the city s throng I feel the freshness of the streams, That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams, Water the green land of dreams, The holy land of song. Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings The spring, clothed like a bride, When nestling buds unfold their wings, And bishop s-caps have golden rings, Musing upon many things, I sought the woodlands wide. The green trees whispered low and mild ; It was a sound of joy ! They were my playmates when a child, And rocked me in their arms so wild ! Still they looked at me and smiled, As if 1 were a boy ; And ever whispered, mild and low, " Come, ba a child once more ! " And waved their long arms to and fro, And beckoned solemnly and slow ; Oh, I could not choose but go Into the woodlands hoar ; Into the blithe and breathing air, Into the solemn wood, Solemn and silent everywhere ! Nature with folded hands seemed there, Kneeling at her evening prayer ! Like one in prayer I stood. Before me rose an avenue Of tall and sombrous pines : Abroad their fan-like branches grew, And, where the sunshine parted through, Spread a vapour soft and blue, In long and sloping lines. PKELUDK. And, falling on my weary brain. Like a fast-falling shower, The dreams of youth came back again, Low lispings of the summer rain VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Dropping on tlie ripened grain, As once upon the flower. Visions of childhood ! Stay, oh, stay ! Ye were so sweet and wild ! And distant voices seemed to say, " It cannot be ! They pass away ! Other themes demand thy lay; Thou art no more a child ! "The land of song within thee lies, Watered by living springs ; The lids of Fancy s sleepless eyes Are gates unto that Paradise, Holy thoughts, like stars, arise, Its clouds are angel s wings. "Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, Not mountains capped with snow, Nor forests sounding like the sea, Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, Where the woodlands bend to see The bending heavens below. " There is a forest where the din Of iron branches sounds ! A mighty river roars between, And whosoever looks therein, Sees the heavens all black with sin, Sees not its depths, nor bounds. "Athwart the swinging branches cast, Soft rays of sunshine pour ; Then comes the fearful wintry blast ; Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast ; Pallid lips say, It is past ! We can return no more ! " Look, then, into thine heart, and write ! Yes, into Life s deep stream ! All forms of sorrow and delight, All solemn Voices of the Night, That can soothe thee, or affright, Be these henceforth thy theme." VOICES OF THE NIGHT. irdrvia i/i>|, V TTo\vir6i u>v 1 A.ya/*e[jLv6i>ioi eirl 86/j.ov vTrb yelp dA-ye cop, UTTO re crv/j.(f)opS.s ( 6 ) HYMN TO THE NIGHT. I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls ! I felt her presence by its spell of might, Stoop o er me from above ; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love. I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, The manifold, soft chimes, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, Like some old poet s rhymes. From the cool cisterns of the midnight air My spirit drank repose ; The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, From those deep cisterns flows. holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear What man has borne before : Thou layst thy finger on the lips of Care, And they complain no more. Peace ! Peace ! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer ! Descend with broad- winged flight, The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, The best-beloved Nmht ! A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OP THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. TELL me- not, in mournful numbers, Life is real ! Life is earnest ! " Life is but an empty dream ! " And the grave is not its goal ; For the soul is dead that slumbers, " Dust thou art, to dust returnest, And things are not what they seem. Was not spoken of the soul. FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow Finds us farther than to-day. 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 shipwreck d brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate ; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait. FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake 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 fire-light Dance upon the parlour 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 road-side fell and perished, Weary with the march of life ! 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 Conies 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. 0, though oft depress d and lonely, All my fears are laid aside, If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died ! THE KEAPEK AND THE FLOWEKS. THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. THE LIGHT OF STARS. "Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith ho; "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to mp, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; 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 all 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 again In the fields of light above. (), not in cruelty, not in wrath, The Reaper came that day ; Twas an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away. THE LIGHT OF STARS. THE night is come, but not too soon ; no ! from that blue tent above, 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 1 The star of love and dreams ? A hero s armour gleams. And earnest thoughts within me rise, When I behold afar, Suspended in the evening skies, The shield of that red star. O star of strength ! I see thee stand And smile upon my pain ; Thou beckon st with thy mailed hand, And I am strong again. 10 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Within my breast there is no light, But the cold light of stars ; I gave 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 ere Ion < Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong. FLOW E R S. SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth s firmament do shine. Stars they 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. FLOWERS. 11 AVondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, God Lath written in those stars above ; But not less in the bright flowerets under us Stands the revelation of his love. Bright and glorious is that revelation, Written all over this great world of ours; Making evident our own creation, Jn these stars of earth, these golden flowers. And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part < )f the self-same, universal being, Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. (un-geous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Ulossoius 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, Flaunting gaily in the golden light ; Large desires, with most uncertain issues, Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! These in flowers and men are more than seeming ; Workings are they of the self-same powers, Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, Seeth in himself and in the flowers. Everywhere about us are they glowing, Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; Others, their blue eyes with tears o erflowing, Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn ; 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 ; 12 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 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 ; Iii 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 Fluwers ; THE BELEAGUERED CITY. 13 In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and" soul-like win< 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 BELEAGUERED CITY. I HAVE read, in some old marvellous tale, Some legend strange and vague, That a midnight host of spectres pale Beleaguered the walls of Prague. Beside the Moldau s rushing stream, With the wan moon oyerhead, There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead. * AVliite as a sea-fog, landward bound, The spectral camp was seen, And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, The river flowed between. No other voice, nor sound is there, No drum, nor sentry s pace ; The mist-like banners clasped the air As clouds with clouds embrace. But, when the old cathedral bell Proclaimed the morning prayer, The white pavilions rose and fell On the alarmed air. Down the broad valley fast and far The troubled army fled ; Up rose the glorious morning star, The ghastly host was dead. VOICES OF THE NIGHT. I have read, in the marvellous heart of That strange and mystic scroll, ^man? That an army of phantoms vast and wan Beleaguer the human soul. Encamped beside Life s rushing stream, In fancy s misty light, ( ligantic shapes and shadows gleam Portentous through the night, I jtoii its midnight battle-ground The spectral camp is seen, And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, Flows the River of Life between. No other voice, nor sound is there, In the army of the grave ; No other challenge breaks the air, But the rushing of Life s wave. And, when the solemn and deep church- Entreats the soul to pray, \bell The midnight phantoms feel the spell, The shadows sweep away. Down the broad Vale of Tears afar The spectral camp is fled ; Faith shineth as a morning star. Our ghastly fears are dead. MIDNIGHT MASS FOE THE DYING YEAR. YES, the Year is growing old, And his eye is pale and bleared ! Death, with frosty hand and cold, Plucks the old man by the beard. Sorely, sorely ! The leaves are falling, falling, Solemnly and slow ; Caw ! caw ! the rooks are calling It is a sound of woe, A sound of woe ! MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR. 15 Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll ; They are chanting solemn masses, Singing, " Pray for this poor soul, Pray, pray!" And the hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain, And patter their doleful prayers ; But their prayers are all in vain, All in vain ! There he stands in the foul weather, The foolish, fond Old Year, Crowned with wild flowers and with Like weak, despised Lear, [lurlht i kins, a king Then comes the summer-like day, Bids the old man rejoice ! His joy ! his last ! 0, the old man gray Love th that ever- soft voice, Gentle and low. To the crimson woods he saith, To the voice gentle and low Of the soft air, like a daughter s breath " Pray do not mock me so ! Do not laugh at me ! " And now the sweet day is dead ; Cold in his arms it lies ; ^"o stain from its breath is spread Over the glassy skies, Is r o mist or stain ! Then, too, the Old Year dieth, And the forests utter a moan, Like the voice of one who crieth In the wilderness alone, " Vex not his "host ! " Then conies, with an awful roar, Gathering and sounding on, The storm- wind from Labrador. The wind Euroclydon, The storm-wind ! 16 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Howl ! howl ! and from the forest Sweep the red leaves away ! Would, the sins that tliou abhorrest, O Soul ! could thus decay, And be swept away ! For there shall come a mightier blast, There shall be a darker day ; And the stars, from heaven down-cast, Like red leaves be swept away ! Kyrie, eleyson ! Christe, eleyson ! L ENVOI. YE voices, that arose After the Evening s close, And whispered to my restless repose ! heart Go, breathe it in the ear Of all who doubt and fear, And say to them, "Be of good cheer ! " Ye sounds, so low and calm, That in the groves of balm Seemed to me like an angel s psalm ! Go, mingle yet once more With the perpetual roar Of the pine forest, dark and hoar ! Tongues of the dead, not lost, But speaking from death s frost, Like fiery tongues at Pentecost ! Glimmer, as funeral lamps, Amid the chills and damps Of the vast plain where Death encamps ! EARLIER POEMS. [\VUTTTKX roii TIII; MOST PART DURING MY COLLEGE LIFE, ANL> ALL OF THEM BEFORE THE AGE OF NINETEEN.] 18 EARLIER POEMS. WOODS IX WINTER. WHEN Winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill That overbrows the lonely vale. O er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes. Where, twisted round the barren oak, The summer vine in beauty clung, And summer winds the stillness broke, The crystal icicle is hung. Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs Pour out the river s gradual tide, Shrilly the skater s iron rings, And voices fill the woodland side. Alas ! how changed from the fair scene, When birds sang out their mellow lay, And winds were soft, and woods were green, And the song ceased not with the day. But still wild music is abroad, Pale, desert woods ! within your crowd ; And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. Chill airs and wintry winds ! my ear Has grown familiar with your song ; I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long. AN APIilL DAY. \\ HEN the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 20 EARLIER POEMS. Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs The first flower of the plain. I love the season well, When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming-on of storms. From the earth s loosened mould The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives ; Though stricken to the heart with Winter s cold, The drooping tree revives. The softly-warbled song Comes from the pleasant woods, and coloured wings Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along The forest openings. When the bright sunset fills The silver woods with light, the green slope throws Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, And wide the upland glows. And, when the eve is born, In the blue lake the sky, o er-reaching far, Ls hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, And twinkles many a star. Inverted in the tide, Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw ; And the fair trees look over, side by side, And see themselves below. Sweet April ! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed ; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life s golden fruit is shed. AUTUMN. WITH what a glory comes and goes the year ! The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy Life s newness, and earth s garniture spread out. And when the silver habit of the clouds Conies down upon the autumn sun, and with A sober gladness the old year takes up His bright inheritance of golden fruits, A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene. There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, 22 EARLIER POEMS. Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees The golden robin moves. The purple finch, That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle, And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings, And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke, Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. what a glory doth this world put on For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks On duties well performed, and days well spent ! For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves, Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear. SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. I STOOD upon the hills, when heaven s wide arch Was glorious with the sun s returning march, And woods were brightened, and soft gales Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. The clouds were far beneath me ; bathed in light, They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, . SUNSHINE ON THK HILLS. And, in their fading glory, shone Like hosts in battle overthrown, As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, And rocking on the cliff was left The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. The veil of cloud was lifted, and below Glowed the rich valley, and the river s flow Was darkened by the forest s shade, Or glistened in the white cascade ; Where upward, in the mellow blush of day, The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way. I heard the distant waters dash, I saw the current whirl and flash, And richly, by the blue lake s silver beach, The woods were bending with a silent reach. Then o er the vale, with gentle swell, The music of the village bell Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills ; And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, Was ringing to the merry shout, That faint and far the glen sent out, Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke. If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills! No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. 24 EARLIER POEMS. IIYMX OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM, AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKl -S BANNER. WHEN the dying flame of day Through the chancel shot its ray, Far the glimmering tapers shed Faint light on the cowled head ; And the censer burning swung, Where, before the altar hung The blood-red banner, that with prayer Had been consecrated there. And the nun s sweet hymn was heard the while, Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle. " Take thy banner ! May it wave Proudly o er the good and brave ; When the battle s distant wail Breaks the sabbath of our vale, When the clarion s music thrills To the hearts of these lone hills, When the spear in conflict shakes, And the strong lance shivering breaks. " Take thy banner ! and, beneath The battle- cloud s encircling wreath, Guard it ! till our homes are free ! Guard it ! God will prosper thee ! In the dark and trying hour, In the breaking forth of power, In the rush of steeds and men, His right hand will shield thee then. " Take thy banner ! But, when night Closes round the ghastly fight, If the vanquished warrior bow, Spare him ! By our holy vow, By our prayers and many tears, By the mercy that endears, Spare him ! he our love hath shared ! Spare him ! as tliou wouldst be spared ! " Take thy banner ! and if e er Thou shouldst press the soldier s bier; And the muffled drum should beat To the tread of mournful feet, Then this crimson flag shall be Martial cloak and shroud for thee." The warrior took that banner proud, And it was his martial cloak and shroud ! BURIAL OF THE MINEISINK. ON sunny slope and beechen swell, The shadowed light of evening fell ; And, where the maple s leaf was brown, With soft and silent lapse came down The glory, that the wood receives, At sunset, in its brazen leaves. Far upward in the mellow light Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, Around a far uplifted cone, In the warm blush of evening shone ; An image of the silver lakes, BV which the Indian s soul awakes. BURIAL OF THE MINN IS INK. But soon a funeral hymn was heard Where the soft breath of evening stirred The tall, gray forest ; and a band Of stern in heart, and strong in hand, Came winding down beside the wave, To lay the red chief in his grave. They sang, that by his native bowers He stood, in the last moon of flowers, And thirty snows had not yet shed Their glory on the warrior s head ; But, as the summer fruit decays, So died he in those naked days. A dark cloak of the roebuck s skin Covered the warrior, and within Its heavy folds the weapons, made For the hnrd toils of war, were laid ; The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds, And the broad belt of shells and beads. Before, a dark-haired virgin train Chanted the death dirge of the slain ; Behind, the long procession came Of hoary men and chiefs of fame, With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief, Leading the war-horse of their chief. Stripped of his proud and martial dress, Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless, With darting eye, and nostril spread, And heavy and impatient tread, He came ; and oft that eye so proud Asked for his rider in the crowd. They buried the dark chief they freed Beside the grave his battle steed ; And swift an arrow cleaved its way To his stem heart ! One piercing neigh Arose, and, on the dead man s plain, The rider grasps his steed again. 20 EAR LI EH TO K.MS. THE SPIRIT OF POETKY. THERE is a quiet spirit in these woods, That dwells where er the gentle south wind blows ; Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade, The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air, The leaves above their sunny palms outspread. With what a tender and impassioned voice It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought, When the fast-ushering star of Morning comes O er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf; Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve, In mourning weeds, from out the western gate, Departs with silent pace ! That spirit moves In the green valley, where the silver brook, From its full laver, pours the white cascade ; And, babbling low amid the tangled woods, Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter. And frequent, on the everlasting hills, Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself In all the dark embroidery of the storm, And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, ami 1 The silent majesty of these deep woods, Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, As to the sunshine and the pure bright air Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. For them there was an eloquent voice in all The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun, The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way, Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle wings, The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes, Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in, Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale, The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees, In many a lazy syllable, repeating Their old poetic legends to the wind. THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill The world; and, in these wayward days of youth, My "busy fancy oft embodies it, 27 As a bright image of the light and beauty That dwells in nature, of the heavenly forms "We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues 28 EARLIER POEMS. That stain the wild bird s wing, and flush the clouds When the sun sets. Within her eye The heaven of April, with its changing light, And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, And on her lip the rich red rose. Her hair Is like the summer tresses of the trees, When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek Blushes the richness of an autumn sky With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, It is so like the gentle air of Spring, As, from the morning s dewy flowers, it conies Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy To have it round us, and her silver voice Is the rich music of a summer bird, Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. TRANSLATIONS. THE GOOD SHEPHEED. FROM THE SPANISH OF JLOPE DE VEGA. SHEPHERD ! that with thine amorous, sylvan song- Hast broken the slumber which encompassed me, That madest thy crook from the accursed tree, On which thy powerful arms were stretched so long ! Lead me to mercy s ever-flowing fountains ; For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be ; I will obey thy voice, and wait to see Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains. 30 TRANSLATIONS. Hear, Shepherd ! Thou who for thy flock art dying, O, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou Kejoicest at the contrite sinner s vow. 0, wait ! to thee my weary soul is crying, Wait for me ! Yet why ask it when I see, With feet nailed to the cross, thou rt waiting still for me ! TO-MOEKOW. FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPK DK VEGA. LORD, what am" I, that, with unceasing care, Thou didst seek after me, that thou didst wait, Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate, And pass the gloomy nights of winter there? O strange delusion ! that I did not greet Thy blest approach, and 0, to Heaven how lost, If my ingratitude s unkindly frost Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet ! How oft my guardian angel gently cried, " Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see How he persists to knock and wait for thee 1" And, ! how often to that voice of sorrow, "To-morrow we will open," I replied, And when the morrow came I answered still, " To-morrow." THE NATIVE LAXI). FROM THE SPANISH OF FKANCISCO DE ALCANA. CLEAR fount of light ! my native land on high, Bright with a glory that shall never fade ! Mansion of truth ! without a veil or shade, Thy holy quiet meets the spirit s eye. There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence, Gasping no longer for life s feeble breath ; But, sentinel d in heaven, its glorious presence With pitying eye beholds, yet fears not, death. Beloved country ! banished from thy shore, A stranger .in this prison-house of clay, THE IMAGE OF GOD. 31 The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for thee ! Heavenward the bright perfections T adore Direct, and the sure promise cheers the way, That, whither love aspires, there shall my dwelling be. THE IMAGE OF GOD. FROM T1IK SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE A I.DANA. LORD ! that seest, from yon starry height, Centred in one the future and the past, Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast The world obscures in me what once was bright ! Eternal Sun ! the warmth which thou hast given, To cheer life s flowery April, fast decays ; Yet, in the hoary winter of my days, For ever green shall be my trust in Heaven. Celestial King ! let thy presence pass Before my spirit, and an image fair Shall meet that look of mercy from on high, As the reflected image in a glass Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there, And owes its being to the gazer s eye. LET the soul her slumbers break, Let thought be quickened, and awake ; Awake to see How soon this life is past and gone, And death comes softly stealing on, How silently ! COPLAS DK HANRIQUE. 33 Swiftly our pleasures glide away, Our hearts recall the distant day With many sighs ; The moments that are speeding fast We heed not, but the past, the past, More highly prize. Onward its course the present keeps, Onward the constant current sweeps, Till life is done ; And, did we judge of time aright, The past and future in their flight Would be as one. Let no one fondly dream again, That Hope and all her shadowy train Will not decay ; Fleeting as were the dreams of old, Remembered like a tale that s told, They pass away. Our lives are rivers, gliding free To that unfathomed, boundless sea, The silent grave ! Thither all earthly pomp and boast Eoll, to be swallowed up and lost In one dark wave. Thither the mighty torrents stray, Thither the brook pursues its way, And tinkling rill. There all are equal. Side by side The poor man and the son of pride Lie calm and still. I will not here invoke the throng Of orators and sons of song, The deathless few ; Fiction entices and deceives, And, sprinkled o er her fragrant leaves, Lies poisonous dew. To One alone my thoughts arise, The Eternal Truth, the Good and To Him I cry, [Wise, Who shared on earth our common lot, But the world comprehended not His deity. This world is but the rugged road Which leads us to the bright abode Of peace above ; So let us choose that narrow way, Which leads no traveller s foot astray From realms of love. Our cradle is the starting-place, In life we run the onward race, And reach the goal ; When, in the mansions of the blest, Death leaves to its eternal rest The weary soul. Did we but use it as we ought, This world would school each wandering To its high state. [thought Faith wings the soul beyond the sky, Up to that better world on high, For which we wait. Yes, the glad messenger of love, To guide us to our home above, The Saviour came ; Born amid mortal cares and fears, He suffered in this vale of tears A death of shame. Behold of what delusive worth The bubbles we pursue on earth, The shapes we chase, Amid a world of treachery ! They vanish ere death shuts the eye, And leave no trace. Time steals them from us, chances strange, Disastrous accidents, and change, That come to all ; Even in the most exalted state, Relentless sweeps the stroke of fate ; The strongest fall. 34 TRANSLATIONS. Tell me, the charms that lovers seek in the clear eye and blushing cheek, The hues that play O er rosy lip and brow of snow, When hoary age approaches slow, Ah, where are they 1 The cunning skill, the curious arts, The glorious strength that youth imparts In life s first stage ; These shall become a heavy weight, When Time swings wide his outward To weary age. [gate The noble blood of Gothic name, Heroes emblazoned high to fame, In long array ; How, in the onward course of time, The landmarks of that race sublime Were swept away ! Some, the degraded slaves of lust, Prostrate and trampled in the dust, Shall rise no more ; Others, by guilt and crime, maintain The scutcheon, that, without a stain, Their fathers bore. Wealth and the high estate of pride, With what untimely speed they glide, How soon depart ! Bid not the shadowy phantoms stay, The vassals of a mistress they, Of fickle heart. These gifts in Fortune s hands are found, Her swift revolving wheel turns round, And they are gone ! Xo rest the inconstant goddess knows, But changing, and without repose, Still hurries on. Even could the hand of avarice save Its gilded baubles, till the grave Reclaimed its prey, Let none on such poor hopes rely ; Life, like an empty dream, flits by, And where are they ? Earthly desires and sensual lust Are passions springing from the dust, They fade and die ; But, in the life beyond the tomb, They seal the immortal spirit s doom Eternally ! The pleasures and delights, which mask In treacherous smiles life s serious task, What are they, all, But the fleet coursers of the chase, And death an ambush in the race, Wherein we fall ? No foe, no dangerous pass, we heed, Brook no delay, but onward speed With loosened rein ; And, when the fatal snare is near, We strive to check our mad career, But strive in vain. Could we new charms to age impart, And fashion with a cunning art The human face, As we can clothe the soul with light, And make the glorious spirit bright With heavenly grace, How busily each passing hour Should we exert that magic power ! What ardour show, To deck the sensual slave of sin, Yet leave the freeborn soul within, In weeds of woe ! Monarchs, the powerful and the strong, Famous in history and in song Of olden time, Saw, by the stern decrees of fate, Their kingdoms lost, and desolate Their race sublime. roPLAS DK MANRIQUE. Who is the champion ? who the strong I Pontiff and priest, and sceptred throng I ( )n these shall tall As heavily the hand of Death, .As when it stays the shepherd s breath Beside his stall. 1 speak not of the Trojan name, Neither its glory nor its shame Has met our eyes ; NOT of Rome s great and glorious dead, Though we have heard so oft, and read, Their histories. Little avails it now to know Of ages passed so long ago, Nor how they rolled ; Our theme shall be of yesterday, Which to oblivion sweeps away, Like days of old. Where is the King, Don Juan ? Where Each royal prince and noble heir Of Aragon ? Where are the courtly gallantries 1 The deeds of love and high emprise, In battle done 1 Tourney and joust, that charmed the eye, And scarf, and gorgeous panoply, And nodding plume, What were they but a pageant scene ? What but the garlands, gay and green, That deck the tomb 1 Where are the high-born dames, and where Their gay attire, and jewelled hair, And odours sweet ? Where are the gentle knights, that came To kneel, and breathe love s ardent flame, Low at their feet 1 Where is the song of Troubadour ? Where are the lute and gay tambour They loved of yore ? Where is the mazy dance of old, The flowing robes, inwrought with gold, The dancers wore ? And he who next the sceptre swayed, Henry, whose royal court displayed Such power and pride ; (.), in what winning smiles arrayed, The world its various pleasures laid His throne beside ! But ! how false and full of guile That world, which wore so soft a smile But to betray ! She, that had been his friend before, Now from the fated monarch tore Her charms away. The countless gifts, the stately walls, The royal palaces, and halls All filled with gold ; Plate with armorial bearings wrought, Chambers with ample treasures fraught Of wealth untold ; The noble steeds, and harness bright, And gallant lord, and stalwart knight, In rich array, Where shall we seek them now ? Alas ! Like the bright dewdrops on the grass, They passed away. His brother, too, whose factious zeal Usurped the sceptre of Castile, Unskilled to reign ; What a gay, brilliant court had he, When all the flower of chivalry Was in his train ! But he was mortal ; and the breath, That flamed from the hot forge of Death, Blasted his years ; Judgment of God ! that flame by thee, When raging fierce and fearfully, Was quenched in tears ! TRANSLATIONS. fSpain s haughty Constable, the true And gallant Master, whom we knew Most loved of all. Breathe not a whisper of his pride, He on the gloomy scaffold died, Ignoble fall ! The countless treasures of his care, His hamlets green, and cities fair, His mighty power, What were they all but grief and shame, Tears and a broken heart, when came The parting hour ? His other brothers, proud and high, Masters, who, in prosperity, Might rival kings ; Who made the bravest and the best The bondsmen of their high behest, Their underlings ; What was their prosperous estate, When high exalted and elate With power and pride ? What, but a transient gleam of light, A flame, which, glaring at its height, Grew dim and died ] So many a duke of royal name, Marquis and count of spotless fame, And baron brave, That might the sword of empire wield, All these, Death, hast thou concealed In the dark grave ! Their deeds of mercy and of arms, In peaceful days, or war s alarms, When thou dost show, Death, thy stem and angry face, One stroke of thy all-powerful mace Can overthrow. Unnumbered hosts, that threaten nigh, Pennon and standard flaunting high, And flag displayed ; High battlements intrenched around, Bastion, and moated wall, and mound, And palisade, And covered trench, secure and deep, All these cannot one victim keep, Death, from thee, When thou dost battle in thy wrath, And thy strong shafts pursue their path Unerringly. World ! so few the years we live, Would that the life which thou dost give "Were life indeed ! Alas ! thy sorrows fall so fast, Our happiest hour is when at last The soul is freed. Our days are covered o er with grief, And sorrows neither few nor brief Veil all in gloom ; Left desolate of real good, Within this cheerless solitude No pleasures bloom. Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, And ends in bitter doubts and fears, Or dark despair ; Midway so many toils appear, That he who lingers longest here Knows most of care. Thy goods are bought with many a groan, By the hot sweat of toil alone, And weary hearts ; Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, But with a lingering step and slow Its form departs. And he, the good man s shield and shade, To whom all hearts their homage paid, As Virtue s son, Roderic Manrique, he whose name Is written on the scroll of Fame, S} tain s champion ; COPLAS DE MANRIQUE. 37 His signal deeds and prowess high Demand no pompous enlogy, Ye saw his deeds ! Why should their praise in verse be sung ? The name, that dwells on every tongue, No minstrel needs. To friends a friend ; how kind to all The vassals of this ancient hall And feudal fief ! To foes how stern a foe was he ! And to the valiant and the free How brave a chief ! What prudence with the old and wise : What grace in youthful gaieties ; In all how sage ! Benignant to the serf and slave, He showed the base and falsely brave A lion s rage. His was Octavian s prosperous star, The rush of Cresar s conquering car At battle s call ; His, Scipio s virtue ; his, the skill And the indomitable will Of Hannibal. His was a Trajan s goodness, his A Titus noble charities And righteous laws ; The arm of Hector, and the might Of Tully, to maintain the right In truth s just cause : The clemency of Antonine, Aurelius countenance divine, Firm, gentle, still ; The eloquence of Adrian, And Theodosius love to man, And generous will : In tented field and bloody fray, An Alexander s vigorous sway And stern command ; The faith of Constantino ; ay, more, The fervent love Camillus bore His native land. He left no well-filled treasury, He heaped no pile of riches high, ISTor massive plate ; He fought the Moors, and, in their fall, City and tower and castled wall Were his estate. Upon the hard-fought battle-ground, Brave steeds and gallant riders found A common grave j And there the warrior s hand did gain The rents, and the long vassal train, That conquest gave. And if, of old, his halls displayed The honored and exalted grade His worth had gained, So, in the dark, disastrous hour, Brothers and bondsmen of his power His hand sustained. After high deeds, not left untold, In the stern warfare, which of old Twas his to share, Such noble leagues he made, that more And fairer regions, than before, His guerdon were. These are the records, half effaced, Which, with the hand of youth, he traced On history s page ; But with fresh victories he drew Each fading character anew In his old age. By his unrivalled skill, by great, And veteran service to the state, By worth adored, He stood, in his high dignity, The proudest knight of chivalry, Knight of the Sword. TRANSLATIONS. He found his cities and domains Beneath a tyrant s galling chains And cruel power ; But by fierce battle and blockade, Soon his own banner was displayed From every tower. By the tried valor of his hand, His monarch and his native land Were nobly served ; Let Portugal repeat the story, And proud Castile, who shared the glory His arms deserved. And when so oft, for weal or woe, His life upon the fatal throw Had been cast down ; When he had served with patriot zeal Beneath the banner of Castile, His sovereign s crown ; And done such deeds of valor strong That neither history nor song Can count them all ; Then, on Ocafia s castled rock, Death at his portal came to knock, With sudden call, Saying, " Good Cavalier, prepare To leave this world of toil and care With joyful mien ; Let thy strong heart of steel this day Pat on its armour for the fray, The closing scene. " Since thou hast been in battle-strife, So prodigal of health and life, For earthly fame, Let virtue nerve thy heart again ; Loud on the last stern battle-plain They call thy name. " Think not the struggle that draws near Too terrible for man, nor fear To meet the foe ; Nor let thy noble spirit grieve, Its life of glorious fame to leave On earth below. " A life of honor and of worth Has no eternity on earth, Tis but a name ; And yet its glory far exceeds That base and sensual life, which leads To want and shame. " The eternal life, beyond the sky, Wealth cannot purchase, nor the higli The proud estate ; The soul in dalliance laid, the spirit Corrupt with sin, shall not inherit A joy so great. " But the good monk, in cloistered cell, Shall gain it by his book and bell, His prayers and tears ; And the brave knight, whose arm endures Fierce battle, and against the Moors His standard rears. " And thou, brave knight, whose hand has poured The life-blood of the Pagan horde O er all the land. In heaven shalt thou receive, at length, The guerdon of thine earthly strength And dauntless hand. " Cheered onward by this promise sure, Strong in the faith entire and pure Thou dost profess, Depart, thy hope is certainty, The third the better life on high Shalt thou possess." " Death, no more, no more delay ; My spirit longs to flee away, And be at rest ; The will of Heaven my will shall be, COPLAS DE MANKKjl E. 39 I Low to the divine decree, To God s behest. " My soul is ready to depart, No thought rebels, the obedient heart Breathes forth no sigh ; The wish on earth to linger still Were vain, when tis God s sovereign will That we shall die. " Thou, that for our sins didst take A human form, and humbly make Thy home on earth ; Thou, that to thy divinity A human nature didst ally By mortal birth, " And in that form didst suffer here Torment, and agony, and fear, So patiently ; By thy redeeming grace alone, And not for merits of my own, O, pardon me ! " As thus the dying warrior prayed, Without one gathering mist or shade Upon his mind ; Encircled by his family, Watched by affection s gentle eye So soft and kind ; His soul to Him, who gave it, rose ; God lead it to its long repose, Its glorious rest ! And though the warrior s sun has set, Its light shall linger round us yet, Bright, radiant, blest. NOTE. DON JORGE MANIUQUE, the author of the preceding poem, flourished in the last half of the fifteenth century. He followed the profession of arms ; and Mariana, in his History of Spain, makes honourable mention of him, as being present at the siege of Ucles ; he speaks of him as " a youth of estimable qualities, who in this war gave brilliants proofs of his valour. He died young having been mortally wounded in a skirmish near Cunavette, in the year 147!> and was thus cut olt from long exercising his great virtues, and exhibiting to the world the light of his genius, which was already known to fame." The name of Rodrigo Manrique, the father of the poet, Conde de Paredes andMaestre de Santiago, is well known in Spanish history and song. He died in 1476 ; according to Mariana, in the town of Ucles ; but according to the poem of his son, in the town of Ocana. It was his death that called forth the poem upon which rests the literary reputation of the younger Manrique. In the language of his historian, "Don Jorge Manrique, in an elegant ode, full of poetic beauties, rich embellishments of genius and high moral reflections, mourned the death of his father, as with a funeral hymn." This praise is not exaggerated ; the poem is a model in its kind. Its conception is solemn and beautiful, and, in accordance with it, the style moves on-calm, dignified, and majestic. It is a great favourite in Spain; and no less than four poetic Glosses, or running commentaries, upon it have been published. The following stanzas of the poem were found in the author s pocket, after his death on the field of battle : O world ! so few the years we live, Would that the life that thou dost give Were life indeed ! Alas ! thy sorrows fall so fast, Our happiest hour is when at last The soul is freed. Our days are covered o er with grief, And sorrows neither few nor brief Veil all in gloom ; Left desolate of real good, Within this cheerless solitude No pleasures bloom. Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, And ends in bitter doubts and fears, Or dark despair ; Midway so many tolls appear, That he who lingers longest here Knows most of care. Thy goods are bought with many a groan, 13y the hot sweat of toil alone, And weary hearts ; Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, But with a lingering step and slow Its form departs." THE BROOK. FROM THE SPANISH. LAUGH of the mountain! lyre of bird and tree ! Pomp of the meadow ! mirror of the morn ! The soul of April, unto whom are born The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee ! THE CELESTIAL PILOT. 41 Although, where er thy devious current strays, The lap of earth with gold and silver teems, To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems Than golden sands, that charm each shepherd s gaze. How without guile thy bosom, all transparent As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count ! How, without malice murmuring, glides thy current ! sweet simplicity of days gone by ! Thou shun st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid fount THE CELESTIAL PILOT. FROM DANTE. PURGATOKIO, II. AND now, behold ! as at the approach of morning, Through the gross vapors, Mars grows fiery red Down in the west npon the ocean floor, Appeared to me, may I again behold it ! A light along the sea, so swiftly coming, Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled. And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little Mine eyes, that I might question my conductor, Again I saw it brighter grown and larger. Thereafter, 011 all sides of it, appeared I knew not what of white, and underneath, Little by little, there came forth another. My master yet had uttered not a word, While the first brightness into wings unfolded ; But, when he clearly recognised the pilot, He cried aloud : " Quick, quick, and bow the knee ! Behold the Angel of God ! fold up thy hands ! Henceforward shalt thou see such officers ! " See, how he scorns all human arguments, So that no oar he wants, nor other sail Than his own wings, between so distant shores G 4-2 TRANSLATIONS. "See, how lie holds them, pointed straight to heaven, Fanning the air with the eternal pinions, That do not moult themselves like mortal hair!" And then, as nearer and more near us came The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he appeared, So that the eye could not sustain his presence. But down I cast it ; and he came to shore With a small vessel, gliding swift and light. So that the water swallowed nought thereof. Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot ! Beatitude seemed written in his face ! And more than a hundred spirits sat within, " In exitu Israel out of Egypt ! " Thus sang they all together in one voice, With whatso in that Psalm is after written. Then made he sign of holy rood upon them, Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore, And he departed swiftly as he came. THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE. KROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXVIII. LONGING already to search in and round The heavenly forest, dense and living-green, Which to the eyes tempered the new-born day, Withouten more delay I left the bank, Crossing the level country slowly, slowly, Over the soil, that everywhere breathed fragrance. A gently-breathing air, that no mutation Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead, No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze, Whereat the tremulous branches readily Did all of them bow downward towards that side Where its first shadow casts the Ploly Mountain ; BEATRICE. Yet not from their upright direction hent 80 that the little birds upon their tops Should cease the practice of their tuneful art ; But, with full-throated joy, the hours of prime Singing received they in the midst of foliage That made monotonous burden to their rhymes, Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells, Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi, When ^Eolus unlooses the Sirocco. Already my slow steps had led me on Into the ancient wood so far, that I Could see no more the place where I had entered. And lo ! my farther course cut off a river Which, towards the left hand, with its little waves, Bent down the grass, that on its margin sprang. All waters that on earth most limpid are, Would seem to have within themselves some mixture, Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal, Although it moves on with a brown, brown current, Under the shade perpetual, that never Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon. BEATRICE. FROM DANTE. PURGATORR), XXX. XXX I. EVEN as the Blessed, in the new covenant, Shall rise up quickened, each one from his grave, Wearing again the garments of the flesh ; So, upon that celestial chariot, A hundred rose ad vocem tanti sen is, Ministers and messengers of life eternal. They all were saying : " Benedictus qiti venis," And scattering flowers above and round about, " Manibus o date lilia plenis" I once beheld, at the approach of day, The orient sky all stained with roseate hues, And the other heaven with light serene adorned, 44 TRANSLATIONS. And the sun s face uprising, overshadowed, So that, by temperate influence of vapours, The eye sustained his aspect for long while; Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers, Which from those hands angelic were thrown up, And now descended inside and without With crown of olive o er a snow-white veil, Appeared a lady, under a green mantle, Vested in colours of the living flame. * * -5;- * Even as the snow, among the living rafters Upon the back of Italy, congeals, Blown on and beaten by Sclavonian winds, And then, dissolving, filters through itself, Whene er the land, that loses shadow, breathes, Like as a taper melts before a fire, Even such I was, without a sigh or tear, Before the song of those who chime for ever After the chiming of the eternal spheres ; But, when I heard in those sweet melodies Compassion for me, more than they had said, " wherefore, lady, dost thou thus consume him ? " The ice that was about my heart congealed, To air and water changed, and, in my anguish, Through lips and eyes came gushing from my breast. * * -* % -X- Confusion and dismay, together mingled, Forced such a feeble " Yes ! " out of my mouth, To understand it one had need of siht. Even as a cross-bow breaks, when tis discharged, Too tensely drawn the bow-string and the bow, And with less force the arrow hits the mark ; So I gave way under this heavy burden, Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs, And the voice, fainting, flagged upon its passage. SPRING. * FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLKS D ORLKANS. XV. CENTURY. GENTLE Spring ! in sunshine clad, Well dost thou thy power display! For Winter maketh the light heart sad, And thou, thou makest the sad heart gay. TRANSLATIONS. He sees tliee, and calls to his gloomy train, The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain And they shrink away, and they flee in fear, When thy merry step draws near. Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old, Their beards of icicles and snow ; And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold, We must cower over the embers low ; And, snugly housed from the wind and weathe Mope like birds that are changing feather. But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear, Wlien thy merry step draws near. Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud ; .Hut, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh; Thou tearest away the mournful shroud, And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly, Who has toiled for nought both late and carl, , Is banished afar by the new-born year, When thy merry step draws near. THE BIRD AND THE SHIP. FROM THE GERMAN OF Mi. l.LKR. "THE rivers rush into the sea, By castle and toAvn they go ; The winds behind them merrily Their noisy trumpets blow. "The clouds are passing far and high, We little birds in them play; And everything, that can sing and fly, Goes with us, and far awa} r . " I greet thee, bonny boat ! Whither, or whence, With thy fluttering golden band 1 " " I greet thee, little bird ! To the wide sea I haste from the narrow land. THE CHILD ASLEEP. 47 "Full and swollen is every sail; I see no longer a hill, 1 have trusted all to the sounding gale, And it will not let me stand still. " And wilt thou, little bird, go with us I Thou niayest stand on the mainmast tall, For full to sinking is my house With merry companions all."- " I need not and seek not company, Bonny boat, I can sing all alone ; For the mainmast tall too heavy am I, Bonny boat, I have wings of my own. " High over the sails, high over the mast, Who shall gainsay these joys 1 When thy merry companions are still, at last, Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice. " Who neither may rest, nor listen may, God bless them every one ! I dart away, in the bright blue day, And the golden fields of the sun. " Thus do 1 sing my weary song, Wherever the four winds blow ; And this same song, my whole life long, Neither Poet nor Printer may know." THE CHILD ASLEEP. FROM THE FRENCH. SWEET babe ! true portrait of thy father s face, Sleep on the bosom, that thy lips have pressed ! Sleep, little one ; and closely, gently place Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother s breast. Upon that tender eye, my little friend, Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me ! I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend; Tis sweet to watch for thee, alone for thee ! 48 TRANSLATIONS. His arms fall down ; sleep sits upon his brow ; His eye is closed ; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm. AYore not his cheek the apple s ruddy glow, Would you not say he slept on Death s cold arm ? Awake, my boy ! I tremble with affright ! Awake, and chase this fatal thought ! Unclose Thine eye but for one moment on the light ! Even at the price of thine, give me repose ! Sweet error ! he but slept, I breathe again ; Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile ! ! when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain, Beside me watch to see thy waking smile 1 ? KING CHRISTIAN. A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK. FROM THE DANISH OF JOHANNES EVALD. KING CHRISTIAN stood by the lofty mast In mist and smoke ; His sword was hammering so fast, Through Gothic helm and brain it passed ; Then sank each hostile hulk and mast, In mist and smoke. " Fly ! " shouted they, " fly, he who can ! AVho braves of Denmark s Christian The stroke?" Mis Juel gave heed to the tempest s roar, Now is the hour ! He hoisted his blood-red flag once more, And smote upon the foe full sore, And shouted loud, through the tempest s roar, "Now is the hour !" " Fly !" shouted they, "for shelter fly! Of Denmark s Juel who can defy The power ? " North Sea ! a glimpse of Wessel rent Thy murky sky ! Then champions to thine arms were sent ; Terror and Death glared where he went ; From the waves was heard a wail, that rent Thy murky sky ! From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol , Let each to Heaven commend his soul, And fly ! Path of the Dane to fame and might ! Dark-rolling wave ! Receive thy friend, who, scorning flight, Goes to meet danger with despite, Proudly as thou the tempest s might, Dark-rolling wave ! And amid pleasures and alarms, And war and victory, be thine arms My grave ! THE GEAVE. FJU)M THE ANGLO-SAXON. FOR tliee was a house built Ere thou wast born, For tliee was a mould meant Ere thou of mother earnest. But it is not made ready, Nor its depth measured, Nor is it seen How long it shall be. Now I bring thee Where thou shalt be ; Now I shall measure thee, And the mould afterwards. Thy house is not Highly timbered, It is unhigh and low ; When thou art therein, The heel-ways are low, The side-ways unhigh. The roof is built Thy breast full nigh, So thou shalt in mould Dwell full cold, Dimly and dark. Doorless is that house. And dark it is within ; There thou art fast detained, And Death hath the key. Loathsome is that earth-house, And grim within to dwell. There thou shalt dwell, And worms shall divide thee. Thus thou art laid, And leavest thy friends ; Thou hast no friend, Who will come to thee, Who will ever see How that house pleaseth thee ; Who will ever open The door for thee And descend after thee, For soon thou art loathsome And hateful to see. TRANSLATIONS. KUU.M THE GERMAN OF TJKUU1-:. " WHITHER, thou turbid wave ? Whither, with so much haste, As if a thief wert thou ?" " 1 am the Wave of Life, (Stained with my margin s dust ; From the struggle and the strife Of the narrow stream I fly To the Sea s immensity, To wash from me the slime Of the muddy banks of Time." I HEARD a brooklet gushing From its rocky fountain near, Down. into the valley rushing, So fresh and wondrous clear. WHITHER 1 FROM THE GERMAN OF Ml M.ER. Is this the w*ay I was going ? Whither, O brooklet, say ! Thou hast, with thy soft murmur, Murmured my senses away. 1 know not what came o er me, Nor who the counsel gave ; But I must hasten downward, All with my pilgrim- stave ; Downward, and ever farther, And ever the brook beside ; And ever fresher murmured, And ever clearer, the tide. What do I say of a murmur ? That can no murmur be ; Tis the water-nymphs that are singing Their roundelays under me. Let them sing, my friend, let them niur- Aiid wander merrily near; [inur, The wheels of a mill are going In even* brooklet clear. FRAGMENT OF A M )I>KRX BALLAD. KI .OM TUP; CF. THERE sat one day in quiet, By an alehouse on the Rhine, Four hale and hearty fellows, And drank the precious wine. The landlord s daughter filled their cups Around the rustic board ; Then sat they all so calm and still, And spake not one rude word. But, when the maid departed, A Swabian raised his hand, And cried, all hot and flushed with wine " Long live the Swabian land ! TRANSLATIONS. " The greatest kingdom upon earth Cannot with that compare ; With all the stout and hardy men And the nut-brown maidens there." " Ha !" cried a Saxon, laughing, And dashed his beard with wine ; " I had rather live in Lapland, Than that Swabian land of thine ! " The goodliest land on all this earth, It is the Saxon land ! There have I as many maidens As fingers on this hand !" "Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon ! " A bold Bohemian cries j " If there s a heaven upon this earth, In Bohemia it lies. " There the tailor blows the flute, And the cobbler blows the horn, And the miner blows the bugle, Over mountain gorge and bourn." * * :: * And then the landlord s daughter Up to heaven raised her hand, And said, " Ye may no more contend, There lies the happiest land ! " SONG OF THE BELL. FROM TI1K JKRMAN. BELL ! thou soundest merrily, When the bridal party To the church doth hie ! Bell ! thou soundest solemnly, When, on Sabbath morning, Fields deserted lie ! Bell ! thou soundest merrily ; Tellest thou at evening, Bed-time draweth nigh ! Bell ! thou soundest mournfully ; Tellest thou the bitter Parting hath gone by ! Say ! how canst thou mourn 1 How canst thou rejoice 1 Thou art but metal dull ! And yet all our sorrowings, And all our rejoicings, Thou dost feel them all ! God hath wonders many, Which we cannot fathom, Placed within thy form ! When the heart is sinking, Thou alone canst raise it, Trembling in the storm ! BEWARE ! FROM THE O E R M A X. I KNOW a maiden fair to see, Take care ! She can both false and friendly be Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not, She is fooling thee ! She has two eyes, so soft and brown, Take care ! She gives a side-glance and looks down, Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not, She is fooling thee ! And she has hair of a golden hue, Take care ! And what she says, it is not true, Beware! Beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee ! She has a bosom as white as snow, Take care ! .Beware ! Bewaro ! Trust her not, She is fooling thee ! She gives thee a garland woven fair, Take care ! It is a fool s-cap for thee to wear, Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not, Site knows how much it is host to show, She is fooling thee ! THE DEAD. FROM TTIE GERMAN OF KLOPSTOfK. How they so softly rest, All, all the holy dead, Unto whose dwelling-place, Now doth my soul draw near ! How they so softly rest, All in their silent graves, Deep to corruption Slowly down-sinking ! And they no longer weep, Here, where complaint is still ! And they no longer feel, Here, where all gladness flies ! And by the cypresses (Softly o ershadowed, Until the Angel Calls them, they slumber ! KHOM TIIK <;]:;: MAN OF UHLAND. " HAST thou seen that lordly castle, That Castle by the Sea ] Golden and red above it The clouds float gorgeously. And fain it would stoop downward To the mirrored wave below ; And fain it would soar upward In the evening s crimson glow." "Well have I seen that castle, That Castle by the Sea, And the moon above it standing, And the mist rise solemnly." " The winds and the waves of ocean, Had they a merry chime 1 [bers, Didst thou hear, from those lofty cliam- Tlic harp and the minstrel s rhyme ?" r>r> TRANSLATIONS. u The winds and the waves of ocean, They rested quietly ; But I heard on the gale a sound of Avail, And tears came to mine eye." "And sawest thou on the turrets The King and his royal bride ? And the wave of their crimson mantles ? And the golden crown of pride ? " Led they not forth, in rapture, A beauteous maiden there ? Resplendent as the morning sun, Beaming with golden hair ? " " Well saw I the ancient parents ; Without the crown of pride ; They were moving slow, in weeds of woe, ]S T o maiden was by their side !" THE BLACK KNIGHT. FROM THE (JEKMAN OF UHLAND. TWAS Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness, When woods and fields put off all sad ness. Thus began the King and spake " So from the halls Of ancient Hof burg s walls, A luxuriant Spring shall break." .Drums and trumpets echo loudly, Wave the crimson banners proudly, From balcony the King looked on ; In the play of spears, Fell all the cavaliers, Before the monarch s stalwart son. To the barrier of the fight Rode at last a sable Knight. " Sir Knight ! your name and scut cheon, say !" " Should I speak it here, Ye would stand aghast with fear ; I am a Prince of mighty sway ! " When he rode into the lists, The arch of heaven grew black with mists. And the castle gan to rock. At the first blow, Fell the youth from saddle-bow, Hardly rises from the shock. Pipe and viol call the dances, Torch -light through the high hall glances ; Waves a mighty shadow in ; With manner bland Doth ask the maiden s hand, Doth with her the dance begin ; Danced in sable iron sark, Danced a measure weird and dark, Coldly clasped her limbs around. From breast and hair Down fall from her the fair Flowerets, faded, to the ground. To the sumptuous banquet came Every Knight and every Dame. Twixt son and daughter ail dis traught, With mournful mind The ancient King reclined, Gazed at them in silent thought. -Pale the children both did look, But the guest a beaker took ; " Golden wine will make you whole ! The children drank, Gave many a courteous thank ; " Oh, that draught was very cool !" Each the father s breast embraces, Son and daughter ; and their faces Colourless grow utterly. Whichever way Looks the fear-struck father gray, He beholds his children die. " Woe ! the blessed children both Takest thou in the joy of youth ; Take me, too, the joyless father \ Spake the grim Guest, From his hollow, cavernous breast, " Roses in the spring I gather ! " [ 53 I SONG OF THE SILENT LAND. FRO?,! TIIF. fiKUMAN OF SALTS. INTO the Silent Land ! Ah ! who shall lead us thither 1 Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, Thither, Into the Silent Land ? Into the Silent Land ! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfection ! Tender morning- visions Of beautiful souls ! The Future s pledge and band ! Who in life s battle firm doth stand, Shall bear Hopes tender blossoms Into the Silent Land O Land ! Land ! For all the broken-hearted The mildest herald by our faith allotted, Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand To lead us with a gentle hand Into the land of the great Departed, Into the Silent Land ! Till-: CHILDREN OF THE LORD S SUPPER. FROM THE SWEDISH. PREFATORY REMARKS. THIS Idyl, from the original of Bishop Tegner, descriptive of scenes of village life in Sweden, enjoys a well-merited reputation in the North of Europe, from its beauty and simplicity as well as from the pure and elevated tone of the writer. There is something patriarchal still lingering about rural life in Sweden, combined with an almost primeval simplicity, an almost primeval solitude, which renders it a tit theme for song. You pass out from the gate of the city, and, as if by magic, the scene changes to a wild, woodland landscape. Around you are forests of fir, with their long, fan -like branches ; while under foot is spread a carpet of yellow leaves. On a wooden bridge you cross a little silver stream ; and anon come forth into a pleasant land of farms. Wooden fences divide the adjoining fields. The gates are opened by troops of children, and the peasants take off their hats as you pass. The houses in the villages and smaller towns are built of hewn timber, and are generally painted red. The floors of the taverns are strewn with the fragrant tips of fir-boughs. In many villages there are no taverns, and the peasants take turns in receiving travellers. The thrifty house wife shows you into the best chamber, the walls of which are hung round with rude pictures from the Bible ; and she brings you curdled milk from the pan, with oaten cakes baked some months before. Meanwhile, the sturdy husband has brought his horses from the plough, and harnessed them to your carriage. Solitary travellers come and go in THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD S SUPPER. D uncouth one-horse chaises. Most of them are smoking pipes, and have hanging around their necks in front, a leather wallet, in which they carry tobacco, and the great bank notes of the country. You meet, also, groups of barefooted Dalekarlian peasant women, travelling in pursuit of work, carrying in their hands their shoes, which have high heels under the hollow of the foot, and soles of birch bark. Frequent, too, are the village churches, standing by the road-side. In the churchyard are a few flowers, and much green grass. The grave-stones are flat, large, low, and perhaps sunken, like the roofs of old houses ; the tenants all sleeping with their heads to the westward. Each held a lighted taper in his hand when he died ; and in his coffin were placed his little heart-treasures, and a piece of money for his last journey. Babes that came lifeless into the world were carried in the arms of gray-haired old men to the only cradle they ever slept in ; and in the shroud of the dead mother were laid the little garments of the child, that lived and died in her bosom. Near the church yard gate stands a poor-box, with a sloping roof over it, fastened to a post by iron bands, and secured oy a padlock. If it be Sunday, the peasants sit on the church steps and con their psalm-books. Others are coming down the road, listening to their beloved pastor. He is their patriarch, and, like Melchizedek, both priest and king, though he has no other throne than the church pulpit. The women carry psalm-books in their hands, wrapped in silk handkerchiefs, and listen devoutly to the good man s words. But the young men, like Gallic, care for none of these things. They are busy counting the plaits in the kirtles of the peasant girls, their number being an indication of the wearer s wealth. I will endeavour to describe a village wedding in Sweden. It shall be in summer time, that the early song of the lark and of chanticleer may be heard mingling in the clear morning air, just after sunrise. In the yard there is a sound of voices and trampling of hoofs. The steed is led forth that is to bear the bridegroom, with a bunch of flowers upon his forehead, and a garland of corn-flowers around his neck. Friends from the neighbouring farms come riding in, and the happy bridegroom, with a whip in his hand, and a monstrous nosegay in the breast of his black jacket, comes forth from his chamber ; and then to horse and away, towards the village where the bride is demurely waiting. Foremost rides the Spokesman, followed by some village musicians. Next comes the happy swain between his two groomsmen, and then " heaps of friends," half of them perhaps with fire-arms in their hands. A wagon laden with food and drink brings up the rear. At the entrance of every village stands a triumphal arch, adorned witli flowers and ribands ; and as they pass beneath it the wedding guests fire a salute, and the whole procession stops. And straight from many a pocket flies a black-jack, filled with punch or brandy. It is passed from hand to hand among the crowd ; provisions are brought from the wagon, and after eating and drinking and hurrahing, the procession moves forward again, and at length draws near the house of the bride. Four heralds ride forward to announce that a knight and his attendants are in the neighbouring forest, and pray for hospitality. "How many are you?" asks the bride s father. "At least three hundred," is the answer; and to this the host replies, "Were you seven times as many, you should all be welcome ; and in token thereof receive this cup." Where upon each herald receives a can of ale ; and soon after the Avhole jovial company pours into the farmer s yard, and, riding round the May-pole in the centre, alights amid a grand flourish of music. 60 TRANSLATIONS. In the hall sits the bride, with a crown upon her head and a tear in her eye ; she is dressed in a red bodice and kirtle, with loose linen sleeves. There is a gilded belt around her waist ; and around her neck strings of golden beads, and a golden chain. On the crown rests a wreath of wild roses, and below it another of cypress. Loosely over her shoulder falls her flaxen hair ; and her blue innocent eyes are fixed upon the ground. But with all this display, she is poor in worldly wealth. Her veiy ornaments have been hired for this great day. Yet is she rich in health, rich in hope, rich in her first young love. The blessing of heaven be upon thee ! " So thinks the parish priest, as he joins together the hands of bride and bridegroom, saying in dee]), solemn tones, " I give thee in marriage this damsel, to be thy wedded wife in all honour, and to share the half of thy bed, thy lock and key, and every third penny which you two may possess, or may inherit, and all the rights which Upland s laws provide, and the holy king Erik gave." Tlie dinner is now served, and the bride sits between the bridegroom and the priest. The Spokesman delivers an oration after the ancient custom, interlarded with quotations from the Bible ; and invites the Saviour to be present at this marriage feast, as he was at the marriage feast in Cana of Galilee. The table is not sparingly set forth, and the feast goes cheerly on. Punch and brandy pass round between the courses, and here and there a pipe is smoked, while waiting for the next dish They sit long at table ; and then the dance begins. It is led off by the bride and the priest, who perform a solemn minuet together. Not till after midnight comes the Last Dance. The girls form a ring around the bride, to keep her from the hands of the married women, who endeavour to break through the magic circle, and seize their new sister. After long struggling they succeed ; and the crown is taken from her head and the jewels from her neck, and her bodice is unlaced and her kirtle taken off; then like a vestal virgin, clad all in white she goes, but it is to her marriage chamber, not to her grave ; and the wedding guests follow her with lighted candles in their hands. And this is a village bridal. But I must not forget to speak of the suddenly changing seasons of the Northern clime. There is no long spring, gradually unfolding leaf and blossom ; no lingering autumn, pompous with many-coloured leaves. But winter and summer are wonderful, and pass into eacli other. The quail has hardly ceased piping in the corn, when winter from the folds of trailing clouds sows broad-cast over the land snow, icicles, and rattling hail. The days wane apace. Ere long the sun hardly rises above the horizon, or does not rise at all. The moon and the stars shine through the day ; only, at noon, they are pale and wan, and in the southern sky a red, fiery glow, as of sunset, burns along the horizon, and then goes out. And pleasantly under the silver moon, and twinkling stars, ring the steel shoes of the skaters on the frozen sea, and voices, and the sound of bells. And now the Northern Lights begin to burn, faintly at first, like sunbeams playing in the waters of the blue sea. Then a soft crimson glow tinges the heavens. There is a blush on the cheek of night. The colours come and go ; and change from crimson to gold, from gold to crimson. The snow is stained with rosy light. Twofold from the zenith, east and west, flames a fiery sword ; and a broad band passes athwart the heavens, like a summer sunset. Solt purple clouds come sailing over the sky, and through their vapory folds the winking stars shine white as silver. With such pomp as this is merry Christmas ushered in, though only a single star heralded the first Christmas. And in THK CHILDREN OF THE LORD S SUITER. 61 memory of that day the Swedish peasants dance on straw ; and the peasant girls throw straws at the timbered roof of the hall, and for every one that sticks in a crack shall a groomsman come to their wedding. Merry indeed is Christmas-time for Swedish peasants : brandy and nut-brown ale in wooden bowls ; and the great Yulecake crowned with a cheese, and garlanded with apples, and upholding a three-armed candlestick over the Christmas feast. And now leafy mid-summer, full of blossoms and the song of nightingales, is come ! In every village there is a May-pole fifty feet high, with wreaths and roses and ribands streaming in the wind, and a noisy weathercock on top. The sun does not set till ten o clock at night ; and the children are at play in the streets an hour later. The windows and doors are all open, and you may sit and read till midnight without a candle. how beautiful is the summer night, which is not night, but a sunless yet unclouded day, descending upon earth with dews, and shadows, and refreshing coolness ! How beautiful the long, mild twilight, which unites to-day with yesterday ! How beautiful the silent hour, when Morning and Evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight ! From the church-tower in the public square the bell tolls the hour, with a soft musical chime ; and the watchman, whose watch-tower is the belfry, blows a blast in his horn, for each stroke of the hammer, and four times, to the four corners of the heavens, in a sonorous voice he chants, "Ho ! watchman, ho Twelve is the clock ! God keep our town From fire and brand, And hostile hand ! Twelve is the clock !" From his swallow s nest in the belfry he can see the sun all night long ; and farther north the priest stands at his door in the warm midnight, and lights his pipe with a common burning-glass. I trust that these remarks will not be deemed irrelevant to the poem, but will lead to a clearer understanding of it. The translation is literal perhaps to a fault. In no instance have I done the author a wrong, by introducing into his work any supposed improve ments or embellishments of my own. I have preserved even the measure ; in which, it must be confessed, the motions of the English Muse are not unlike those of a prisoner dancing to the music of his chains ; and perhaps, as Dr. Johnson said of the dancing dog, " the wonder is not that she should do it so well, but that she should do it at all." Esaias Tegner, the author of this poem, was born in the parish of By in Warmland, in the year 1782. In 1799 he entered the University of Lund, as a student ; and in 1812 was appointed Professor of Greek in that institution. In 1824 he became Bishop of Wexio, which office he still holds. He is the glory and boast of Sweden, and stands first among all her poets living or dead. His principal work is Frithiofs Saga ; one of the most remarkable poems of the age. Bishop Tegner is a prophet, honored in his own country, adding one more to the list of great name that adorn her history. KKOM THE SWEDISH OF BfSHOP TEGNKIL PENTECOST, day of rejoicing, had come. The church of the village Gleaming stood in the morning s sheen. On the spire of the "belfry, Tipped with a vane of metal, the friendly flames of the Spring-sun Glanced like tongues of fire, beheld by Apostles aforetime. Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with her cap crowned by roses, THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD S SUITER. <V Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the brooklet Murmured gladness and peace, God s peace ! with lips rosy tinted Whispered the race of the flowers, and merry on balancing branches Birds were singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Highest. Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned like a leaf- woven arbour Stood its old-fashioned gate ; and within upon each cross of iron Hung was a fragrant garland, new twined by the hands of affection. Even the dial, that stood on a hillock among the departed, (There full a hundred years had it stood,) was embellished with blossoms. Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith and the hamlet, Who on his birth-day is crowned by children and children s children, So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his pencil of iron Marked on the tablet of stone, and measured the time and its changes, While all around at his feet an eternity slumbered in quiet. Also the church within was adorned, for this was the season When the young, their parents hope, and the loved ones of heaven, Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows of their baptism. Therefore each nook and corner was swept and cleaned, and the dust was Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from the oil-painted benches. There stood the church like a garden ; the Feast of the Leafy Pavilions Saw we in living presentment. From noble arms on the church wall Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preacher s pulpit of oak-wood Budded once more anew, as aforetime the rod before Aaron. Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, and the dove, washed with si 1 \-i-i Under its canopy fastened, had on it a necklace of wild ilowers. But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece painted by Horberg, - Crept a garland gigantic ; and bright-curling tresses of angels Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, from out of the shadowy leaf-work. Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, blinked from the ceiling, And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in the sockets. ^ + Loud rang the bells already ; the thronging crowd was assembled Far from valleys and hills, to list to the holy preaching. Hark ! then roll forth at once the mighty tones from the organ, Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible spirits. Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast off from him his mantle, Even so cast off the soul its garments of earth ; and with one voice (1) The Feast of the Tabernacles ; ;in f->\ve(l\s\i,Lofhyddolwgtidcn, the Leaf-huts -high-tide. (2) The peasant-pointer of Sweden. He is known chiefly T>y his altar-pieces in the village churches. Chimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem immortal Of the sublime Wallin, 1 of David s harp in the North-land Tuned to the choral of Luther ; the song on its powerful pinions Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven, And every face did shine like the Holy One s face upon Tabor. Lo ! there entered then into the church the Eeverend Teacher. Father he hight and he was in the parish ; a christianly plainness Clothed from his head to his feet the old man of seventy winters. Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the heralding angel Walked he among the crowds, but still a contemplative grandeur (1) A distinguished pulpit-orator and poet. He is particularly remarkable for the beauty and sublimity of his psalms. THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD S SUPPER. 65 Lay on his forehead as clear, as on moss-covered grave-stone a sunbeam. As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that faintly Gleams in the human soul, even now, from the day of creation) Th Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint John when in Patmos, Gray, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed then the old man ; Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his tresses of silver. All the congregation rose in the pews that were numbered. But with a cordial look to the right and the left hand, the old man Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the innermost chancel. Simply and solemnly now proceeded the Christian service, Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent discourse from the old man. Many a moving word and warning, that out of the heart came, Fell like the dew of the morning, like manna on those in the desert. Afterwards, when all was finished, the Teacher reentered the chancel, Followed therein by the young. On the right hand the boys had their places, Delicate figures, with close-curling hair, and cheeks rosy-blooming. But on the left-hand of these, there stood the tremulous lilies, Tinged with the blushing light of the morning, the diffident maidens, Folding their hands in prayer, and their eyes cast down on the pavement. Now came, with question and answer, the Catechism. In the beginning, Answered the children with troubled and faltering voice, but the old man s Glances of kindness encouraged them soon, and the doctrines eternal Flowed, like the waters of fountains, so clear from lips unpolluted. Whene er the answer was closed, and as oft as they named the Redeemer, Lowly louted the boys, and lowly the maidens all courtesied. Friendly the Teacher stood, like an angel of light there among them, And to the children explained he the holy, the highest in few words, Thorough, yet simple and clear, for sublimity always is simple, Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its meaning. Even as the green-growing bud is unfolded when Spring-tide approaches, Leaf by leaf is developed, and, warmed by the radiant sunshine, Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the perfected blossom Opens its odorous chalice, and rocks with its crown in the breezes, So was unfolded here the Christian lore of salvation, Line by line from the soul of childhood. The fathers and mothers Stood behind them in tears, and were glad at each well- worded answer. Now went the old man up to the altar ; and straightway transfigured (So did it seem unto me) was then the affectionate Teacher. Like the Lord s Prophet sublime, and awful as Death and as Judgment Stood he, the God-commissioned, the soul-searcher, earthward descending. Glances, sharp as a sword, into hearts, that to him were transparent, Shot he ; his voice was deep, was low like the thunder afar off. So on a sudden transfigured he stood there, he spake and he questioned. THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD S SUPPER. 67 "This is the faith of the Fathers, the Faith the Apostles delivered, This is moreover the faith w hereunto I baptized you, while still ye Lay on your mother s breasts, and nearer the portals of heaven. Slumbering received you then the Holy Church in its bosom , Wakened from sleep are ye now, and the light in its radiant splendor Kains from the heaven downward ; to-day on the threshold of childhood Kindly she frees you again, to examine and make your election, For she knows nought of compulsion, and only conviction desireth. This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point of existence, Seed for the coming days without revocation departeth Now from your lips the confession ; Bethink ye, before you make answer ! Think not, think not with guile to deceive the questioning Teacher. Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse ever rests upon falsehood. Enter not with a lie on Life s journey ; the multitude hears you, Brothers and sisters and parents, what dear upon earth is and holy Standeth before your sight as a witness ; the Judge everlasting Looks from the sun down upon you, and angels in waiting beside him Grave your confession in letters of fire, upon tablets eternal. Thus then, believe ye in God, in the Father who this world created ? Him who redeemed it, the Son, and the Spirit where both are united 1 Will ye promise me here, (a holy promise !) to cherish God more than all things earthly, and every man as a brother ? Will ye promise me here to confirm your faith by your living, Th heavenly faith of affection ! to hope, to forgive, and to suffer, Be what it may your condition, and walk before God in uprightness 1 Will ye promise me this before God and man ?" with a clear voice Answered the young men Yes ! and Yes ! with lips softly-breathing Answered the maidens eke. Then dissolved from the brow of the Teacher Clouds with the thunders therein, and he spake in accents more gentle, Soft as the evening s breath, as harps by Babylon s rivers. " Hail, then, hail to you all ! To the heirdom of heaven be ye welcome ! Children no more from this day, but by covenant brothers and sisters ! Yet, for what reason not children ? Of such is the kingdom of heaven. Here upon earth an assemblage of children, in heaven one Father, Ruling them all as his household, forgiving in turn and chastising, That is of human life a picture, as Scripture has taught us. Blessed are the pure before God ! Upon purity and upon virtue Eesteth the Christian Faith ; she herself from on high is descended. Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum of the doctrine, 68 TRANSLATIONS. Which the Divine One taught, and suffered and died on the cross for. ! as ye wander this day from childhood s sacred asylum Downward and ever downward, and deeper in Age s chill valley, ! how soon will ye come, too soon ! and long to turn backward Up to its hill-tops again, to the sun-illumined, when Judgment, Stood like a father before you. and Pardon, clad like a mother, Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart was forgiven. Life was a play, and your hands grasped after the roses of heaven ! Seventy years have I lived already ; the Father eternal Gave me gladness and care ; but the loveliest hours of existence, When I have stedfastly gazed in their eyes, I have instantly known them, Known them all again ; They were my childhood s acquaintance. Therefore take from henceforth, as guides in the paths of existence, Prayer, with their eyes raised to heaven, and Innocence, bride of man s childhood. Innocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world of the blessed, Beautiful, and in her hand a lily ; on life s roaring billows Swings she in safety, she heedeth them not, in the ship she is sleeping. Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men ; in the desert Angels descend and minister unto her ; she herself knoweth Nought of her glorious attendance ; but follows faithful and humble, Follows so long as she may her friend ; do not reject her, For she cometh from God and she holdeth the keys of the heavens. Prayer is Innocence friend ; and willingly flieth incessant Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven. Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an exile, the Spirit Tugs at his chains evermore, and struggles like names ever upward. Still he recalls with emotion his father s manifold mansions, Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blossomed more freshly the flowers, Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played with the winged angels. Then grows the earth too narrow, too close ; and homesick for heaven Longs the wanderer again ; and the Spirit s longings are worship ; Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and its tongue is entreaty. Ah ! when the infinite burden of life descendeth upon us, Crushes to earth our hope, and, under the earth, in the grave-yard, Then it is good to pray unto God ; for his sorrowing children Turns he ne er from his door, but he heals and helps and consoles them. Yet it is better to pray when all things are prosperous with us, Pray in fortunate days, for life s most beautiful Fortune Kneels down before the Eternal s throne ; and, with hands interfolded, THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD S SUPPER. 69 Praises thankful and moved the only Giver of blessings. Or do ye know, ye children, one blessing that comes not from Heaven 1 What has mankind forsooth, the poor ! that it has riot received ? Therefore, fall in the dust and pray ! The seraphs adoring Cover with pinions six their face in the glory of Him who Hung his masonry pendant on nought, when the world he created. Earth declareth his might, and the firmament uttereth his glory. Races blossom and die, and stars fall downward from heaven, Downward like withered leaves ; at the last stroke of midnight, millenniums Lay themselves down at his feet, and he sees them, but counts them as nothing. Who shall stand in his presence 1 The wrath of the judge is terrific, Casting the insolent down at a glance. When he speaks in his anger Hillocks skip like the kid, and mountains leap like the roe-buck. Yet, why are ye afraid, ye children ? This awful avenger, Ah ! is a merciful God ! God s voice was not in the earthquake, Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes. Love is the root of creation ; God s essence ; worlds without number Lie in his bosom like children ; he made them for this purpose only. Only to love and be loved again, he breathed forth his spirit Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, he laid its Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of heaven. Quench, quench not that flame ! It is the breath of your being. Love is life, but hatred is death. Not father nor mother Loved you, as God has loved you ; for twas that you may be happy Gave he his only Son. When he bowed down his head in the death-hour Solemnised Love its triumph; the sacrifice then was completed. Lo ! then was rent on a sudden the vail of the temple, dividing Earth and heaven apart, and the dead from their sepulchres rising, Whispered with pallid lips and low in the ears of each other Th answer, but dreamed of before, to creation s enigma, Atonement. Depths of Love are Atonement s depths, for Love is Atonement. Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the merciful Father ; Wish what the Holy One wishes, and not from fear, but affection ; Fear is the virtue of slaves ; but the heart that loveth is willing ; Perfect was before God, and perfect is Love, and love only. Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, then lovest thou likewise thy brethren ; One is the sun in heaven, and one, only one, is Love also. Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp on his forehead? Readest thou not in his face thine origin 1 Is he not sailing, Lost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is he not guided 70 TRANSLATION?, By the same stars that guide thee 1 Why shouldst thou hate then thy brother 1 Hateth he thee, forgive ! For tis sweet to stammer one letter Of the Eternal s language ; on earth it is called forgiveness ! Knowest thou Him, who forgave, with the crown of thorns round his temples 1 Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his murderers 1 Say, dost thou know him 1 Ah ! thou confessest his name, so follow likewise his example, Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a veil over his failings, Guide the erring aright ; for the good, the heavenly Shepherd Took the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it back to its mother. This is the fruit of love, and it is by its fruits that we know it. Love is the creature s w r elfare, with God ; but Love among mortals Is but an endless sigh ! He longs, and endures, and stands waiting, Suffers, and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on his eyelids. Hope, so is called upon earth, his recompense, Hope, the befriending, Does what she can, for she points evermore up to heaven, and faithful Plunges her anchor s peak in the depths of the graves, and beneath it Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a sweet play of shadows ! Races, better than we, have leaned on her wavering promise, Having nought else but Hope. Then praise we our Father in Heaven, Him, who has given us more : for to us has Hope been transfigured, Groping no longer in night ; she is Faith, she is living assurance. Faith is enlightened Hope ; she is light, is the eye of affection, Dreams of the longing interprets, and carves their visions in marble. Faith is the sun of life ; and her countenance shines like the Hebrew s, For she has looked upon God ; the heaven on its stable foundation Draws she with chains down to earth, and the New Jerusalem sinketh Splendid with portals twelve in golden vapors descending. There enraptured she wanders, and looks at the figures majestic, Fears not the winged crowd, in the midst of them all is her homestead. Therefore love and believe ; for works will follow spontaneous, Even as day does the sun ; the Right from the Good is an offspring, Love in a bodily shape ; and Christian works are no more than Animate Love and Faith, as flowers are the animate spring- tide. Works do follow us all unto God ; there stand and bear witness Not what they seemed, but what they were only. Blessed is he who Hears their confession secure ; they are mute upon earth until Death s hand Opens the mouth of the silent. Ye children, does Death e er alarm you 1 Death is the brother of love, twin-brother is he, and is only More austere to behold. With a kiss upon lips that are fading Takes he the soul and departs, and rocked in the arms of affection, THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD S SUPPER. 71 Places the ransomed child, new born, fore the face of its father. Sounds of its coming already I hear, see dimly his pinions, Swart as the night, but with stars strewn upon them ! I fear not before him. Death is only release, and in mercy is mute. On his bosom Freer breathes, in its coolness, my breast ; and face to face standing, Look I on God as he is, a sun unpolluted by vapors ; Look on the light of the ages I loved, the spirits majestic, N obler, better than I ; they stand by the throne all transfigured, Vested in white, and with harps of gold, and are singing an anthem, Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken by angels. You, in like manner, ye children beloved, he one day shall gather, Never forgets he the weary ; then welcome, ye loved ones, hereafter ! Meanwhile forget not the keeping of vows, forget not the promise, Wander from holiness onward to holiness ; earth shall ye heed not ; Earth is but dust and heaven is light ; I have pledged you to heaven. God of the Universe, hear me ! thou fountain of Love everlasting, Hark to the voice of thy servant ! I send up my prayer to thy heaven ! Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one spirit of all these, Whom thou hast given me here ! I have loved them all like a father. May they bear witness for me, that I taught them the way of salvation, Faithful, so far as I knew of thy word ; again may they know me, Fall on their Teacher s breast, and before thy face may I place them, Pure as they now are, but only more tried, and exclaiming with gladness, Father, lo ! I am here, and the children, whom thou hast given me !" Weeping he spake in these words \ and now at the back of the old man Knee against knee they knitted a wreath round the altar s enclosure. Kneeling he read then the prayers of the consecration, and softly With him the children read ; at the close, with tremulous accents, Asked he the peace of heaven, a benediction upon them. Now should have ended his task for the day ; the following Sunday Was for the young appointed to eat of the Lord s holy Supper. Sudden, as struck from the clouds, stood the Teacher silent and laid his Hand on his forehead, and cast his looks upward ; while thoughts high and holy Flew through the midst of his soul, and his eyes glanced with wonderful brightness. " On the next Sunday, who knows ! perhaps I shall rest in the grave-yard ! Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily broken untimely, Bow down his head to the earth ; why delay I ? the hour is accomplished. 72 TRANSLATIONS. Warm is the heart ; I will so ! for to-day grows the harvest of heaven. What I began accomplish I now ; for what failing therein is I, the old man, will answer to God and the reverend father. Say to me only, ye children, ye denizens new-come in heaven, Are ye ready this day to eat of the bread of Atonement 1 What it denoteth, that know ye full well, I have told it you often. Of the new covenant a symbol it is, of Atonement a token, Stablished between earth and heaven. Man by his sins and transgression Far has wandered from God, from his essence. Twas in the beginning Fast by the tree of knowledge he fell, and it hangs its crown o er the Fall to this day ; in the Thought is the Fall ; in the Heart the Atonement. Infinite is the Fall, the Atonement infinite likewise. See ! behind me, as far as the old man remembers, and forward, Far as hope in her flight can reach with her wearied pinions, Sin and Atonement incessant go through the life-time of mortals. Brought forth is sin full-grown ; but Atonement sleeps in our bosoms Still as the cradled babe ; and dreams of heaven and of angels, Cannot awake to sensation ; is like the tones in the harp s strings, Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore the deliverer s finger. Therefore, ye children beloved, descended the Prince of Atonement, Woke the slumberer from sleep, and she stands now with eyes all resplendent, Bright as the vault of the sky, and battles with sin and o ercomes her. Downward to earth he came and transfigured, thence reascended, Not from the heart in like wise, for there he still lives in the spirit, Loves and atones evermore. So long as Time is, is Atonement. Therefore with reverence receive this day her visible token. Tokens are dead if the things do not live. The light everlasting Unto the blind man is not, but is born of the eye that has vision. Neither in bread nor in wine, but in the heart that is hallowed Lieth forgiveness enshrined ; the intention alone of amendment Fruits of the earth ennobles to heavenly things, and removes all Sin and the guerdon of sin. Only Love with his arms wide extended, Penitence weeping and praying ; the Will that is tried, and whose gold flows Purified forth from the flames j in a word, mankind by Atonement Breaketh Atonement s bread, and drinketh Atonement s wine- cup. But he who cometh up hither, unworthy, with hate in his bosom, Scoffing at men and at God, is guilty of Christ s blessed body, And the Redeemer s blood ! To himself he eateth and drinketh Death and doom ! And from this, preserve us, thou heavenly Father ! Are ye ready, ye children, to eat of the bread of Atonement 1" THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD S SUPPER. 73 Thus with emotion he asked, and together answered the children Yes ! with deep sobs interrupted. Then read he the due supplications, Read the Form of Communion, and in chimed the organ and anthem ; (.) ! Holy Lamb of God, who takest away our transgressions, Hear us t give us thy peace t have mercy, have mercy upon us ! Th old man, with trembling hand, and heavenly pearls on his eyelids, Filled now the chalice and paten, and dealt round the mystical symbols. O ! then seemed it to me, as if God, with the broad eye of mid-day, Clearer looked in at the windows, and all the trees in the churchyard 1)0 wed down their summits of green, and the grass on the graves gan to shiver. But in the children, (I noted it well ; I knew it) there ran a Tremor of holy rapture along through their icy-cold members. Decked like an altar before them, there stood the green earth, and above it Heaven opened itself, as of old before Stephen ; they saw there Radiant in glory the Father, and on his right hand the Redeemer. Under them hear they the clang of harpstrings, and angels from gold clouds Beckon to them like brothers, and fan with their pinions of purple. Closed was the Teacher s task, and with heaven in their hearts and their faces, Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, weeping full sorely, Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of them pressed he Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his hands full of blessings, IS T ow on the holy breast, and now on the innocent tresses. THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOCK. FllU-M Till: UEtlMAN OF JULIUS MOSEN. EORMS of saints and kings are standing The cathedral door above ; Yet I saw but one among them Who hath soothed my soul with love. In his mantle, wound about him, As their robes the sowers wind, Bore he swallows and their fledglings, Flowers and weeds of every kind. And so stands he calm and childlike, High in wind and tempest wild ; O, were I like him exalted, I would be like him, a child ! And my songs, green leaves and blossoms To the doors of heaven would bear, Calling, even in storm and tempest, Round me still these birds of air. THE HEMLOCK THEE. THE TWO LOCKS OF HA IE. FROM TTTF, OFRMAX OF PFIZER. A YOUTH, light-hearted and content, I wander through the world ; Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent And straight again is furled. Yet oft I dream, that once a wife Close in my heart was locked, And in the sweet repose of life A blessed child I rocked. I wake ! Away that dream, away ! Too long did it remain ! So long, that both by night and day It ever comes again. The end lies ever in my thought ; To a grave so cold and deep The mother beautiful was brought ; Then dropt the child asleep. But now the dream is wholly o er, I bathe mine eyes and see ; And wander thro the world once more, A youth so light and free. Two locks, and they are wondrous fair, Left me that vision mild ; The brown is from the mother s hair, The blond is from, the child. And when I see that lock of gold, Pale grows the evening-red ; And when the dark lock I behold, I wish that I were dead. THE HEMLOCK-TREE. FROM THE GERMAN. () HEMLOCK-TREE ! hemlock-tree ! how faithful are thy branches ! Green not alone in summer time, But in the winter s frost and rime ! hemlock-tree ! hemlock-tree ! how faithful are thy branches ! maiden fair ! maiden fair ! how faithless is thy bosom ! To love me in prosperity, And leave me in adversity ! maiden fair ! maiden fair ! how faithless is thy bosom ! The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak st for thine example ! So long as summer laughs she sings, But in the autumn spreads her wings. The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak st for thine example ! The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood ! It flows so long as falls the rain, In drought its springs soon dry again. The meadow brook, the meadoM- brook, is mirror of thy falsehood ! 7S TRANSLATIONS. ANNIE OF THABAW. FROM THE LOW GERMAN OF SIMON IMCK. ANNIE of Tliaraw, my true love of old, She is my life, and my goods, and my gold. Annie of Tliaraw, her heart once again To me has surrendered in joy and in pain. Annie of Tliaraw, my riches, my good, Thou, my soul, my flesh and niy blood ! Then come the wild weather, come sleet or come snow, We will stand by each other, however it blow. Oppression, and sickness, and sorrow, and pain, Shall be to our true love as links to the chain. As the palm-tree standeth so straight and so tall, The more the hail beats, and the more the rains fall, So love in our hearts shall grow mighty and strong, Through crosses, through sorrows, through manifold wrong. Shouldst thou be torn from me to wander alone In a desolate land where the sun is scarce known, Through forests I ll follow, and where the sea flows, Through ice and through iron, through armies of foes. Annie of Tliaraw, my light and my sun, The threads of our two lives are woven in one. Whatever I have bidden thee thou hast obeyed, Whatever forbidden thou hast not gainsaid. How in the turmoil of life can love stand, Where there is not one heart, and one mouth, and one hand ? Some seek for dissension, and trouble, and strife ; Like a dog and a cat live such man and wife. Annie of Tharaw, such is not our love ; Thou art my lambkin, my chick, and my dove. Whate er my desire is, in thine may be seen ; I am king of the household, and thou art its queen. It is this, my Annie, my heart s sweetest rest, That makes of us twain but one soul in one breast. This turns to a heaven the hut where we dwell ; While wrangling soon changes a home to a hell. THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS. FROM THE OKKMAN OF HEINRICH HEINE. THE sea hath its pearls, The heaven hath its stars ; But my heart, my heart, My heart hath its love. ( Jreat are the sea and the heaven ; Yet greater is my heart, And fairer than pearls and stars Flashes and beams my love. Thou little, youthful maiden, Come unto my great heart ; My heart, and the sea, and the heaven, Are melting away with love ! ON the cross the dying Saviour Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm, Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling In his pierced and bleeding palm. And by all the world forsaken, Sees he how with zealous care At the ruthless nail of iron A little bird is striving there. Stained with blood and never tiring, "With its beak it doth not cease, THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL. FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEN. From the cross twould free the Saviour, Its Creator s Son release. And the Saviour speaks in mildness : "Blest be thou of all the good ! Boar, as token of this moment, Marks of blood and holy rood !" And that bird is called the crossbill ; Covered all with blood so clear, In the groves of pine it singeth Songs, like legends, strange to hear. < 8 TRANSLATIONS. POETIC APHORISMS. KROM THE SIXNGF.DIOHTR OF FRfEDRICH VOV I.OOAU. SEVENTEENTH OKXTURY. MONET, WHEREUNTO is money good ? AVlio has it has much trouble arid rare, Who has it not wants hardihood, Who once has had it has despair. THE BEST MEDICINES. Joy and temperance and repose Slam the door on the doctor s nose, SIN - LAW OF LIFE. Man-like is it to fall into sin, Live I, so live I, Fiend-like is it to dwell therein, To my Lord heartily, Christ-like is it for sin to grieve, To my Prince faithfully, (rod-like is it all sin to leave, To my Neighbour honest! v, Die T, so die I. POVERTY AND BLINDNESS. A blind man is a poor man, and blind a poor man is ; For the former seeth no man, and the latter no man sees. CREEDS. Lutheran, Popish, Calvinistic, all these creeds and doctrines three Extant are ; but still the doubt is, where Christianity may be. THE RESTLESS HEART. A millstone and the human heart, are driven ever round; If they have nothing else to grind, they must themselves be ground. CHRISTIAN LOVE. Whilom Love was like a fire, and warmth and comfort it bespoke ; But, alas ! it is now quenched, and only bites us, like the smoke. ART AND TACT. Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined ; Often in a wooden house a golden room we find. RETRIBUTION. Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small ; Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all. TRUTH. When by night the frogs are croaking, kindle but a torch s fire, ]Ia ! how soon they all are silent ! Thus truth silences the liar. RHYMES. If perhaps these rhymes of mine should sound not well in strangers ears, They have only to bethink them that it happens so with theirs ; For so long as words, like mortals, call a fatherland their own, They will be most highly valued where they arc best and longest known. THE BLIND GIKL OF CASTEL-CUILL& FROM THF GASCON UF JASMIN. Only the Lowland tongue of Scotland might Rehearse this little tragedy aright : Let me attempt it with an English quill : And take, O Reader, for the deed the will. I. AT the foot of the mountain height Where is perched Castel-Cuille, When the apple, the plum, and the almond- tree 1 In the plain below were growing white, This is the song one might perceive On a Wednesday morn of Saint Joseph s Eve : " The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home ! Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, So fair a bride shall pass to-day ! " TRANSLATIONS. This old Tc Deum, rustic rites attending, Seemed from the clouds descending ; When lo ! a merry company Of rosy village girls, clean as the eye, Each one Avith her attendant swain, Came to the cliff, all singing the same strain ; Resembling there, so near unto the sky, Rejoicing angels, that kind Heaven has sent For their delight and our encouragement. Together blending, And soon descending The narrow sweep Of the hill-side steep, They wind aslant Toward Saint Amant, Through leafy alleys Of verdurous valleys, With merry sallies Singing their chant. The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home ! Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, So fair a bride shall pass to-day ! " It is Baptiste, and his affianced maiden, With garlands for the bridal laden ! The sky was blue ; without one cloud of gloom, The sun of March was shining brightly, And to the air the freshening wind gave lightly Its breathings of perfume. When one beholds the dusky hedges blossom, A rustic bridal, ah ! how sweet it is ! To sounds of joyous melodies, That touch with tenderness the trembling bosom, A band of maidens Gaily frolicking, A band of youngsters AVildly rolickiiig ! THE BLIND OIUL (>K CASTEL-CUJLLE. 81 Kissing, Caressing, With lingers pressing, Till in the veriest Madness of mirth, as they dance, They retreat and advance, Trying whose laugh shall be loudest and merriest ; While the bride, with roguish eyes, Sporting with them, now escapes and cries : " Those who catch me Married verily This year shall be ! " And all pursue with eager haste, And all attain what they pursue, And touch her pretty apron fresh and new, And the linen kirtle round her waist. Meanwhile, whence comes it that among These youthful maidens fresh and fair, So joyous, with such laughing air, Baptiste stands sighing, with silent tongue ? And yet the bride is fair and young ! Is it Saint Joseph would say to us all, That love, o er -hasty, precedeth a fall? 0, 110 ! for a maiden frail, I trow, Never bore so lofty a brow ! What lovers ! they give not a single caress ! To see them so careless and cold to-day, These are grand people, one would say. "What ails Baptiste ? what grief doth him oppress ? It is, that, half way up the hill, In yon cottage, by whose walls Stand the cart-house and the stalls, Dwelleth the blind orphan still, Daughter of a veteran old ; And you must know, one year ago, That Margaret, the young and tender, Was the village pride and splendor, " And Baptiste her lover bold. Love, the deceiver, them ensnared ; For them the altar was prepared ; But alas ! the summer s blight, The dread disease that none can stay, The pestilence that walks by night, Took the young bride s sight away. All at the father s stern command was changed ; Their peace was gone, but not their love estranged ; AVearied at home, ere long the lover fled ; Keturned but three short days ago, The golden chain they round him throw, He is enticed, and onward led To marry Angela, and yet Is thinking ever of Margaret. Then suddenly a maiden cried, "Anna, Theresa, Mary, Kate! Here comes the cripple Jane!" And by a fountain s side A woman, bent and gray with years, Under the mulberry-trees appears, And all towards her run, as fleet As had they wings upon their feet. It is that Jane, the cripple Jane, Is a soothsayer, wary and kind. She telleth fortunes, and none complain. She promises one a village swain, Another a happy wedding-day, And the bride a lovely boy straightway. All comes to pass as she avers ; She never deceives, she never errs. I>ut for this once the village seer Wears a countenance severe, And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white Her two eyes flash like cannons bright Aimed at the bridegroom in waistcoat blue, Who, like a statue, stands in view ; Changing color, as well he might, When the beldame wrinkled and gray Takes the young bride by the hand, And, with the tip of her reedy wand Making the sign of the cross, doth say: - " Thoughtless Angela, beware ! TRANSLATIONS. Lest, when thou weddest this false bridegroom, Thou diggest for thyself a tomb!" And she was silent ; and the maidens fair Saw from each eye escape a swollen tear ; But on a little streamlet silver-clear, What are two drops of turbid rain ? Saddened a moment, the bridal train Resumed the dance and song again ; The bridegroom only was pale with fear ; And down green alleys Of verdurous valleys, With merry sallies, They sang the refrain : "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home ! Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, So fair a bride shall pass to-day!" II. And by suffering worn and weary, But beautiful as some fair angel yet, Thus lamented Margaret, In her cottage lone and dreary : " He has arrived ! arrived at last ! Yet Jane has named him not these three days past ; Arrived ! yet keeps aloof so far ! And knows that of my night he is the star; Knows that long months I wait alone, benighted, And count the moments since he went away ! Come ! keep the promise of that happier day, That I may keep the faith to thee I plighted ! What joy have I without thee? what delight? Grief wastes my life, and makes it misery ; Day for the others ever, but for me For ever night ! for ever night ! THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE. 85 A\ 7 hen. lie is gone tis dark ! my soul is sad ! I suffer ! my God ! come, make me glad. When he is near, no thoughts of day intrude ; Day has blue heavens, but Baptiste has blue eyes ! Within them shines for me a heaven of love, A heaven all happiness, like that above. No more of grief ! no more of lassitude ! Earth I forget, and heaven, and all distresses, When seated by my side my hand he presses ; But when alone, remember all ! Where is Baptiste ? he hears not when I call ! A branch of ivy, dying on the ground ! I need some bough to twine around ! In pity come ! be to my suffering kind ! True love, they say, in grief doth more abound ! What then when one is blind ? "Who knows? perhaps I am forsaken! Ah ! woe is me ! then bear me to my grave ! God ! what thoughts within me waken ! Away ! he will return ! I do but rave ! He will return ! I need not fear ! He swore it by our Saviour dear ; He could not come at his own will ; Is weary, or perhaps is ill ! Perhaps his heart, in this disguise, Prepares for me some sweet surprise ! But some one comes ! Though blind, my heart can see ! And that deceives me not ! tis he ! tis he ! And the door ajar is set, And poor, confiding Margaret Rises, with outstretched arms, but sightless eyes ; Tis only Paul, her brother, who thus cries : "Angela the bride has passed ! 1 saw the wedding guests go by; Tell me, my sister, why were we not asked ? For all are there but you and I !" "Angela married ! and not send To tell her secret unto me ! 86 TRANSLATIONS. 0, speak ! who may the bridegroom bo ? " "My sister, tis Baptiste, thy friend !" A cry the blind girl gave, but nothing said ; A milky whiteness spreads upon her cheeks ; An icy hand, as heavy as lead, Descending, as her brother speaks, Upon her heart, that has ceased to beat, Suspends awhile its life and heat. She stands beside the boy, now sore distressed, A wax Madonna as a peasant dressed. At length, the bridal song again Brings her back to her sorrow and pain. "Hark! the joyous airs are ringing! Sister, dost thou hear them singing? How merrily they laugh and jest ! Would we were bidden with the rest ! I would don my hose of homespun gray, And my doublet of linen striped and gay ; Perhaps they will come ; for they do not wnl Till to-morrow at seven o clock, it is said ! " "I know it!" answered Margaret; Whom the vision, with aspect black as jet, Mastered again ; and its hand of ice Held her heart crushed, as in a vice ! "Paul, be not sad! Tis a holiday; To-morrow put on thy doublet gay ! But leave me now for a while alone." Away, with a hop and a jump, went Paul, And, as he whistled along the hall, Entered Jane, the crippled crone. "Holy Virgin! what dreadful heat! I am faint and weary, and out of breath ! But thou art cold, art chill as death; My little friend! what ails thee, sweet? "Nothing! I heard them singing home the bride; And, as I listened to the song, I thought my turn would come ere long, THE BLIND GIRL GF (JA8TEL CUILLE. 87 Thou knowest it is at Whitsuntide. Thy cards forsooth can never lie, To me such joy they prophesy, Thy skill shall be vaunted far and wide When they behold him at my side. And poor Baptlste. what sayest thou? It must seem long to him; methinks I see him now? 1 Jane, shuddering, her hand doth press : "Thy love I cannot all approve; We must not trust too much to happiness ; Go pray to God, that thou mayst love him less !" "The more I pray, the more I love ! It is no sin, for God is on my side !" It was enough ; and Jane no more replied. Now to all hope her heart is barred and cold ; But to deceive the beldame old She takes a sweet, contented air, Speaks of foul weather or of fair, At every word the maiden smiles ! Thus the beguiler she beguiles ; So that, departing at the evening s close, She says, "She may be saved! she nothing knows! Poor Jane, the cunning sorceress ! Now that thou wouldst, thou art no prophetess ! This morning, in the fulness of thy heart, Thou wast so, far beyond thine art ! III. Now rings the bell, nine times reverberating, And the white daybreak, stealing up the sky, Sees in two cottages two maidens waiting, How differently! Queen of a day, by flatterers caressed, The one puts on her cross and crown, Decks with a hugh bouquet her breast, flaunting, fluttering up and down, Looks at herself, and cannot rest. The other, blind, within her little room, Has neither crown nor flower s perfume ; But in their stead for something gropes apart That in a drawer s recess doth lie, And, neath her bodice of bright scarlet dye, Convulsive clasps it to her heart. The one, fantastic, light as air, Mid kisses ringing, And joyous singing, Forgets to say her morning prayer! The other, with cold drops upon her brow, Joins her two hands, and kneels upon the floor, And whispers, as her brother opes the door, "O God! forgive me now!" And then the orphan, young and blind, Conducted by her brother s hand, Towards the church, through paths unmanned, With tranquil air, her way dotli wind. Odors of laurel, making her faint and pale, Hound her at times exhale, And in the sky as yet no sunny ray, But brumal vapors gray. that castle, fair to see, Crowded with sculptures old, in every pnrt, Marvels of nature and of art, And proud of its name of high degree, A little chapel, almost bare At v the base of the rock, is builded there All glorious that it lifts aloof, Above each jealous cottage roof, Its sacred summit, swept by autumn gales, And its blackened steeple high in air, Hound which the osprey screams and >;iil 90 TRANSLATIONS. " Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by ! " Ilms Margaret said. "Where are we? we ascend!" " Yes ; seest thou not our journey s end ? Hearest not the osprey from the belfry cry ? The hideous bird, that brings ill luck, we know ! Dost thou remember when our father said, The night we watched beside his bed, O daughter, I am weak and low ; Take care of Paul ; I feel that I am dying ! And thou, and he, and I, all fell to crying? Then on the roof the osprey screamed aloud ; And here they brought our father in a shroud. There is his grave ; there stands the cross we set ; Why dost thou clasp me so, dear Margaret ] Come in ! The bride will be here soon : Thou tremblest ! my God ! thou art going to swoon ! " She could no more, the blind girl, weak and weary ! A voice seemed crying from that grave so dreary, " What wouldst thou do, my daughter ? " and she started And quick recoiled, aghast, faint-hearted ; But Paul, impatient, urges ever more Her steps toward the open door ; And when, beneath her feet, the unhappy maid Crushes the laurel near the house immortal, And with her head, as Paul talks on again. Touches the crown of filigrane Suspended from the low-arched portal, Xo more restrained, no more afraid, She walks as for a feast arrayed, And in the ancient chapel s sombre night They both are lost to sight. At length the bell, With booming sound, Sends forth, resounding round, Its hymeneal peal o er rock and down the dell. It is broad day, with sunshine and with rain ; And yet the guests delay not long, For soon arrives the bridal train, And with it brings the village throng. THK IJUXl) GIRL OF CASTElrCUILLfc ft] In sooth, deceit nuiketh no mortal guy, For lo ! Baptiste on this triumphant clay, Mute as an idiot, sad as yester-moming, Thinks only of the beldame s words of warning. And Angela thinks of her cross, I wis ; To be a bride is all ! The pretty lisper Feels her heart swell to hear all round her whisper, " How beautiful ! how beautiful she is ! " But she must calm that giddy head, For already the mass is said ; At the holy table stands the priest ; The wedding ring is blessed ; Baptiste receives it ; Ere on the finger of the bride he leaves it, He must pronounce one word at least ! Tis spoken ; and sudden at the groomsman s side " Tis he ! " a well-known voice has cried. And while the wedding guests all hold their breath, Opes the confessional, and the blind girl, see ! "Baptiste," she said, "since thou hast wished my deatli, As holy water be my blood for thee ; " And calmly in the air a knife suspended ! Doubtless her guardian angel near attended, For anguish did its work so well, That, ere the fatal stroke descended, Lifeless she fell ! At eve, instead of bridal verse, The De Profundis filled the air ; Decked with flowers a single hearse To the church-yard forth they bear ; Village girls in robes of snow Follow, weeping as they go ; Nowhere was a smile that day, No, ah no ! for each one seemed to say : " The roads shall mourn and be veiled in gloom, 80 fair a corpse shall leave its home ! Should mourn and should weep, ah, well-away ! So fair a rorpso shall pass to-day ! " j)-j TKASSLATIOXS. JASMIN, the author oi this beautiful posm, is to the South of France what Bums is to the South of Scotland, the representative of fhe heart of the people, one of those happy bards who are born with their mouths full of birds (la bouco plena (VaoitveJous). He has written his own biography in a poetic form, and the simple narrative of his poverty, his struggles and his triumphs, is very touching. He still lives at Agen, on the Garonne ; and long may he live there to delight his native land with native songs ! Those who may feel interested in something about " JASMIN, Coiffeur" for such is his calling will find a description of his person and mode of life in the graphic pages of Beam and the Pyrenees (Vol. i. p. 869, et seq.), by Louisa Stuart Costello, whose charming pen has done so much to illustrate the French provinces and their liternture A CHRISTMAS CAROL.* FROM THE NOEL BOUBGUIGNON DS GUI BAROZAI. I HEAR along our street .Pass the minstrel throngs j Hark ! they play so sweet, On their hautboys, Christmas songs Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire. In December ring Every day the chimes ; Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes, Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire. Shepherds at the grange, Where the Babe was born, Sang, with many a change, Christmas carols until morn. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire ! * For an interesting and minute description of Christmas in Burgundy, the curious reader is referred to M. Fertiault s Coup d n il sur /<> . Yr7x rn /, r. ///(/(!///<, prefixed to the Paris Kdition <>t /.<> .Vor/s }lmn-- <jiiiyno>is ilc Bernard de la A/o". / ( " /. "/Vc<" ). 184 - _ . A CHKISTMAS CAROL. These good people sang Songs devout and sweet ; While the rafters rang, There they stood with freezing feet. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire. in frigid cells At this holy tide, For want of something else, Christmas songs at times have tried. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire. Washerwomen old, To the sound they beat, Sing by rivers cold, With uncovered heads and feet. Let us by the fire Ever higher > w ing thorn till tlie night expire. Who by the fireside stands Stamps his feet and sings ; But he who blows his hands Not so gay a carol brings. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire ! BALLADS. THE SKELETON IN AKMOUli PREFATORY NOTE. THE following Ballad was suggested to me while riding on the sea-shore at Newport. A year or two previous a skeleton had been dug up at Fall River, clad in broken and corroded armour ; and the idea occurred to me of connecting it with the Round Tower at Newport, generally known hitherto as the Old Windmill, though now claimed by the Danes as a work of their early ancestors. Professor Rafn, in the Memoires de la Societe Royale des Antiquaires du Nord, for 1838-9, says, " There is no mistaking in this instance the style in which the more ancient stone edifices of the North were constructed, the style which belongs to the Roman or Ante-Gothic architecture, and which, espe cially after the time of Charlemagne, diffused itself from Italy over the whole of the West and North of Europe, where it continued to predominate until the close of the twelfth century ; that style which some authors have, from one of its most striking characteristics, called the round arch style, the same which in England is denominated Saxon and sometimes Norman architecture. " On the ancient structure in Newport there are no ornaments remaining, which might possibly have served to guide us in assigning the probable date of its erection. That no vestige whatever is found of the pointed arch, nor any approximation to it, is indicative of an earlier rather than of a later period. From such characteristics as remain, however, we can scarcely form any other inference than one, in which I am persuaded that all, who are familiar with Old-Northern architecture, will concur, THAT THIS BUILDING WAS ERECTED AT A PERIOD DECIDEDLY NOT LATER THAN THE TWELFTH CENTURY. This remark applies, of course, to the original building only, and not to the alterations that it subse quently received; for there are several such alterations in the upper part of the building which cannot be mistaken, and which were most likely occasioned by its being adapted in modern times to various uses, for example, as the substructure of a windmill, and latterly as a hay magazine. To the same times may be referred the windows, the fireplace, and the apertures made above the columns. That this building could not have been erected for a windmill is what an architect will easily discern." I will not enter into a discussion of the point. It is sufficiently well established for the purpose of a ballad, though doubtless many an honest citizen of Newport, who has passed his days within sight of the Round Tower, will be ready to exclaim with Sancho, "God bless me ! did I not warn you to have a care of what you were doing, for that it was nothing bnt a windmill? and nobody could mistake it, but one who had the like in his head." THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR. " SPEAK ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armour drest, Comest to daunt me ! Wrapt not in Eastern balms, But with thy flesh less palms Stretched, as if asking alms, Why dost thou haunt me ? TRANSLATIONS. Then, from those cavernous eyes Pale Hashes seemed to rise, As when the northern skies Gleam in December ; And, like the water s flow Under December s snow, Came a dull voice of woe From the heart s chamber. " I was a Viking old ! My deeds, though manifold, No Skald in song has toll No Saga taught thee ! Take heed, that in thy verse Thou dost the tale rehear Else dread a dead man s curse ! For this I sought thee. " Far in the Northern Land, By the wild Baltic s strand, I, with my childish hand, Tamed the ger-falcon . And, with my skates fa. Skimmed the half-frozi That the poor whimpe Trembled to walk fa. j*.. i f e^m Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow ; Oft through the forest dark Followed the were-wolf s bark, Tntil the soaring lark Sang from the meadow. But when I older grew, Joining a corsair s crew, O er the dark sea I flew With the marauders. Wild was the life we led ; Many the souls that sped, Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders. " Many a wassail-bout Wore the long Winter out ; Often our midnight shout Set the cocks crowing, As we the Berserk s tale Measured in cups of ale, Draining the oaken pail, Filled to o erflowing. " Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender ; And as the white stars shine < )n the dark Norway pine, On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendour. " I wooed the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest s shade Our vows were plighted. Under its loosened vest Fluttered her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted. " Bright in her father s hall Shields gleamed upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all, Chaunting his glory ; When of old Hildebrand 1 asked his daughter s hand, Mute did the minstrels stand To hear my story. " While the brown ale he quaffed, Loud then the champion laughed, And as the wind-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn, ( hit of those lips unshorn, From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly. THE SKELETON IN ARMOUK. " She was a Prince s child, I but a Viking wild, And though she blushed and smiled, I was discarded ! Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew s flight, "Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded ? " Scarce had I put to sea, Bearing the maid with me, Fairest of all was she Among the Norsemen ! When on the white-sea strand, Waving his armed hand, Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty horsemen. " Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us ; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us. " And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, Death ! was the helmsman s hail, Death without quarter ! Mid-ships with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel ; Down her black hulk did reel Through the black water ! " As with his wings aslant, Sails the fierce cormorant, Seeking some rocky haunt, With his prey laden ; So toward the open main, Beating to sea again, Through the wild hurricane, Bore I the maiden. " Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to lee-ward ; There for my lady s bower Built the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking sea-ward. " There ^. ed we many years ; Time dried the maiden s tears ; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother ; Death closed her mild blue eyes, Under that tower she lies ; i lall the sun arise ^uch another ! then, j agnant fen ! H me were men, ^ue sun-light hateful ! In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear, 0, death was grateful ! " Thus, seamed with many scars Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended ! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior s soul, Skoal/ to the Northland ! skoal!" Thus the tale ended. * In Scandinavia this is the customary salutation when drinking a health. I have slightly changed u-thography of the word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation. ; THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. IT was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company. THE WHKCK OF THE HESPEIU S. 519 Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blo\v The smoke now West, now South. Then up and spake an old Sail6r, Had sailed the Spanish Main, " I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane. " Last night, the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see!" The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he. Colder and colder blew the wind, A gale from the Korth-east; The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength ; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted stood, Then leaped her cable s length. "Come hither! come hither! 1113^ little daughter, And do not tremble so ; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his seaman s coat Against the stinging blast ; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast, " father ! I hear the church-bells ring, O say, what may it be?" " Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" And he steered for the open sea. loo BALLADS. 11 (.) father ! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be 1 " " Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea ! " " U father ! I see a gleaming light, O say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he. Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be ; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Towards the reef of Norman s Woe. And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land ; It was the sound of the trampling surf, On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. Slip, struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull. Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! T1IK WRKCIC (>K THK .HKSl KUPS, At daybreak, on the bleak sea-bead i, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form, of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast. The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes ; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise. 8ucli was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Kormmi s Woe ! lot BALLAD S. THE LUCK OF EDENHALL. FROM THR GERMAN OF UHl.AND. OF Edenhall, the youthful Lord Bids sound the festal trumpet s call ; He rises at the banquet board, And cries, mid the drunken revellers all, " Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall !" The butler hears the words with pain, The house s oldest seneschal Takes slow from its silken cloth again The drinking glass of crystal tall ; They call it The Luck of Edenhall. Then said the Lord ; " This glass to praise, Fill with red wine from Portugal ! " The gray-beard with trembling hand obeys ; A purple light shines over all, It beams from the Luck of Edenhall. Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light, " This glass of flashing crystal tall Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite ; She wrote in it ; // this glass doth fall, Farewell then, Luck of Edenhall ! " Twas right a goblet the Fate should be Of the joyous race of Edenhall ! Deep draughts drink we right willingly ; And willingly ring, with merry call, Kling ! klang ! to the Luck of Edenhall I" First rings it deep, and full, and mild, Like to the sound of a nightingale ; Then like the roar of a torrent wild ; Then mutters at last like the thunder s The glorious Luck of Edenhall. [fall, "For its keeper takes a race of might, The fragile goblet of crystal tall ; It has lasted longer than is right ; Kling ! klang ! with a harder blow than all Will I try the Luck of Edenhall ! " As the goblet ringing flies apart, Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall ; And, through the rift, the wild flames start ; The guests in dust are scattered all, With the Breaking Luck of Edenhall ! In storms the foe, with fire and sword ; He in the night had scaled the wall, Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, But holds in his hand the crystal tall, The shattered Luck of Edenhall. On the morrow the butler gropes alone, The gray-beard in the desert hall, He seeks his Lord s burnt skeleton, He seeks in the dismal ruin s fall The shards of the Luck of Edenhall. "The stone wall," saithhe, "doth fall aside, Down must the stately columns fall ; Glass is this earth s Luck and Pride ; In atoms shall fall this earthly ball One day like the Luck of Edenhall ! " [The tradition upon which this ballad is founded, and the "shards of the Luck of Edenhall.." still exist in England. The goblet is in the possession of Sir Christopher Musgrave, Bart, of Eden Hall, Cumberland ; ami is not so entirely shattered as the ballad leaves it.] THE ELECTED KNIGHT. FROM THE DANISH. SIR OLUF he rideth over the plain, Full seven miles broad and seven miles wide, [man But never, ah never can meet with the A tilt with him dare ride. He saw under the hill-side A Knight full well equipped ; His steed was black, his helm was barred ; He was riding at full speed. 104 BALLADS. He wore upon his spurs Twelve little golden birds ; Anon he spurred his steed with a clang, And there sat all the birds and sang. He wore upon his mail Twelve little golden wheels ; Anon in eddies the wild wind blew, And round and round the wheels they flew. He wore before his breast A lance that was poised in rest ; And it was sharper than diamond-stone, It made Sir Oluf s heart to groan. He wore upon his helm A wreath of ruddy gold ; And that gave him the Maidens Three, The youngest was fair to behold. Sir Oluf questioned the knight eftsoon If he were come from heaven down ; " Art thou Christ of heaven," quoth he, " So will I yield me unto thee." " I am not Christ the Great, Thou shalt not yield thee yet ; I am an Unknown Knight; Three modest Maidens have me be- dight." " Art thou a Knight elected, And have three Maidens thee be dight ; So shalt thou ride a tilt this day, For all the Maidens honor ! " The first tilt they together rode They put their steeds to the test ; The second tilt they together rode, They proved their manhood best ; The third tilt they together rode, Neither of them would yield ; The fourth tilt they together rode, They both fell on the field. Xow He the lords upon the plain, And their blood runs until death ; Now sit the Maidens in the high tower, The youngest sorrows till death. [This strange and somewhat mystical ballad is from Nyerup and Rahbek s Danske Viser of the Middle Ages. It seems to refer to the first preaching of Christianity in the North, and to the institution of Knight-errantry. The three maidens I suppose to be Faith, Hope, and Charity. The irregularities of the original have beeu carefully preserved in the translation.] [ 105 ] POEMS ON SLAVERY. 1842. [THE following Poems, with one exception, were written at sea, in the latter part of October. I had not then heard of Dr. Channing s death. Since that event the poem addressed to him is no longer appropriate. I have decided, however, to let it remain as it was written, a feeble testimony of my admiration for a great and good man.] TO WILLIAM E. CHAINING. THE pages of thy book I read, And as I closed each one, My heart, responding, ever said, " Servant of God ! well done ! " Well done ! thy words are great and bold; At times they seem to me, Like Luther s, in the days of old, Half-battles for the free. Go on, until this land revokes The old and chartered Lie, The feudal curse, whose whips and yokes Insult humanity. A voice is ever at thy side Speaking in tones of might, Like the prophetic voice, that cried, To John in Patmos, " Write ! " Write ! and tell out this bloody tale ; Record this dire eclipse, This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail, This dread Apocalypse. THE SLAVE S DREAM. BESIDE the imgathcred rice he lay, His sickle in his hand ; His breast was bare, his matted hair Was buried in the sand. Again, in the mist and shadow sleep, He saw his Native Land. of Wide through the landscape of his dreams The lordly Niger flowed ; Beneath the palm-trees on the plain Once more a king he strode ; And heard the tinkling caravans Descend the mountain-road. He saw once more his dark- eyed queen Among her children stand ; They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, They held him by the hand ! A tear burst from the sleeper s lids And fell into the sand. And then at furious speed he rode Along the Niger s bank ; His bridle-reins were golden chains, And, with a martial clank, At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel Smiting his stallion s flank. 106 POEMS ON SLAVERY. Before him, like a blood-red flag, The bright flamingoes flew ; From morn till night he followed their flight, O er plains where the tamarind grew, Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts, And the ocean rose to view. At night he heard the lion roar, And the hyaena scream ; And the river-horse as he crushed the reeds Beside some hidden stream ; And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums Through the triumph of his dream. The forests, with their myriad tongues, Shouted of liberty ; And the blast of the Desert cried aloud, With a voice so wild and free, That he started in his sleep and smiled At their tempestuous glee. He did not feel the driver s whip, Nor the burning heat of day ; For death had illumined the Land of Sleep, And his lifeless body lay A worn-out fetter, that the soul Had broken and thrown away ! THE GOOD PART, THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY. SHE dwells by Great Kenhawa s side, In valleys green and cool ; And all her hope and all her pride Are in the village school. Her soul, like the transparent air That robes the hills above, Though not of earth, encircles there All things with arms of love. And thus she walks among her girls With praise and mild rebukes ; Subduing e en rude village churls By her angelic looks. She reads to them at eventide Of one who came to save ; To cast the captive s chains aside, And liberate the slave. And oft the blessed time foretells When all men shall be free ; And musical, as silver bells, Their falling chains shall be. And following her beloved Lord, In decent poverty, She makes her life one sweet record And deed of charity. For she was rich, and gave up all To break the iron bands Of those who waited in her hall, And laboured in her lands. Long since beyond the Southern sea Their outbound sails have sped, While she, in meek humility, Now earns her daily bread. It is their prayers, which never cease, That clothe her with such grace \ Their blessing is the light of peace That shines upon her face. THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP IN dark fens of the Dismal Swamp The hunted Negro lay ; He saw the fire of the midnight camp, And heard at times a horse s tramp And a bloodhound s distant bay. Where will-o -the-wisps and glowworms^ shine, In bulrush and in brake ; Where waving mosses shroud the pine, And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine Is spotted like the snake ; Where hardly a human 1 foot could pass, Or a human heart would dare, On the quaking turf of the green morass He crouched in the rank and tangled grass, Like a wild beost in his lair. A poor old slave, infirm and lame ; Great scars deformed his face ; On his forehead he bore the brand of shame, And the rags, that hid his mangled frame, Were the livery of disgrace. All things above were bright and fair, All things were glad and free ; Lithe squirrels darted here and there, And wild birds rilled the echoing air With songs of Liberty ! On him alone was the doom of pain, Erom the morning of his birth ; On him alone the curse of Cain Eell, like a flail on the garnered grain, And struck him to the earth ! [ 108 ] THE QUADItOON GIRL. THE slaver in the broad lagoon Lay moored with idle sail ; He waited for the rising moon, And for the evening gale. Under the shore his boat was tied, And all her listless crew Watched the gray alligator slide Into the still bayou. Odors of orange-flowers, and spice, Eeached them from time to time, Like airs that breathe from Paradise Upon a world of crime. The Planter, under his roof of thatch, Smoked thoughtfully and slow ; The Slaver s thumb was on the latch, He seemed in haste to go. He said, " My ship at anchor rides In yonder broad lagoon ; I only wait the evening tides, And the rising of the moon." Eefore them, with her face upraised, In timid attitude, Like one half curious, half amazed, A Quadroon maiden stood. Her eyes were large, and full of light, Her arms and neck were bare ; JS"o garment she wore, save a kir tie bright, And her own long, raven hair. And on her lips there played a smile As holy, meek, and faint, As lights in some cathedral aisle The features of a saint. " The soil is barren, the farm is old The thoughtful Planter said ; Then looked upon the Slaver s gold, And then upon the maid. His heart within him was at strife With such accursed gains ; For he knew whose passions gave her life, Whose blood ran in her veins. But the voice of nature was too weak ; He took the glittering gold ! Then pale as death grew the maiden s cheek, Her hands as icy cold. The Slaver led her from the door, * He led her by the hand, To be his slave and paramour In a strange and distant land ! THE SLAVE SIEGING AT MIDNIGHT. LOUD he sang the Psalm of David He, a Negro, and enslaved, Sang of Israel s victory, Sang of Zion, bright and free. In that hour, when night is calmest, Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist, In a voice so sweet and clear That I could not choose but hear. Songs of triumph, and ascriptions, Such as reached the swart Egyptians, When upon the Eed Sea coast Perished Pharaoh and his host. And the voice of his devotion Filled my soul with strange emotion ; For its tones by turns were glad, Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. Paul and Silas, in their prison, Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen, And an earthquake s arm of might Broke their dungeon-gates at night. But, alas ! what holy angel Brings the Slave this glad evangel ? And what earthquake s arm of might Breaks his dungeon-gates at night ? THE WITNESSES. IN Ocean s wide domains, Half buried in the sands, Lie skeletons in chains, With shackled feet and hands. Beyond the fall of dews, Deeper than plummet lies, Float ships with all their crews, No more to sink nor rise. no POEMS OX SLAVERY. There the black Slave-ship swims, Freighted with human forms, Whose fettered, fleshless limbs Are not the sport of storms. These are the bones of Slaves ; They gleam from the abyss ; They cry, from yawning waves, "We are the Witnesses !" Within Earth s wide domains Are markets for men s lives ; Their necks are galled with chains, Their wrists are cramped with gyves. Dead bodies that the kite In deserts makes its prey ; Murders, that with affright Scare schoolboys from their play ! All evil thoughts and deeds ; Anger, and lust, and pride ; The foulest, rankest weeds, That choke Life s groaning tide ! These are the woes of Slaves ; They glare from the abyss ; They cry from unknown graves, " We are the Witnesses ! " THE WARNING. BEWARE ! The Israelite of old, who tore The lion in his path, when, poor and blind, He saw the blessed light of heaven no more, Shorn of his noble strength and forced to grind In prison, and at last led forth to be A pander to Philistine revelry, Upon the pillars of the temple laid His desperate hands, and in its overthrow Destroyed himself, and with him those who made A cruel mockery of his sightless woe ; The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and jest of all, Expired, and thousands perished in the fall ! There is a poor, blind Samson in this land, Shorn of his strength, and bound in bonds of steel, Who may, in some grim revel, raise his hand, And hake the pillars of this Commonweal, Till the vast Temple of our liberties A shapeless mass of wreck and rubbish lies. SONGS. SEA -WEED. WHEN descends on the Atlantic The gigantic Storm-wind of the equinox, Landward in his wrath he scourges The toiling surges, Laden with sea-weed from the rocks : From Bermuda s reefs ; from edges Of sunken ledges, In some far-off, bright Azore ; From Bahama, and the dashing, Silver-flashing Surges of San Salvador ; From the tumbling surf, that buries The Orkneyan skerries, Answering the hoarse Hebrides ; And from wrecks of ships, and drifting Spars, uplifting On the desolate, rainy seas ; Ever drifting, drifting, drifting On the shifting Currents of the restless main ; Till in sheltered coves and readies Of sandy beaches, All have found repose again. So when storms of wild emotion Strike the ocean Of the poet s soul, ere long From each cave and rocky fastness In its vastness, Floats some fragment of a song : 112 SONGS. From the far-off isles enchanted, Heaven has planted With the golden fruit of Truth ; From the flashing surf, whose vision Gleams Elysian In the tropic clime of Youth ; From the strong Will and the Endeavour That for ever Wrestle with the tides of Fate ; From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered, Tempest-shattered, Floating waste and desolate ; Ever drifting, drifting, drifting On the shifting Currents of the restless heart ; Till at length in books recorded, They, like hoarded Household words, no more depart. TO AN OLD DANISH SONG-BOOK. WELCOME, my old friend, Welcome to a foreign fireside, While the sullen gales of autumn Shake the windows. The ungrateful world Has, it seems, dealt harshly with thee, Since, beneath the skies of Denmark, First I met thee. There are marks of age, There are thumb-marks on thy margin, Made by hands that clasped thee rudely At the alehouse. Soiled and dull thou art ; Yellow are thy time-worn pages, As the russet, rain-molested Leaves of autumn. Thou art stained with wine Scattered from hilarious goblets, As these leaves with the libations Of Olympus. Yet dost thou recall Days departed, half-forgotten, When in dreamy youth I wandered By the Baltic, When I paused to hear The old ballad of King Christian Shouted from suburban taverns In the twilight. Thou recallest bards, Who, in solitary chambers, And with hearts by passion wasted, Wrote thy pages. Thou recallest homes Where thy songs of love and friendship Made the gloomy Northern winter Bright as summer. Once some ancient Scald, In his bleak, ancestral Iceland, Chanted staves of these old ballads To the Vikings. Once in Elsinore, At the court of old King Hamlet, Yorick and his boon companions Sang these ditties. Once Prince Frederick s Guard Sang them in their smoky barracks : Suddenly the English cannon Joined the chorus ! Peasants in the field, Sailors on the roaring ocean, Students, tradesmen, pale mechanics, All have sung them. Thou hast been their friend ; They, alas, have left thee friendless ! Yet at least by one warm fireside Art thoii welcome. And, as swallows build In these wide, old fashioned chimneys, So thy twittering songs shall nestle In my bosom, Quiet, close, and warm, Sheltered from all molestation, And recalling by their voices Youth and travel. THE ARROW AND THE SONG. I 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 know not where ; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song I 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. t 114 ] TP1E DAY IS DONE. THE day is done, and the darkness Falls 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 came 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. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And 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 endeavour ; 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 labour, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY. 115 Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy 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. AFTERNOON THE day is ending, 1 The night is descending ; The marsh is frozen, The river dead. Through clouds like ashes, The red sun flashes On village windows That glimmer red. The snow recommences : The buried fences Mark no longer The road o er the plain ; FEBRUARY. While through the meadows, Like fearful shadows, Slowly passes A funeral train. The bell is pealing, And every feeling Within me responds To the dismal knell ; Shadows are trailing, My heart is bewailing. And tolling within Like a funeral bell. WALTER VON DEE VOGELWEID. 1 VOGELWEID tlie Minnesinger, When lie left this world of ours, Laid his body in the cloister, Under Wurtzburg s minster towers. And lie gave the monks his treasures, Gave them all with this behest : They should feed the birds at noontide Daily on his place of rest ; Saying, "From these wandering minstrels I have learned the art of song ; Let me now repay the lessons They have taught so well and long." Thus the bard of love departed ; And, fulfilling his desire, On his tomb the birds were feasted By the children of the choir. Pay by day, o ? er tower and turret, In foul weather and in fair, Day by day, in vaster numbers, Flocked the poets of the air. On the tree whose heavy branches Overshadowed all the place, On the pavement, on the tombstone, On the poet s sculptured face, On the cross-bars of each window, On the lintel of each door, They renewed the War of Wartburg, Which the bard had fought before. There they sang their merry carols, Sang their lauds on every side ; And the name their voices uttered Was the name of Vogelweid. Till at length the portly abbot Murmured, "Why this waste of food? Be it changed to leaves henceforward For our fasting brotherhood." Then in vain o er tower and turret, From the walls and woodland nests, When the minster bell rang noontide, Gathered the unwelcome guests. Then in vain, with cries discordant, Clamorous round the Gothic spire, Screamed the feathered Minnesingers For the children of the choir. Time has long effaced the inscriptions On the cloister s funeral stones, And tradition only tells us Where repose the poet s bones. But around the vast cathedral, By sweet echoes multiplied, Still the birds repeat the legend, And the name of Vogelweid. (1) Walter von der Vogelweid, or Bird-Meadow, was one of the principal Minnesingers of the thirteenth century. He triumphed over Heinrich von Ofterdingen in that poetic contest at Wartburg Castle known in literary history as the War of Wartburg. DBINKJNG SO^G. INSCRIPTION FOR AN ANTIQUE PITCHER. COME, old friend ! sit down and listen ! From the pitcher placed between us, How the waters laugh and glisten In the head of old Sileiius ; Old Silenus, bloated, drunken, Led by his inebriate Satyrs ; On his breast his head is sunken, Vacantly he leers and chatters. Fauns with youthful Bacchus follow ; Ivy crowns that brow supernal As the forehead of Apollo, And possessing youth eternal. Eound about him, fair Bacchantes, Bearing cymbals, flutes, and thyrses, AVild from Xaxian groves, or Zante s Vineyards, sing delirious verses. 118 SONGS. Thus lie won, through all the nations, Bloodless victories, and the farmer 13ore, as trophies and oblations, Vines for banners, ploughs for armour. Judged by no o er-zealous rigor Much this mystic throng expresses ; Bacchus was the type of vigor, And Silenus of excesses. These are ancient ethnic revels, Of a faith long since forsaken : Now the Satyrs, changed to devils, Frighten mortals wine-o ertaken. Now to rivulets from the mountains Point the rods of fortune-tellers ; Youth perpetual dwells in fountains, Not in flasks, and casks, and cellars. Claudius, though he sang of flagons And huge tankards filled with Ehenish, From that fiery blood of dragons Never would his own replenish. Even Eedi, though he chaunted Bacchus in the Tuscan valleys, Never drank the wine he vaunted In his dithyrambic sallies. Then with water fill the pitcher Wreathed about with classic fables ; Ne er Falernian threw a richer Light upon Lucullus tables. Come, old friend, sit down and listen ! As it passes thus between us, How its wavelets laugh and glisten In the head of old Silenus ! THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. L eternite est une pendule, dont le balancier dit et redit sans cesse ces deux mots seulement, dans le silence des tombeuux: "Toujours! jamais ! Jamais! toujours ! "JACQUES BRIDAINE. SOMEWHAT back from the village street Stands the old-fashioned country seat ; Across its antique portico Tall poplar trees their shadows throw, And from its station in the hall An ancient timepiece says to all, " Forever never ! Never forever ! " Halfway 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, Crosses himself, and sighs alas ! With sorrowful voice to all who pass, " Forever never ! Never forever ! " By day its voice is low and light ; But in 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 ; 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 ; precious hours ! 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 There, in that silent room below, [night ; 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 !" All are scattered now and fled, Some are married, some are dead ; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, "Ah ! when shall they all meet again ?" As in the days 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 ! " SONNETS. AUTUMN, THOU comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, With banners, by great gales incessant fanned, DANTE. 1-21 Brighter than brightest silks of Sainarcand, And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain ! Thou standest like imperial Charlemagne, 1 Upon thy bridge of gold ; thy royal hand Outstretched with benedictions o er the land, .Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain. Thy shield is the red harvest moon suspended So long beneath the heaven s o erhanging eaves ; Thy steps arc by the farmer s prayers attended; Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves ; And following tliee, in thy ovation splendid, Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves ! DANTE. TUSCAN, that wanderest through the realms of gloom, With thoughtful pace, and sad majestic eyes, Stern thoughts and awful from thy soul arise, Like Farinata from his fiery tomb, Thy sacred song is like the trump of doom ; Yet in thy heart what human sympathies, What soft compassion glows, as in the skies The tender stars their clouded lamps relume ! Methinks I see thee stand, with pallid cheeks, By Era Hilario in his diocese, As up the convent-walls, in golden streaks, The ascending sunbeams mark the day s decrease ; And, as he asks what there the stranger seeks, Thy voice along the cloisters whispers, "Peace!"- (1) Charlemagne may be called by pre-eminence the monarch of farmers. According to the German tradition, in seasons of great abundance his spirit crosses the Rhine on a golden bridge at Bingen, and blesses the cornfields and Ilie vineyards. THE EVEXING STAR. Lo ! in the painted oriel of the West, Whose panes the sunken sun incarnadines, Like a fair lady at her casement, shines The Evening Star, the star of love and rest ! And then anon she doth herself divest Of all her radiant garments, and reclines Behind the sombre screen of yonder pines, With slumber and soft dreams of love oppressed, my beloved, my sweet Hesperus ! My morning and my evening star of love ! My best and gentlest lady ! even thus, As that fair planet in the sky above, Dost thou retire unto thy rest at night, And from thy darkened window fades the li<*ht. T24 ] PREFATORY NOTE. THE story of "EVANGELINE" is founded on a painful occurrence which took place in the early period of British colonization in tha northern part of America. In the year 1713, Acadia, or as it is now named, Nova Scotia, was ceded to Great Britain by the French. The wishes of the inhabitants seem to have been little consulted in the change, and they with great difficulty were induced to taka the oaths of allegiance to the British government. Some time after this, war having again broken out between the French and British in Canada, the Acadiens were accused of having assisted the French, from whom they were descended, and connected by many ties of friendship, with provisions and ammunition, at the siege of Beau Sejour. Whether the accusation was founded on fact or not, has not been satisfactorily ascertained ; the result, however, was most disastrous to the primitive, simple minded Acadians. The British government ordered them to be removed from their homes, and dispersed throughout the other colonies, at a distance from their much-loved land. Tliis resolution was not communicated to the inhabitants till measures had been matured to carry it into immediate effect ; when the Governor of the colony, having issued a summons calling the whole people to a meeting, informed them that their lands, tenements, and cattle of all kinds were forfeited to the British crown, that he had orders to remove them in vessels to distant colonies, and they must remain in custody till their embarkation. Tha poem is descriptive of the fate of some of the persons involved in these calamitous proceedings. THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring 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 neighbouring 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 woodland the voice of the huntsman ? Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers, Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven 1 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 the ocean. Nought but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-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. 1. IN 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 seasons 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 unfericed o er the plain, and away to the northward Elomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic Looked on the happy valley, but ne er from their station descended. There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village. Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut, 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 door-way. 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 shuttles within doors Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maiden* 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 thorn ; and up rose matrons and maidens. EVANGELINE, Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate 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 Angelas sounded, and over the roofs of the village Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending, Hose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment. Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers, 1-27 Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from .Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the voice of republics. Neither locks had tliey 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 Basin of Minas, Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest former of Grand-Pro, 128 EVANGELINE. Dwelt on liis goodly acres ; and with him, directing his household, Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village. Stalwart 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 %es as the berry that grows on the thorn by the way-side, 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, E VANG ELI NE. 129 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 witli God s benediction upon her. When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ; and a shady Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it. Eudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; and a footpatli Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow. Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse, Such as a traveller sees in regions remote by the road-side, 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-yan 1 There stood the broad- wheeled wains, and the antique ploughs and the harrows 130 EVAXGELIXE. 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 irmia: - Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the variant breezes Xumberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation. Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pre Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. Many a youth, as he knelt in church and opened his missal. Fixed his 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 footstep-. 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 Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith, Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men ; For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations, 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 Felician. Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters Out of the self-same 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 a cart-wheel Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders. Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice, Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring 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 on sledges in winter, as swift as tlu swoop of the eagle, Down the hill-side bounding, they glided away o er the meadow. Oft in the barns 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, Filling it full of love and the ruddv faces of children. EVANGELINE. IT. 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 ice-bound, 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 inclement. 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 childhood. Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless 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 ; 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 affection and stillness. Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight 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 beautiful 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 sea-side, Where was their favourite 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 ; their protector, When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves howled. Late, with the rising moon, 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 ponderous saddles, Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels 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 descended. Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard, Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness ; Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors, Battled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fire-place, idly the 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, Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic, EVANGELINE. 135 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 nickering light, and the pewter plates on the dresser ( aught 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 Burgundian vineyards. Close at her father s side was the gentle Evangeline seated, Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her. Silent awhile 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 fragments together. As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases, Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or \vords of the priest at the altar, So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked. Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted, Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges. Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith, And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him. " Welcome ! " the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps 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 Belief ontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad ! Ever in cheerfulest mood art thou, when others are filled with Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe." Pausing a moment, to take the pipe Evangeline brought him, And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued : " Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors Ride in the Gaspereau s mouth, with their cannon 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 meantime 136 EVANGELINE. 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 harvest in England By the untimely rains or untimelier 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 Beau 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 ; Xothing 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 dykes, besieged by the ocean, Than were our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy 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, breaking the glebe round about them, Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth. Iv^ne Leblanc will we here anon, with his papers and inkhorn. Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children I " 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, Bent but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public ; Shocks of yellow hairs, 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 lie, 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 chambers 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, And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover 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, and slowly extending his right hand, " Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, " thou hast heard the talk in the village, And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand/ Then 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 1 " 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, that often consoled me, When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal." EVANGELINE. 139 This was the old man s favorite 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 justice 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 Euled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman s palace That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long 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. As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, Lo ! o er the city a tempest arose ; 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 blacksmith Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth 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. v| 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 Grand-Pre ; While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and ink-horn, 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 things proceeded, and duly and well were completed, And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. Then from his leathern pouch the farmer 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, 14U EVANGELIXE. While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre, Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row. Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window 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 passed the evening away. Anon the bell from the belfry Rang 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 the 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 through 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 Evangeline 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 Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean. Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with Xaked 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 Eorth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps, As out of Abraham s tent young Tshmael wandered with Hagar ! yfr IV. PLEASANTLY rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pro. 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 clamorous labor Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. Now from the country around, from the farms and the 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 numerous 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 gossipped together. Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted ; For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together, All things were held in common, and what one had was another s. 142 EVANGELINE. Yet under Benedict s roof hospitality seemed more abundant : For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father ; 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, Bending with golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal. There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated ; There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith. Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press 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. Gaily the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, Tons les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dunkerque, ft* And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows ; Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them. Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict s daughter ! Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith ! So passed the morning away. And lo ! with a summons sonorous, Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat. Thronged ere long was tlie church with men. Without, in the churchyard, AVaited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the head-stones Garlands of autumn leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant 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 from 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. EVANGELINF, 1 .j , Clement and kind has lie 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 your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds, Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves 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 Majesty 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 wonder, and then ipse Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and ano-er, r> ) 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 Eose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith, As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; and wildly he shouted, "Down with the 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 angry contention, Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar, liaising 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, Not 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 ? 146 EVANGELINE. 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 you ! See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion ! Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, * Father, forgive them ! Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, Let us repeat it now, and say, Father, forgive them !" ! Few were his words, of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded that passionate outbreak ; And they repeated his prayer, and said, "0 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 fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion translated, Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children. Long at her father s door Evangeline stood, with her right hand Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, descending, Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, and roofed each Peasant s cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its windows. Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table ; There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant 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 celestial ascended, Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience ! Then, all forgetful of self, she wandered into the village, Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate hearts of the women, As o er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed, 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 descending 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, until, 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 stood the supper untasted, Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phantoms of terror. 148 EYANGELINE. Sadly echoed licr step on the stair and the floor of her chamber. In the dead of the night she heard the whispering rain fall Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by the window. Keenly the lightning flashed y and the voice of the echoing thunder Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created ! Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of heaven ; Soothed was her trembled soul, and she peacefully slumbered till morning. V. FOUR times the sun had risen and set ; and now on the fifth day Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house. Soon o er the yellow fields, 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 children ran, and urged on their oxen, AVliile in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings. EVAtfGELINE. 140 Thus to the Gaspereau s mouth they hurried ; and there on the sea-beach Piled in confusion 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. Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting, Echoing far o er the fields came the roll of drums from the church -yard. 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, Acadian 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 way-worn, 80 with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended .Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their daughters. Eoremost the young men came ; and, raising together their voices, Sang they with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Missions : " Sacred heart of the Saviour ! inexhaustible fountain ! Eill our hearts this day with strength and submission and patience ! " Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the way-side, 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, Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of affliction, Calmly and sadly 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 011 his shoulder, and whispered, " Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one another, Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances 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 lire from his eye, and his footstep Heavier seemed with the weight of the weary 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 confusion Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their children 150 EVANGELINE. 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 waifs 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 gipsy 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 bellowing ocean, Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the sailors. Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures ; Sweet was the 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, Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milkmaid. Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church no Angelus sounded, Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights from the windows. But on the shore 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, and 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 blessing and cheering, Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita s desolate sea-shore. Thus he approached the place where Evangeline 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 flickering fire-light. " Benedicite ! " murmured the priest, in tones of compassion. More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, and his accents Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child en the 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, Eaising his eyes, full of tears, to the silent stars that above them Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sorrows of mortals. Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silence. Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in 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, EVANGELINE, 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 mart y r Then as the winds seized the gleeds and the burning thatch, and, uplifting, Whirled 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 ship-board. Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, " We shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand-Pre ! " Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm-yards, Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the lowing 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 ; 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 compassion. 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 wavering 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, EVANGELINE. Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the church-yard." Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the sea-side, Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches, But without bell or book, they buried the fanner of Grand-Pre. And as the voice of the priest repeated the service 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. Twas 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 that tide the ships sailed out of the harbor, Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. . PART THE SECOND. I. MANY a weary year liad passed since the burning of Grand-Pre, When on the tailing tide the freighted vessels departed, EVANGELIC. 155 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 north-east 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 Southern 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 ocean, Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mammoth. Friends they sought and homes ; and many, despairing, heart-broken, 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 church-yards. Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things. 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 lon^ 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, imperfect, 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 fever within her, Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit, She would commence again her endless search and endeavor ; Sometimes in church-yards 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 her 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 forgotten. " Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others ; " O, yes ! we have seen him. He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone to the prairies ; Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers." " Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others ; " O, yes ! we have seen him. He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana." 15(3 EVANGELINE. Then would tliey say, " Dear child ! why dream and wait for him longer? Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel ? 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 ! Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine s tresses." Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, " I cannot ! Whither my heart has 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." And thereupon the priest, her friend and father-confessor, Said, with a smile, " 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 spring, 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 endurance 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, Evangeline labored and waited. Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean, 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, 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 : Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals only ; Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it, Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur ; Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it reaches an outlet. n. IT was the month, of May. Far down the Beautiful Eiver, Past the 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 shipwrecked 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 Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father Felician. Onward o er sunken sands, through a wilderness sombre with forests, Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river ; Xight after night, by their blazing fires, encamped on its borders. 15$ EVANGELINK. 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. 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, entering 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 walls 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 demoniac laughter. Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water, Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sustaining 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, 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 Evangeline s heart was sustained by a vision, that faintly Floated 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 the shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered 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 peradventure Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle. Wild through the dark 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 distance, Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant 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. 160 EVANGELINE. And through the night were heard the mysterious 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 grini alligator. Thus ere another noon they emerged from those shades ; and before them Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya. Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations 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 sylvan islands, Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges of roses, 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 boat was moored ; and scattered about on the greensward, Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers 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 Evangeline saw as she slumbered beneath it. Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial. Nearer and 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 hunters and trappers. Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison and beaver. 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, unhappy 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 concealed in the willows, And undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the sleepers ; Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden. KVANGELINE. i 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," Father Felician ! Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders. Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition ? Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit i " Then, with a blush, she added, "Alas for my credulous fancy ! Unto ears like thine 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 tossing 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 long- 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 feet 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." And with these words of cheer they arose and continued their journey Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his 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 frenzied Bacchantes. Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation ; lfj-2 EVANGEL1NK. Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on 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 neighboring dwelling ; Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle. III. to the bank of the river, shadowed by oaks, from whose branches Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted, Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yule-tide, Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms, Filling 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 spacious veranda, Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it. At each, end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden, Stationed the dove-cots were, as love s perpetual symbol, Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of rivals. Silence reigned o er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine Kan near the tops of the trees ; but the house itself was in 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 Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master. 1U4 KVANGFJJXF, Round about liim were numberless herds of kine, tliat were grazing Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory 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 Hakes 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 recognised Basil the blacksmith. Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden. There in an arbour 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, somewhat embarrassed, Broke the silence and said, " If you came by the great 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 erburdened 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, Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his 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; Ke is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against him. Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the morning We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his prison." Then glad voices Were heard, and np 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 then dispensing music to mortals. 166 KVANGELINR 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 Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting 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 mothers and daughters. Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant blacksmith, All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanour ; 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 airy 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 landscape 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 Poured forth his heart and 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 : "Welcome once more, my friends, who so long have been friendless and homeless Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance 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 blossom \ and grass grows More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer. Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies ; Here, too, lands 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, Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and your cattle." Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils, And his huge brawny hand came thundering down on the table, So that the guests all started ; and Father Felician, 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 ! For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate, 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 neighbouring 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 melodious fiddle, Broke up all further speech. Away, like children delighted, All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the maddening Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music, Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments. Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman Sat, conversing together of past and present and future ; While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible 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. Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews, Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings, As, through the garden gate, beneath the brown shade of the oak-trees, Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie. EVANGEL1NE. lt!9 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 ! my beloved ! Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee 1 Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me 1 Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie ! Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me ! Ah ! 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 whippoorwill 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 ; And, 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 bairn that they bore in their vases of crystal. " Farewell ! " said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold ; " See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine, And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was coming." " Farewell !" answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil descended Down to the river s brink, where the boatmen already were waiting. 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 over 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 Kumors 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. z 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 emigrant s wagon, Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and the Owyhee. 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, descend to the ocean, Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations. Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies, Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine, Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas. Over them wander the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roebuck ; Over them wander the wolves, and herds of riderless horses ; Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are Aveary with travel ; Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael s children, v 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, 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 brook-side, 172 KYANUKLINK. 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 trappers 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. 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 warmest and 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, Worn 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 fire-light 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 Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another 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 suffered was near her, She in turn related her love and all its disasters. 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 fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom, That, through the pines o er her father s lodge, in the hush of the twili^lit, Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden, Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest, And never more returned, nor was seen again by her people. Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline 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 Avith 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 174 KVANGEIJXK. " That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom. And with this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished. Early upon the morrow the march was resumed ; and the Shawnee Said, as they journeyed along, " On the western slope of these mountains 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." Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline 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, And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a river, Saw 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 vespers, Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches. Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching, Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions. But w r hen the service was done, and the benediction had fallen Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the sower, Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, 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 continued 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, When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission." E VANG ELI NE. US Then Evangeliiie 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 companion, Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeliiie 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 ahove her, Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged 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 corn-field. Even the blood-red ear to Evangeliiie brought not her lover. "Patience ! "the priest would say ; "have faith and thy prayer will be answered ! Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head from the meadow, See how its leaves all point to the north, as true as the magnet ; It is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has suspended Here on its fragile stalk, to direct the traveller 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 winter, yet Gabriel came not ; Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and blue-bird 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 Saginaw river. And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence, Saying a sad farewell, Evangeliiie went from the Mission. When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches, She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests, Found she the hunter s lodge deserted and fallen to ruin ! 17<i EVA.NGELINE. 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 unremembered . 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 beauty, Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow. Then there appeared and spread faint 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. V. IN 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 reecho 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 Evangeliiie 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 descendants. 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 country, Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters. So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavour, Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncomplaining, 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 Pcoll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us, Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and hamlets, So fell the mists 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 ; 178 EVANGEL IKE. 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 odorous spices, 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. IsTio-ht 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 day, 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 nought in their craws but an acorn. And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow, So death flooded life, and, o erflowing 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 poor, 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 Into whose shining gates ere long their spirits would enter. KVANGEL1NE. 179 Thus., on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and silent, Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. 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 meadows 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 chambers 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 concealing their faces, Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the road-side. Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline 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 for ever. 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, Avhile a shudder Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets 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 such 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 moment Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood ; 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 besprinkled 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, for ever 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 ! 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. EVANGELINE, 1SI Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly be lifted his eyelids, Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside. 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 Evangeline, kneeling 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 the 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 !" STILL stands the forest primeval ; but far away from its shadow, Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. Under the humble walls of the little Catholic church-yard, 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 for ever, 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 completed their journey ! Still stands the forest primeval \ but under the shade of its branches Dwells another race, with other customs and language. Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile 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 fire repeat Evangeline s story, While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. 182 ] THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE. DEDICATION. As one who, walking in the twilight gloom, Hears round about him voices as it darkens, And seeing not the forms from which they come, Pauses from time to time, and turns and hearkens ; So, walking here in twilight, my friends ! I hear your voices, softened by the distance, And pause, and turn to listen, as each sends His words of friendship, comfort, and assist- If any thought of mine, or sung or told, Has ever given delight or consolation, Ye have repaid me back a thousand fold, By every friendly sign and salutation. Thanks for the sympathies that ye have shown ! Thanks for each kindly w r ord, each silent token, That teaches me, when seeming most alone, Friends are around us, though no word be spoken. Kind messages, that pass from land to land ; Kind letters, that betray the heart s deep history, In which we feel the pressure of a hand, One touch of fire, and all the rest is mystery ! The pleasant books, that silently among Our household treasures take familiar places, And are to us as if a living tongue Spake from the printed leaves or picture faces ! Perhaps on earth I never shall behold, With eye of sense, your outward form and semblance ; Therefore to me ye never will grow old, But live for ever young in my remembrance. Never grow old, nor change, nor pass away ! Your gentle voices will flow on for ever, When life grows bare and tarnished with decay, As through a leafless landscape flows a river. Not chance of birth or place has made us friends, Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations, But the endeavour for the selfsame ends, With the same hopes, and fears, and aspira tions. Therefore I hope to join your seaside walk, Saddened, and mostly silent, with emotion ; Not interrupting with intrusive talk The grand, majestic symphonies of ocean. Therefore I hope, as no unwelcome guest, At your warm fireside, when the lamps are lighted, To have my place reserved among the rest, Nor stand as one unsought and uninvited ! I BY THE SEASIDE. THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. " BUILD me straight, worthy Master ! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave & whirlwind wrestle ! " The merchant s word Delighted the Master heard ; For his heart was in his work, and the heart Giveth grace unto every Art. A quiet smile played round his lips, As the eddies and dimples 1 of the tide Play round the bows of ships, That steadily at anchor ride. And with a voice that was full of glee, He answered, "Ere long we will launch A vessel as goodly, and strong, and staunch, As ever weathered a wintry sea ! " And first with nicest skill and art, Perfect and finished in every part, A little model the Master wrought, Which should be to the larger plan What the child is to the man, Its counterpart in miniature ; That with a hand more swift and sure The greater labor might be brought To answer to his inward thought. And as he labored, his mind ran o er 184 BY THE SEASIDE. The various ships that were built of yore, And above them all, and strangest of all, Towered the Great Harry, crank and tall, Whose picture was hanging on the wall, With bows and stern raised high in air, And balconies hanging here and there, And signal lanterns and flags afloat, And eight round towers, like those that frown From some old castle, looking down Upon the drawbridge and the moat. And he said with a smile, " Our ship, I wis, Shall be of another form than this ! " It was of another form, indeed ; Built for freight, and yet for speed, A beautiful and gallant craft ; Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast, Pressing down upon sail and mast, Might not the sharp bows overwhelm ; Broad in the beam, but sloping aft With graceful curve and slow degrees, That she might be docile to the helm, And that the currents of parted seas, Closing behind, with mighty force, Might aid and not impede her course. In the ship-yard stood the Master, With the model of the vessel, That should laugh at all disaster, And with wave & whirlwind wrestle ! Covering many a rood of ground, Lay the timber piled around ; Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak, And scattered here and there, with these, The knarred and crooked cedar knees ; Brought from regions far away, From Pascagoula s sunny bay, And the banks of the roaring Roanoke ! Ah ! what a wondrous thing it is To note how many wheels of toil One thought, one word, can set in motion ! There s not a ship that sails the ocean, But every climate, every soil, Must bring its tribute, great or small, And help to build the wooden wall ! The sun was rising o er the sea, And long the level shadows lay, As if they, too, the beams would be Of some great, airy argosy, Framed and launched in a single day. That silent architect, the sun, Had hewn and laid them every one, Ere the work of man was yet begun. Beside the Master, when he spoke, A youth, against an anchor leaning, Listened, to catch his slightest meaning. Only the long waves, as they broke In ripples on the pebbly beach, Interrupted the old man s speech. Beautiful they were, in sooth, The old man and the fiery youth ! The old man, in whose busy brain Many a ship that sailed the main Was modelled o er and o er again ; The fiery youth, who was to be The heir of his dexterity, The heir of his house, and his daughter s hand, When he had built and launched from land What the elder head had planned. "Thus," saidhe, "will we build this ship ! Lay square the blocks upon the slip, And follow well this plan of mine. Choose the timbers with greatest care ; Of all that is unsound beware ; THE BI lLDINU OF THK SHIP. 185 For only what is sound and strong To this vessel shall belong. Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine Here together shall combine. A goodly frame, and a goodly fame, And the UNION be her name ! For the day that gives her to the sea Shall give my daughter unto thee ! " The Master s word Enraptured the young man heard ; And as he turned his face aside, With a look of joy and a thrill of pride, Standing before Her father s door, He saw the form of his promised bride. The sun shone on her golden hair, And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair, With the breath of morn and the soft sea-air. Like a beauteous barge was she, Still at rest on the sandy beach, Just beyond the billow s reach ; But he Was the restless, seething, stormy sea ! Ah, how skilful grows the hand That obeyeth Love s command ! It is the heart and not the brain That to the highest doth attain, And he who folio weth Love s behest Far exceedeth all the rest ! Thus with the rising of the sun Was the noble task begun, And soon throughout the ship-yard s bounds Were heard the intermingled sounds Of axes and of mallets, plied With vigorous arms on every side ; Plied so deftly and so well, That, ere the shadows of evening fell, The keel pf oak for a noble ship, Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong, Was lying ready, and stretched along The blocks, well placed upon the slip. Happy, thrice happy, every one Who sees his labor well begun, And not perplexed and multiplied, By idly waiting for time and tide ! And when the hot, long day was o er, The young man at the Master s door Sat with the maiden calm and still. And within the porch, a little more Removed beyond the evening chill, The father sat, and told them tales Of wrecks in the great September gales, Of pirates upon the Spanish Main, And ships that never came back again, The chance and change of a sailor s life, Want and plenty, rest and strife, His roving fancy, like the wind, That nothing can stay and nothing can bind, And the magic charm of foreign lands, With shadows of palms, and shining sands, Where the tumbling surf, O er the coral reefs of Madagascar, Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar, As he lies alone and asleep on the turf. And the trembling maiden held her breath At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea, With all its terror and mystery, The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death, That divides and yet unites mankind ! And whenever the old man paused, a gleam From the bowl of his pipe would awhile illume The silent group in the twilight gloom, And thoughtful faces, as in a dream ; BY THK SEASIDE. And for a moment one might m^rk What had been hidden by the dark, That the head of the maiden lay at rest, Tenderly, on the young man s breast ! Day by day the vessel grew, With timbers fashioned strong and true, Stemson and keelson and sternson-knee, Till, framed with perfect symmetry, A skeleton ship rose up to view ; And around the bows and along the side The heavy hammers and mallets plied, Till after many a week, at length, Wonderful for form and strength, Sublime in its enormous bulk, Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk ! And around it columns of smoke, up- wreathing. Eose from the boiling, bubbling, seething Caldron, that glowed, And overflowed With the black tar, heated for the sheathing. And amid the clamors Of clattering hammers, He who listened heard now and then The song of the Master and his men : " Build me straight, worthy Master, Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle." With oaken brace and copper band, Lay the rudder on the sand, That, like a thought, should have control Over the movement of the whole ; And near it the anchor, whose giant hand Would reach down and grapple with the land, And immovable and fast Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast ! And at the bows an image stood, By a cunning artist carved in wood, With robes of white, that far behind Seemed to be fluttering in the wind. It was not shaped in a classic mould, Not like a Nymph or Goddess of old, Or Naiad rising from the water, But modelled from the Master s daughter ! On many a dreary and misty night, Twill be seen by the rays of the signal light, Speeding along through the rain and the dark, Like a ghost in its snow-white sark, The pilot of some phantom bark, Guiding the vessel, in its flight, By a path none other knows aright ! Behold, at last,* Each tall and tapering mast Is swung into its place ; Shrouds and stays Holding it firm and fast ! Long ago, In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, When upon mountain and plain Lay the snow, * Vessels are sometimes, though not usually, launched fully rigged. I have availed myself of the exception as better suited to my purposes than the general rule ; but the reader will see by the following extract of a letter from a friend in Portland, Maine, that it is neither a blunder nor a poetic licence. "In this State, and also, I am told, in New York, ships are sometimes rigged upon the stocks, in order to save time, or to make a show. There was a fine, large ship launched last summer at Ellsworth, fully rigged and sparred. Some years ago a ship was launched here, with her rigging, spars, sails, and cargo aboard. She sailed the next day, and was never heard of again ! I hope this will not be the fate of your poem ! " THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 187 They fell, those lordly pines ! Those grand, majestic pines ! Mid shouts and cheers The jaded steers, Panting beneath the goad, Dragged down the weary, winding road Those captive kings so straight and tall, To be shorn of their streaming hair, And, naked and bare, To feel the stress and the strain Of the wind and the reeling main, "Whose roar Would remind them for evermore Of their native forests they should not see again. And everywhere The slender, graceful spars Poise aloft in the air, And at the mast head, White, blue, and red, A flag unrolls the stripes and stars. Ah ! when the wanderer, lonely, friend less, In foreign harbors shall behold That flag unrolled, Twill be as a friendly hand Stretched out from his native land, Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless ! All is finished ! and at length Has come the bridal day Of beauty and of strength, To-day the vessel shall be launched ! With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched, And o er the bay, Slowly, in all his splendors dight, The great sun rises to behold the sight. The ocean old, Centuries old, Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, Paces restless to and fro, Up arid down the sands of gold. His beating heart is not at rest ; And far and wide, With ceaseless flow, His beard of snow Heaves with the heaving of his breast. He waits impatient for his bride. There she stands, With her foot upon the sands, Decked with flags and streamers gay, In honor of her marriage day, Her snow-white signals fluttering, blend ing, Round her like a vale descending, Ready to be The bride of the gray, old sea. On the deck another bride Is standing by her lover s side. Shadows from the flags and shrouds, Like the shadows cast by clouds, Broken by many a sunny fleck, Fall around them on the deck. The prayer is said, The service read, The joyous bridegroom bows his head ; And in tears the good old Master Shakes the brown hand of his son, Kisses his daughter s glowing cheek In silence, for he cannot speak, And ever faster Down his own the tears begin to run. The worthy pastor The shepherd of that wandering flock, That has the ocean for its wold, That has the vessel for its fold, Leaping ever from rock to rock Spake, with accents mild and clear, "Words of warning, words of cheer, But tedious to the bridegroom s ear.- 188 BY THE SEASIDE. He knew the chart Of the sailor s heart, All its pleasures and its griefs, All its shallows and rocky reefs, All those secret currents, that flow With such resistless undertow, And lift and drift, with terrible force, The will from its moorings and its course. Therefore he spake, and thus said he : " Like unto ships far off at sea, Outward or homeward bound, are we. Before, behind, and all around, Floats and swings the horizon s bound, Seems at its distant rim to rise And climb the crystal wall of the skies, And then again to turn and sink, As if we could slide from its outer brink. Ah ! it is not the sea, It is not the sea that sinks and shelves, But ourselves That rock and rise With endless and uneasy motion, Now touching the very skies, Now sinking into the depths of ocean. Ah ! if our souls but poise and swing Like the compass in its brazen ring, Ever level and ever true To the toil and the task we have to do, We shall sail securely, and safely reach The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach The sights we see, and the sounds we hear, Will be those of joy and not of fear ! " Then the Master, With a gesture of command, Waved his hand ; And at the word, Loud and sudden there was heard, All around them and below, The sound of hammers, blow on blow, Knocking away the shores and spurs. And see ! she stirs ! She starts, she moves, she seems to feel The thrill of life along her keel, And, spurning with her foot the ground, With one exulting, joyous bound, She leaps into the ocean s arms ! And lo ! from the assembled crowd There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, That to the ocean seemed to say, "Take her, bridegroom, old and gray, Take her to thy protecting arms, With all her youth and all her charms ! " How beautiful she is ! How fair She lies within those arms, that press Her form within many a soft caress Of tenderness and watchful care ! Sail forth into the sea, ship ! Through wind and wave, right onward steer ! The moistened eye, the trembling lip, Are not the signs of doubt or fear. Sail forth into the sea of life, gentle, loving, trusting wife, And safe from all adversity Upon the bosom of that sea Thy comings and thy goings be ! For gentleness and love and trust Prevail o er angry wave and gust ; And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives ! Thou, too, sail on, Ship of State ! Sail on, UNION, strong and great ! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! We know what Master laid thy keel, THE SECKET OF THE SEA. 189 What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! Fear not each sudden sound and shock, Tis of the wave and not the rock ; Tis but the napping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale ! In spite of rock and tempest s roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o er our fears, Are all with thee, are all with thee ! THE SECKET OF THE SEA.. AH ! what pleasant visions haunt 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 the long waves on a sea-beach, Where the sand as silver shines, 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 soul was full of longing, And he cried, Math 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 1 Only those who brave its dangers Comprehend its mystery ! " In each sail that skims the horizon, In each landward-blowing breeze, 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. [ 190 ] SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT.* SOUTHWARD with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death ; Wild and fast blew the blast, And the east-wind was his breath. His lordly ships of ice Glistened in the sun ; On each side, like pennons wide, Flashing crystal streamlets run. His sails of white sea-mist Dripped with silver rain ; But where he passed there were cast Leaden shadows o er the main. Eastward from Campobello Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed ; Three days or more seaward he bore, Then, alas ! the land-wind failed. Alas ! the land-wind failed, And ice-cold grew the night ; And never more, on sea or shore, Should Sir Humphrey see the light. He sat upon the deck, The Book was in his hand ; "Do not fear ! Heaven is as near/ He said, " by water as by land ! " In the first watch of the night, Without a signal s sound, Out of the sea, mysteriously, The fleet of Death rose all around. The moon and the evening star Were hanging in the shrouds ; Every mast, as it passed, Seemed to rake the passing clouds. They grappled with their prize, At midnight black and cold ! As of a rock was the shock ; Heavily the ground-swell rolled. Southward through day and dark, They drift in close embrace, With mist and rain, to the Spanish Main ; Yet there seems 110 change of place. Southward, for ever southward, They drift through dark and day ; And like a dream, in the Gulf-Stream Sinking, vanish all away. * "When the wind abated and the vessels were near enough, the Admiral was seen constantly sitting in the stern, with a book in his hand. On the 9th of September he was seen for the last time, and was heard by the people of the Hind to say, We are as near heaven by sea as by land. In the following night, the lights of the ship suddenly disappeared. The people in the other vessel kept a good look-out for him dunng the remainder of the voyage. On the 22d of September they arrived, through much tempest and peril at Falmouth. But nothing more was seen or heard of the Admiral." BELKNAP S American Biography, i. 203. TWILIGHT. THE twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps of the sea. But in the fisherman s cottage There shines a ruddier light, And a "little face at the window Peers out into the night. Close, close it is pressed to the window, As if those childish eyes Were looking into the darkness, To see some form arise. And a woman s waving shadow Is passing to and fro, JSTow rising to the ceiling, Now bowing and bending low. What tale do the roaring ocean, And the night-wind, bleak and wild, As they beat at the crazy casement, Tell to that little child ? And why do the roaring ocean, And the night-wind, wild and bleak, As they beat at the heart of the mother, Drive the color from her cheek ? 192 THE EVENING STAR. JUST above yon sandy bar, As the day grows fainter and dimmer, Lonely and lovely, a single star Lights the air with a dusky glimmer. Into the ocean faint and far Falls the trail of its golden splendor, And the gleam of that single star Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender. Chrysaor rising out of the sea, Showed thus glorious and thus emulous, Leaving the arms of Callirrhoe, For ever tender, soft, and tremulous. Thus o er the ocean faint and far Trailed the gleam of his falchion brightly; Is it a God, or is it a star That, entranced, I gaze on nightly ! THE LIGHTHOUSE. THE 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. THE LIGHTHOUSE. And as the evening darkens, lo ! how bright, Through the deep purple of the twilight air, Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light With strange, unearthly splendor in its glare ! 193 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 ertaken mariner to save. c c U,4 BY THE SEASIDE. 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 farewells. They come forth from the darkness, and their sails Gleam for a moment only in the blaze, And eager faces, as the light unveils, Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze. The mariner remembers when a child, On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink ; And when, returning from adventures wild, He saw it rise again o er ocean s brink. Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same Year after year, through all the silent night Burns on for evermore that quenchless flame, Shines on that inextinguishable light ! 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. 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 span ; Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse, Be yours to bring man nearer unto man ! [ 195 ] THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. WE sat within the farm-house old, Whose windows, looking o er the bay, Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold, An easy entrance, night and day. Not far away we saw the port, The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, The lighthouse, the dismantled fort, The wooden houses, quaint and brown. We sat and talked until the night, Descending, filled the little room ; Our faces faded from the sight, Our voices only broke the gloom. We spake of many a vanished scene, Of what we once had thought and said, Of what had been, and might have been, And who was changed and who was dead; And all that fills the hearts of friends, When first they feel, with secret pain, Their lives henceforth have separate ends, And never can be one again ; The first slight swerving of the heart, That words are powerless to express, And leave it still unsaid in part, Or say it in too great excess. The very tones in which we spake Had something strange, I could but mark ; The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died the words upon our lips, As suddenly, from out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded ships, The flames would leap and then expire. And, as their splendor flashed and failed, We thought of wrecks upon the main ; Of ships dismasted, that were hailed - And sent no answer back again. The windows, rattling in their frames, The ocean, roaring up the beach, The gusty blast, the bickering flames, All mingled vaguely in our speech ; Until they made themselves a part Of fancies floating through the brain, The long-lost ventures of the heart, That send no answer back again. flames that glowed ! hearts that yearned ! They were indeed too much akin, The drift-wood fire without that burned, The thoughts that burned and glowed within. BY THE FIRESIDE, .RESIGNATION. THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe er defended, But lias one vacant chair ! The air is lull of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Eachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted! KESIGNATION. 19; 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 transition ; 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. In that great cloister s stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led, Safe from temptation, safe from sin s pollution, She lives, whom we call dead. Day after day 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 unspoken, 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 ; But a fair maiden, in her Father s mansion, Clothed with celestial grace ; And beautiful with all the soul s expansion Shall we behold her face. 108 BY THE FIRESIDE. Ami 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. THE BUILDERS. ALL are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time ; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low ; Each thing in its place is best ; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest. For the structure that we raise, Time is with materials filled ; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build. Truly shape and fashion these ; Leave no yawning gaps between ; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen. In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part ; For the Gods see everywhere. Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen ; Make the house, where Gods may dwell, Beautiful, entire, and clean. Else our lives are incomplete, Standing in these walls of Time, Broken stairways, where the feet Stumble as they seek to climb. Build to-day, then, strong and sure, With a firm and ample base ; And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its place. Thus alone can we attain To those turrets, where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain, And one boundless reach of skv. SONNET ON MRS. KF.MBLE S READINGS FROM SHAKSPEARI:. O PRECIOUS evenings ! all too swiftly sped ! Leaving us heirs to amplest heritages Of all the best thoughts of the greatest sages, And giving tongues unto the silent dead ! How our hearts glowed and trembled as she read, Interpreting by tones the wondrous pages Of the great poet who foreruns the ages, Anticipating all that shall be said ! O happy Header ! having for thy text The magic book, whose Sibylline leaves have caught The rarest essence of all human thought ! O happy Poet ! by no critic vext ! How must thy listening spirit now rejoice To be interpreted by such a voice ! SAND OF THE DESERT IN AN HOUR-GLASS. A HANDFUL of red sand, from the hot Perhaps the feet of Moses, burnt and clime bare, Of Arab deserts brought, Crushed it beneath their tread ; Within this glass becomes the spy of Or Pharaoh s flashing wheels into the air Time, Scattered it as they sped : The minister of Thought. Or Mary, with the Christ of Nazareth How many weary centuries has it been Held close in her caress, About those deserts blown ! Whose pilgrimage of hope and love and How many strange vicissitudes has seen, faith How many histories known ! Illumed the wilderness ; Perhaps the camels of the Ishmaelite Or anchorites beneath Engaddi s palms Trampled and passed it o er, Pacing the Dead Sea beach, When into Egypt from the patriarch s And singing slow their old Armenian sight psalms His favorite son they bore. In half-articulate speech ; Or caravans, that from Bassora s gate With westward steps depart ; Or Mecca s pilgrims, confident of Fate, And resolute in heart ; These have passed over it, or may have Now in this crystal tower Imprisoned by some curious hand at last, It counts the passing hour. And as I gaze, these narrow walls expand ; Before my dreamy eye Stretches the desert with its shifting sand, Its unimpeded sky. And borne aloft by the sustaining blast, This little golden thread Dilates into a column high and vast, A form of fear and dread. And onward, and across the setting sun, Across the boundless plain, The column and its broader shadow run, Till thought pursues in vain. The vision vanishes ! These walls again Shut out the lurid sun, Shut out the hot, immeasurable plain ; The half-hour s sand is run ! BIRDS OF PASSAGE. BLACK shadows fall From the lindens tall, That lift aloft their massive wall Against the southern sky ; And from the realms Of the shadowy elms A tide-like darkness overwhelms The fields that round us lie. But the night is fair, And everywhere A warm, soft vapor fills the air, And distant sounds seem near And above, in the light Of the star-lit night, Swift birds of passage wing their flight Through the dewy atmosphere. I hear the beat Of their pinions fleet, As from the land of snow and sleet They seek a southern lea. I hear the cry Of their voices high Falling dreamily through the sky, But their forms I cannot see. 202 BY THE FIRESIDE. O, say not so ! Those sounds that flow In murmurs of delight and woe Come not from wings of birds. They are the throngs Of the poet s songs, Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and wrongs, The sound of winged words. This is the cry Of souls, that high On toiling, beating pinions fly, Seeking a warmer clime. From their distant flight Through realms of light It falls into our world of night, With the murmuring sound of rhyme. THE SINGERS. GOD sent his Singers upon earth With songs of sadness and of mirth, That they might touch the hearts of men, And bring them back to heaven again. The first, a youth, with soul of fire, Held in his hand a golden lyre ; Through groves he wandered, and by streams, Playing the music of our dreams. The second, with a bearded face, Stood singing in the market-place, And stirred with accents deep and loud The hearts of all the listening crowd. A gray, old man, the third and last, Sang in cathedrals dim and vast, While the majestic organ rolled Contrition from its mouths of gold. And those who heard the singers three Disputed which the best might be ; For still their music seemed to start Discordant echoes in each heart. But the great Master said, " I see No best in kind, but in degree ; I gave a various gift to each, To charm, to strengthen, and to teach. " These are the three great chords of might, And he whose ear is tuned aright Will hear no discord in the three, But the most perfect harmony." THE OPEN WINDOW. THE old house by the lindens Stood silent in the shade, And on the gravelled pathway The light and shadow played. I saw the nursery windows Wide open to the air ; But the faces of the children, They were no longer there. The large Newfoundland house-dog Was standing by the door ; He looked for his little playmates, Who would return no more. They walked not under the lindens, They played not in the hall ; But shadow, and silence, and sadness, Were hanging over all. The birds sang in the branches, With sweet, familiar tone ; But the voices of the children Will be heard in dreams alone ! And the boy that walked beside me, He could not understand Why closer in mine, ah ! closer, I pressed his warm, soft hand ! GASPER BECERRA. BY his evening fire the artist Pondered o er his secret shame ; Baffled, weary, and disheartened, Still he mused, and dreamed of fame. Twas an image of the Virgin That had tasked his utmost skill ; But alas ! his fair ideal Vanished and escaped him still. From a distant Eastern island Had the precious wood been brought ; Day and night the anxious master At his toil untiring wrought ; Till, discouraged and desponding, Sat he now in shadows deep, And the day s humiliation Found oblivion in sleep. Then a voice cried, " Rise, mastei ! From the burning brand of oak Shape the thought that stirs within thee ! " And the startled artist woke, Woke, and from the smoking embers Seiz d and quench dthe glowing wood ; And therefrom he carved an image, And he saw that it was good. O thou sculptor, painter, poet ! Take this lesson to thy heart : That is best which lie th nearest ; Shape from that thy work of art. PEGASUS IN POUND. ONCE into a quiet village It was Autumn, and incessant Without haste and without heed, Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves. In the golden prime of morning, Strayed the poet s winged steed. 206 BY THE FIRESIDE. Loud the clamorous bell was ringing From its belfry gaunt and grim ; Twas the daily call to labor, Not a triumph meant for him. Not the less he saw the landscape, In its gleaming vapor veiled ; Not the less he breathed the odors That the dying leaves exhaled. Thus, upon the village common, By the school-boys he was found ; And the wise men, in their wisdom, Put him straightway into pound. Then the sombre village crier, Einging loud his brazen bell, Wandered down the street proclaiming There was an estray to sell. And the curious country people, Rich and poor, and young and old, Came in haste to see this wondrous Winged steed, with mane of gold. Thus the day passed, and the evening Fell, with vapors cold and dim ; But it brought no food nor shelter, Brought no straw nor stall, for him. Patiently, and still expectant, Looked he through the wooden bars, Saw the moon rise o er the landscape, Saw the tranquil, patient stars ; Till at length the bell at midnight Sounded from its dark abode, And, from out a neighbouring farm-yard, Loud the cock Alectryon crowed. Then, with nostrils wide distended, Breaking from his iron chain, And unfolding far his pinions, To those stars he soared again. On the morrow, when the village "Woke to all its toil and care, Lo ! the strange steed had departed, And they knew not when nor where. But they found, upon the greensward Where his struggling hoofs had trod, Pure and bright, a fountain flowing From the hoof-marks in the sod. From that hour, the fount unfailing Gladdens the whole region round, Strengthening all who drink its waters, While it soothes them with its sound. KING WITLAFS DRINKING HORN. WITLAF, a king of the Saxons, So sat they once at Christmas, Ere yet his last he breathed, And bade the goblet pass ; To the merry monks of Croyland In their beards the red wine glistened His drinking-horn bequeathed, Like dew-drops in the grass. That, whenever they sat at their revels, And drank from the golden bowl, They might remember the donor, And breathe a prayer for his soul. They drank to the soul of Witlaf, They drank to Christ the Lord, And to each of the Twelve Apostles, Who preached his holy word. : ) They drank to the Saints and Martyrs Of the dismal days of yore, And as soon as the horn was empty They remembered one Saint more. And the reader droned from the pulpit, Lite the murmur of many bees, The legend of good Saint Guthlac, And Saint Basil s homilies ; Till the great bells of the convent, From their prison in the tower, Guthlac and Bartholomaeus, Proclaimed the midnight hour. And the Yule-log cracked in the chimney, And the Abbot bowed his head, And the flamelets napped and flickered, But the Abbot was stark and dead. Yet still in his pallid fingers He clutched the golden bowl, In which, like a pearl dissolving, Had sunk and dissolved his soul. But not for this their revels The jovial monks forbore, .For they cried, " Fill high the goblet ! "We must drink to one Saint more ! " TEGNER S DEATH. 1 HEARD a voice, that cried, " Balder the Beautiful Is dead, is dead ! " And through the misty air Passed like the mournful cry Of sunward sailing cranes. I saw the pallid corpse Of the dead sun Borne through the Northern sky. Blasts from Mffelheim Lifted the sheeted mists Around him as he passed. And the voice for ever cried, " Balder the Beautiful Is dead, is dead ! " And died away Through the dreary night, In accents of despair. Balder the Beautiful, God of the summer sun, Fairest of all the Gods ! Light from his forehead beamed, Runes were upon his tongue, As on the warrior s sword. E K 2H > BY THE FIRESIDE. All tilings in earth and air Bound were by magic spell Never to do him harm ; Even the plants and stones ; All save the mistletoe, The sacred mistletoe ! Hoeder, the blind old God, Whose feet are shod with silence, Pierced through that gentle breast With his sharp spear, by fraud Made of the mistletoe, The accursed mistletoe ! They laid him in his ship, With horse and harness, As on a funeral pyre. Odin placed A ring upon his finger, And whispered in his ear. They launched the burning ship ! It floated far away Over the misty sea, Till like the sun it seemed, Sinking beneath the waves. Balder returned no more ! So perish the old Gods ! But out of the sea of Time Rises a new land of song, Fairer than the old. Over its meadows green Walk the young bards and sin< Build it again, ye bards, Fairer than before ! Ye fathers of the new race, Feed upon morning dew, Sing the new Song of Love ! The law of force is dead ! The law of love prevails ! Thor, the thunderer, Shall rule the earth no more, No more, with threats, Challenge the meek Christ. Sing no more, ye bards of the North, Of Vikings and of Jarls ! Of the days of Eld Preserve the freedom only, Not the deeds of blood ! SUSPIRIA. TAKE them, Death ! and bear away Whatever thou canst call thine own ! Thine image, stamped upon this clay, Doth give thee that, but that alone ! Take them, Grave ! and let them lie Folded upon thy narrow shelves As garments by the soul laid by, And precious only to ourselves ! Take them, great Eternity ! Our little life is but a gust, That bends the branches of thy tree$ And trails its blossoms in the dust. [ 212 ] HYMN FOR MY BROTHER S ORDINATION. CHRIST to the young man said : " Yet one thing more ; If thou wouldst perfect be, Sell all thou hast and give it to. the poor, And come and follow me ! " Within this temple Christ again, unseen, Those sacred words hath said, And his invisible hands to-day have been Laid on a young man s head. And evermore beside him on his way The unseen Christ shall move, That he may lean upon his arm and say, "Dost thou, dear Lord, approve?" Beside him at the marriage feast shall be, To make the scene more fair; Beside him in the dark Gethsemane Of pain and midnight prayer. O holy trust ! C) endless sense of rest : Like the beloved John, To lay his head upon the Saviour s breast, And thus to journey on ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 184118461858. [ 214 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. UNDER a 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, Like a sexton 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 the grave she lies ; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; 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, Eor 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 ! ENDYMIO:N T . THE rising moon has hid the stars ; Her level rays, like golden bar?, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between. And silver white the river gleams, As if Diana in her dreams Had dropt her silver bow Upon the meadows low. On such a tranquil night as this, She woke Endymion with a kiss, When, sleeping in the grove, He dreamed not of her love. Like Diana s kiss, unasked, unsought, Love gives itself, but is not bought ; Nor voice, nor sound betrays Its deep, impassioned gaze, It conies, the beautiful, the free, The crown of all humanity, In silence and alone To seek the elected one. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep Are Life s oblivion, the soul s sleep, And kisses the closed eyes Of him, who slumbering lies. MISCELLANEOUS. O weary hearts ! O slumbering eyes ! But some heart, though unknown, O drooping souls, whose destinies Responds unto his own. Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again ! Kespoiids,-as if, with unseen wings, An angel touched its quivering strings ; No one is so accursed by fate, And whispers, in its song, No one so utterly desolate, " Where hast thou stayed so long 1 ? " IT 18 NOT ALWAYS MAY. NO HAY PAJAROS EN LOS Nioos DE ANTANO. Spanish Proverb. THE sun is bright, the air is clear, All things rejoice in youth and love, The darting swallows soar and sing, . The fulness of their first delight ; And from the stately elms I hear And learn from- the soft heavens above The blue-bird prophesying Spring, The melting tenderness of night. So blue yon winding river flows, Maiden, that read st this simple rhyme, It seems an outlet from the sky, Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay ; Where, waiting till the west wind blows, Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, The freighted clouds at anchor lie. For oh ! it is not always May ! All things are new ; the buds, the Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, leaves, To some good angel leave the rest ; That gild the elm-tree s nodding crest, For Time will teach thee soon the And even the nest beneath the eaves ; truth, There are no birds in last year s nest ! There are no birds in last year s nest ! GOD S-ACRE. I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God s- Acre ! It is just ; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o er the sleeping dust. God s-Acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed, that they had garnered in their hearts, Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own. GOD S-ACRE. 217 Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith, that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the archangel s blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. Then shall the good -stand in immortal bloom, In the fair gardens of that second birth ; And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth. With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; This is the field and Acre of our God, This is the place where human harvests grow ! [ 218 ] THE GOBLET OF LIFE. FILLED is Life s goblet to the brim ; A nd though my eyes with tears are dim, 1 see its sparkling bubbles swim, And chaunt a melancholy hymn With solemn voice and slow. No purple flowers, no garlands green, Conceal the goblet s shade or sheen, 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, Ey strong convulsions rent apart, Are running all to waste. And as it mantling passes round, With fennel is it wreathed and crowned, AVhose seed and foliage sun-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. Jt gave new strength and fearless mood ; And gladiators, fierce and rude, Mingled it in their daily food ; And he who battled and subdued, A wreath of fennel wore. Then in Life s goblet freely press The leaves that give it bitterness, Nor prize the colored waters less, For in thy 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 ; Thro 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. 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. [ 219 ] BLLN1) BARTIMEUa BLIND Bartimeus at the gates Of Jericho in darkness waits ; He hears the crowd ; he hears a breath Say, " It is Christ of Nazareth ;" And calls, in tones of agony, The thronging multitudes increase ; Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace ! But still, above the noisy crowd, The beggar s cry is shrill and loud ; Until they say, " He calleth thee ! " Oofxret, eyeipai, Then saith the Christ, as silent stands The crowd, "What wilt thou at my hands 1 " And he replies, " give me light ! Rabbi, restore the blind man s sight ! " And Jesus answers, "Y-rraye II TTlffTlQ (TOV 9&FUKC (FE ! Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, In darkness and in misery, Recall those mighty Voices Three, Qdpaet, eyeipai, inraye ! II TrifrriQ aov aea wKt ae THE KAINY DAY. THE 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 ; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the clays 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 diiys must be dark and dreary. TO THE RIVER CHARLES. RIVER ! that in silence windest Through the meadows, bright and free, Till at length thy rest thou flndest In the bosom of the sea ! Four long years of mingled feeling, Half in rest, and half in strife, I have seen thy waters stealing Onward, like the stream of life. Thou hast taught me, Silent River ! Many a lesson, deep and long ; Thou hast been a generous giver ; I can give thee but a song. Oft in sadness and in illness, I have watched thy current glide, Till the beauty of its stillness Overflowed me, like a tide. And in better hours and brighter, When I saw thy waters gleam, I have felt my heart beat lighter, And leap onward with thy stream. Not for this alone I love thee, Nor because thy waves of blue From celestial seas above thee Take their own celestial hue. Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, And thy waters disappear, Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, And have made thy margin dear. More than this ; thy name reminds me Of three friends, all true and tried ; And that name, like magic, binds me Closer, closer to thy side. Friends my soul with joy remembers ! How like quivering flames they start, When I fan the living embers On the hearth-stone of my heart ! Tis for this, thou Silent River ! That my spirit leans to thee ; Thou hast been a generous giver, Take this idle song from me. THE 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 faulchioii from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior ! In happy homes he saw the light Of household iires 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 ! " 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 ! 222 MISCELLANEOUS. At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air, Excelsior ! A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found, 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 stp", Excelsior ! MAIDENHOOD. MAIDEN ! 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 ! 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 Elysian ? 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 ? 0, thou child of many prayers ! . Life hath 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 arid 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. MAIDENHOOD. 223 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. 0, 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 them art. THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. C A R I L L O N. IN the ancient town of Bruges, In the quaint old Flemish city, As the evening shades descended, Low and loud and sweetly blended, Low at times and loud at times, And changing like a poet s rhymes, Rang the beautiful wild chimes From the Belfry in the market Of the ancient town of Bruges. Then, with deep sonorous clangor Calmly answering their sweet anger, When the wrangling bells had ended, Slowly struck the clock eleven, And, from out the silent heaven, Silence on the town descended. Silence, silence everywhere, On the earth and in the air, Save that footsteps here and there Of some burgher home returning, By the street lamps faintly burning, For a moment woke the echoes Of the ancient town of Bruges. But amid my broken slumbers Still I heard those magic numbers, As they loud proclaimed the flight And stolen marches of the night ; Till their chimes in sweet collision Mingled with each wandering vision, Mingled with the fortune-telling Gipsy-bands of dreams and fancies, Which amid the waste expanses Of the silent land of trances Have their solitary dwelling. All else seemed asleep in Bruges, In the quaint old Flemish city. And I thought how like these chimes Are the poet s airy rhymes, All his rhymes and roundelays, His conceits, and songs, and ditties, From the belfry of his brain, Scattered downward, though in vain, On the roofs and stones of cities ! For by night the drowsy ear Under its curtains cannot hear, And by day men go their ways, Hearing the music as they pass, But deeming it no more, alas ! Than the hollow sound of brass. Yet perchance a sleepless wight, Lodging at some humble inn In the narrow lanes of life, When the dusk and hush of night Shut out the incessant din Of daylight and its toil and strife, May listen with a calm delight To the poet s melodies, Till he hears, or dreams he hears, Intermingled with the song, Thoughts that he has cherished long ; Hears amid the chime and singing, The bells of his own village ringing, And wakes, and finds his slumberous eyes Wet with most delicious tears. Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay In Bruges, at the Fleur-de-Ble, Listening with a wild delight To the chimes that, through the night, Rang their changes from the Belfry Of that quaint old Flemish city. THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. IN the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown ; Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o er the town. As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood, And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood. 226 MISCELLANEOUS. Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapors gray, Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay. At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there, Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air, Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour, But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower. From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high ; And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky. Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times, "With their strange, unearthly changes, rang the melancholy chimes, Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir ; And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar. Visions of the day departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain ; They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again ; All the Foresters of Flanders, 1 mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer, Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy, Philip, Guy de Dampierre. I beheld the pageants splendid, that adorned those days of old ; Stately dames, like queens attended, 2 knights who bore the Fleece of Gold Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies ; Ministers from twenty nations ; more than royal pomp and ease. I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground ; I beheld the gentle Mary, 4 hunting with her hawk and hound ; And her lighted bridal chamber, where a duke slept with the queen, And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between. I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Xamur and Juliers bold, Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold ; 5 Saw the fight at Minnewater, 6 saw the White Hoods moving west, Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon s nest. 7 And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote ; And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin s throat ; Till the bell of Ghent responded o er lagoon and dike of sand, " I am Eoland ! I am Roland ! there is victory in the land ! " 8 THE BELFHY OF BRUGES. 227 Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city s roar Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once more. Hours had passed away like minutes ; and, before I was aware, Lo ! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square. NOTES (1.) All the Foresters of Flanders. The title of Foresters was given to the early governors of Flanders, appointed by the kings of France. Lyderick du Bucq, in the days of Clotaire the Second, was the first of them ; and Beaudoin Bas-de-Fer, who stole away the fair Judith, daughter of Charles the Bald, from the French court, and married her in Bruges, was the last. After him the title of Forester was changed to that of Count. Philippe d Alsace, Guy de Dampierre, and Louis de Crecy, coming later in the order of the time, were therefore rather Counts than Foresters. Philippe went twice to the Holy Land as a Crusader, and died of the plague at St. Jean-d Acre, shortly after the capture of the city by the Christians. Guy de Dampierre died in the prison of Compiegne. Louis de Crecy was the son and successor of Robert de Bethune, who strangled his wife, Yolande de Bourgogne, with the bridle of his horse, for having poisoned, at the age of eleven years, Charles, his son by his first wife, Blanche d Anjou. (2.) Stately dames, like queens attended. When Philippe-le-Bel, king of France, visited Flanders with his queen, she was so astonished at the magnificence of the dames of Bruges, that she exclaimed : "Je croyais etre seule reine ici, mais il parait que ceux de Flandre qui se trouvent dans nos prisons sont tous des princes, car leurs femmes sont habillees comme des princesses et des reines." When the burgomasters of Ghent, Bruges, and Ypres went to Paris to pay homage to King John, in 1351, they were received with great pomp and distinction ; but, being invited to a festival, they observed that their seats at table were not furnished with cushions ; whereupon, to make known their displeasure at this want of regard to their dignity, they folded their richly embroidered cloaks and seated themselves upon them. On rising from the table, they left their cloaks behind them, and being informed of their apparent forge tfulness, Simon van Eertrycke, burgomaster of Bruges, replied, "We Flemings are not in the habit of carrying away our cushions after dinner." (3.) K nights who bore the Fleece of Gold. Philippe de Bourgogne, surnamed Le Bon, espoused Isabella of Portugal, on the 10th of January, 1430, and on the same day instituted the famous older of the Fleece of Gold. (4.) I beheld the gentle Mary. Marie de Valois, Duchess of Burgundy, was left by the death of her father, Charles-le-Temeraire, at the age of twenty, the richest heiress of Europe. She came to Bruges, as Countess of Flanders, in 1477, and in the same year was married by proxy to the Archduke Maximilian. According to the custom of the time, the Duke of Bavaria, Maximilian s substitute, slept with the princess. They were both in complete dress, separated by a naked sword, and attended by four armed guards. Marie was adored by her subjects for her gentleness and her many other virtues. Maximilian was the son of the Emperor Frederick the Third, and is the same person mentioned afterwards in the poem of Nuremberg as the Kaiser Maximilian, and the hero of Pflnzing s poem of Teucrdank. Having been imprisoned by the revolted burghers of Bruges, they refused to release him, till he consented to kneel in the public square, and to swear on the Holy Evangelists and the body of St. Donatus, that he would not take vengeance upon them for their rebellion. (5.) The bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold. This battle, the most memorable in Flemish history, was fought under the walls of Courtray, on the llth of July, 1302, between the French and the Flemings, the former commanded by Robert, Comte d Artois, and the latter by Guillaume de Jnliers, and Jean, Comte de Namur. The French army was 228 MISCELLANEOUS. completely routed, with a loss of twenty thousand infantry, and seven thousand cavalry ; among whom were sixty-three princes, dukes, and counts, seven hundred lords-banneret, and eleven hundred noblemen. The flower of the French nobility perished on that day to which history has given the name of the Journee des Eperons d Or, from the great number of golden spurs found on the field of battle. Seven hundred of them were hung up as a trophy in the church of Notre Dame de Courtray ; and, as the cavaliers of that day wore but a single spur each, these vouched to God for the violent and bloody death of seven hundred of his creatures. (G.) Saw the fight at Minnewater. When the inhabitants of Bruges were digging a canal at Minnewater, to bring the waters of the Lys from Deynze to their city, they were attacked and routed by the citizens of Ghent, whose commerce would have been much injured by the canal. They were led by Jean Lyons, captain of a military company at Ghent, called the Chaperons Blancs. He had great sway over the turbulent populace, who, in those prosperous times of the city, gained an easy livelihood by labouring two or three days in the week, and had the remaining four or five to devote to public affairs. The fight at Minnewater was followed by open rebellion against Louis de Maele, the Count of Flanders and Protector of Bruges. His superb Chateau of Wondelghem was pillaged and burnt ; and the insurgents forced the gates of Bruges, and entered in triumph, with Lyons mounted at their head. A few days afterwards he died suddenly, perhaps by poison. Meanwhile the insurgents received a check at the village of Nevele ; and two hundred of them perished in the church, which was burned by the Count s orders. One of the chiefs, Jean de Lannoy, took refuge in the belfry. From the summit of the tower he held forth his purse filled with gold, and begged deliverance. It was in vain. His enemies cried from below to save himself as best he might ; and half suffocated with smoke and flame, he threw himself from the tower and perished at their feet. Peace was soon afterwards established, and the Count retired to faithful Bruges. (7.) The Golden Dragon s Nest. The Golden Dragon, taken from the church of St. Sophia, at Constantinople, in one of the Crusades, and placed on the belfry of Bruges, was afterwards transported to Ghent, by Philip van Artevelde, and still adorns the belfry of that city. (8.) " There is victory in the land! " The inscription on the alarm-bell at Ghent is, " Mynen naem is Roland,- als ikklep is er brand, and dls ik luy is er mctorie in het land." My name is Roland ; when I toll there is fire, and when I ring there is victory in the land." THE AKSENAL AT SPKIXGFIELR THIS is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms ; But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing Startles the villages with strange alarms. Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, When the death-angel touches those swift keys ! What loud lament and dismal Miserere Will mingle with their awful symphonies ! I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus, The cries of agony, the endless groan, Which, through the ages that have gone before us, In long reverberations reach our own. THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. On helin and harness rings the Saxon, hammer, Through Cimbri forest roars the Norseman s song, And loud, amid the universal clamor, O er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. I hear the Florentine, who from his palace Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din, And Aztec priests upon their teocallis Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent s skin ; The tumult of each sacked and burning village ; The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns ; The soldier s revels in the midst of pillage ; The wail of famine in beleaguered towns ; The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, The rattling musketry, the clashing blade ; And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, The diapason of the cannonade. Is it, man, with such discordant noises, With such accursed instruments as these, Thou drownest Nature s sweet and kindly voices, And jarrest the celestial harmonies ? Were half the power, that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need for arsenals nor forts : The warrior s name would be a name abhorred ! And every nation, that should lift again Its hand against a brother, on its forehead Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain ! Down the dark future, through long generations, The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease ; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say, " Peace ! " Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War s great organ shakes the skies ! Put beautiful as songs of the immortals The holy melodies of love arise. A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE. THIS 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 on either side. Here runs the highway to the town ; There the green lane descends, Thro which I walked to church withthee, O gentlest of my friends ! The shadow of the linden-trees Lay moving on the grass ; 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. THE OCCULTATION OF OKIOX. " Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, Of earth and folly born ! " Solemnly sang the village choir On that sweet Sabbath morn. Through the closed blinds the golden sun Poured in a dusty beam, Like the celestial ladder seen By Jacob in his dream. 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 Euth 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 ; This memory brightens o er the past, As when the sun, concealed Behind some cloud that near us hangs, Shines on a distant field. THE OCCULTATION OF ORIOK* I SAW, as in a dream sublime, The balance in the hand of Time. O er East and West its beam impended ; And day, with all its hours of light, Was slowly sinking out of sight, While, opposite, the scale of night Silently with the stars ascended. Like the astrologers of eld, In that bright vision I beheld Greater and deeper mysteries. I saw, with its celestial keys, Its chords of air, its frets of fire, The Sanrian s great ^olian lyre, Rising through all its sevenfold bars, From earth unto the fixed stars ; And through the dewy atmosphere, Not only could I see, but hear Its wondrous and harmonious strings, In sweet vibration, sphere by sphere, From Diaii s circle light and near Onward to vaster and wider rings, Where, chanting through his beard of snows, Majestic.- mournful, Saturn goes, * Astronomically speaking, this title is incorrect ; as I apply to a constellation what can properly be applied to some of its stars only. But my observation is made from the hill of SOUK, and not from that of science ; and will, I tnist, be found sufficiently accurate for the present purpose. 232 MISCELLANEOUS. And down the sunless realms of space Reverberates the thunder of his bass, Beneath the sky s triumphal arch This music sounded like a march, And with its chorus seemed to be Preluding some great tragedy. Sirius was rising in the east : And, slow ascending, one by one, The kindling constellations shone. Begirt with many a blazing star, Stood the great giant Algebar, Orion, hunter of the beast ! His sword hung gleaming by his side, And, on his arm, the lion s hide Scattered across the midnight air The golden radiance of its hair. The moon was pallid, but not faint, And beautiful as some fair saint, Serenely moving on her way In hours of trial and dismay. As if she feared the voice of God, Unharmed with naked feet she trod Upon the hot and burning stars, As on the glowing coals and bars That were to prove her strength, and try Her holiness and her purity. Thus moving on, with silent pace, And triumph in her sweet, pale face, She reached the station of Orion. Aghast he stood in strange alarm ! And suddenly from his outstretched arm Down fell the red skin of the lion Into the river at his feet. His mighty club no longer beat The forehead of the bull ; but he Keeled as of yore beside the sea, When, blinded by /Enopion, He sought the blacksmith at his forge, And, climbing up the mountain gorge, Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun. Then, through the silence overhead, An angel with a trumpet said, " Forevermore, forevermore, The reign of violence is o er ! " And like an instrument that flings Its music on another s strings, The trumpet of the angel cast Upon the heavenly lyre its blast, And on from sphere to sphere the words Reechoed down the burning chords, " Forevermore, forevermore, The reign of violence is o er ! " NUREMBERG. IN the valley of the Pegnitz, Avhere across broad meadow-lands Rise the blue Franconian Mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient, stands. Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and song, Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rooks that round them thron< Memories of the Middle Ages, when the emperors, rough and bold, Had their dwelling in thy castle, time-defying, centuries old ; And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in their uncouth rhyme, That their great imperial city stretched its hand through every clime. 1 NUREMBERG. 2 5 In the court-yard of the castle, bound with many an iron band, Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen Cunigunde s hand ; On the square the oriel window, where in old heroic days Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian s praise. 2 Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of Art : Fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the common mart ; And above cathedral doorways saints and bishops carved in stone, By a former age commissioned as apostles to our own. In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust, 3 And in bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from age to age their trust In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture rare, 4 Like the foamy sheaf of fountains, rising through the painted air. Here, when Art was still religion, with a simple, reverent heart, Lived and laboured Albrecht Diirer, the Evangelist of Art ; Hence in silence and in sorrow, toiling still with busy hand, Like an emigrant he wandered, seeking for the Better Land. Emiyravit is the inscription on the tomb-stone where he lies Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies. Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine seems more fair, That he once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed its air ! Through these streets so broad and stately, these obscure and dismal lanes Walked of yore the Mastersingers, chanting rude poetic strains. From remote and sunless suburbs, came they to the friendly guild, Building nests in Fame s great temple, as in spouts the swallows build. As the weaver plied the shuttle, wove he too the mystic rhyme, And the smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil s chime Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes the flower of poesy bloom In the forge s dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom. Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate of the gentle craft, Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, 5 in huge folios sang and laughed. But his house is now an ale-house with a nicely sanded floor, And a garland in the window, and his face above the door ; Painted by some humble artist, as in Adam Puschman s song, 6 As the "old man gray and dove-like, with his great beard white and long." H H 034 MISCELLANEOUS. And at night the swart mechanic conies to drown his cark and care, Quaffing ale from pewter tankards, in the master s antique chair. Vanished is the ancient splendor, and before my dreamy eye Wave these mingling shapes and figures, like a faded tapestry. Not thy Council, not thy Kaisers, win for thee the world s regard ; But thy painter, Albrecht Diirer, and Hans Sachs, thy cobbler-bard. Thus, Nuremberg, a wanderer from a region far away, As he paced thy streets and court-yards, sang in thought his careless lay Gathering from the pavement s crevice, as a floweret of the soil, The nobility of labor, the long pedigree of toil. NOTES. (1.) That tJieir great imperial city stretched its hand through every dime. An old popular proverb of the town runs thus : " Niirnberg s Hand " Nuremberg s hand Geht durch. alle Land." Goes through every land." (2.) Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian s praise. Melchior Pfinzing was one of the most celebrated German poets of the sixteenth century. The hero of his Teuerdank was the reigning emperor, Maximilian ; and the poem was to the Germans of that day what the Orlando Furioso was to the Italians. Maximilian is mentioned before, in the Belfry of Bruges. See page 226. (3.) In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust. The tomb of Saint Sebald, in the church which bears his name, is one of the richest works of art in Nuremberg. It is of bronze, and was cast by Peter Vischer and his sons, who laboured upon it thirteen years. It is adorned with nearly one hundred figures, among which those of the Twelve Apostles are conspicuous for size and beauty. (4.) In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture rare. This pix, or tabernacle for the vessels of the Sacrament, is by the hand of Adam Kraft. It is an exquisite piece of sculpture in white stone, and rises to the height of sixty-four feet. It stands in the choir, whose richly-painted windows cover it with varied colours. (5.) Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters. The Twelve Wise Masters was the title of the original corporation of the Mastersingers. Hans Sachs, the cobbler of Nuremberg, though not one of the original Twelve, was the most renowned of the Master- singers, as well as the most voluminous. He nourished in the sixteenth century ; and left behind him thirty-four folio volumes of manuscript, containing two hundred and eight plays, one thousand and seven hundred comic tales, and between four and five thousand lyric poems. (6.) -4s in Adam Puschman s song. Adam Puschman. in his poem on the death of Hans Sachs, describes him as he appeared in a vision : An old man, Gray and white, and dove-like, Who had, in sooth, a great beard, And read in a fail 1 , great book, Bea itil nl with golden clasps." THE NORMAN BARON. Dans les moments de la vie on la reflexion devient plus calme et plus profonde, ou 1 interet et 1 avarice parlent moins haut que la raison, dans les instants de chagrin domestiqne, de maladie, et de peril de mort, les nobles se repentirent de posseder des serfs, comme d une chose pen agreable a Dieu, qui avait cree tons les homines a son image. THIERRY, Conquete de I Anjleterre. IN his chamber, weak and dying, Was the Norman baron lying ; Loud, without, the tempest thundered, And the castle-turret shook. In this fight was Death the gainer, Spite of vassal and retainer, And the lands his sires had plundered, Written in the Doomsday Book. 236 MISCELLANEOUS. By his bed a monk was seated, Who in humble voice repeated Many a prayer and pater-noster, From the missal on his knee ; And amid the tempest pealing, Sounds of bells came faintly stealing, Bells, that, from the neighboring kloster, Rang for the Nativity. In the hall, the serf and vassal Held that night their Christmas wassail ; Many a carol, old and saintly, Sang the minstrels and the waits. And so loud these Saxon gleemen Sang to slaves the songs of freemen, That the storm was heard but faintly, Knocking at the castle-gates. Till at length the lays they chaunted Reached the chamber terror-haunted, Where the monk, with accents holy, Whispered at the baron s ear. Tears upon his eyelids glistened, As he paused awhile and listened, And the dying baron slowly Turned his weary head to hear. " Wassail for the kingly stranger Born and cradled in a manger ! King, like David, priest, like Aaron, Christ is born to set us free ! " And the lightning showed the sainted Figures on the casement painted, And exclaimed the shuddering baron, " Miserere, Domine ! " In that hour of deep contrition, He beheld, with clearer vision, Through all outward show and fashion, Justice, the Avenger, rise. All the pomp of earth had vanished, Falsehood and deceit were banished, Reason spake more loud than passion, And the truth wore no disguise. Every vassal of his banner, Every serf born to his manor, All those wronged and wretched creatures, By his hand were freed again. And, as on the sacred missal He recorded their dismissal, Death relaxed his iron features, And the monk replied, " Amen ! " Many centuries have been numbered Since in death the baron slumbered By the convent s sculptured portal, Mingling with the common dust : But the good deed, through the ages Living in historic pages, Brighter glows and gleams immortal, Unconsumed by moth or rust. RAIN IN SUMMER. How beautiful is tlie 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 the overflowing spout ! Across the window-pane It pours and pours ; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain ! The sick man from his chamber Looks at the twisted brooks ; He can feel the cool Breath of each little pool ; His fevered brain Grows calm again, And he 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 Engulfs them in its whirling And turbulent ocean. In the country, on every side, Where far and wide, Like a leopard s tawny and spotted hid* 1 , Stretches the plain, To the dry grass and the drier grain How welcome is the rain ! 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 lields 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 Only his own thrift and gain. These, and far 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. MISCELLANEOUS. lie 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 gulfc found, To the dreary fountain-head Of lakes and rivers under ground ; And sees them, when the rain is done, On the bridge of colors seven (. limbing up once more to heaven, Opposite the setting sun. Thus the Seer, With vision clear, Sees forms appear and 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, Unto his wondering eyes reveal The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel Turning for evermore In the rapid and rushing river of Time. TO THE DRIVING CLOUD. GLOOMY and dark art thou, chief of the mighty Omawhaws ; Gloomy and dark, as the driving cloud, whose name thou hast taken ! Wrapt in thy scarlet blanket, I see thee stalk through the city s Narrow and populous streets, as once by the margin of rivers Stalked those birds unknown, that have left us only their footprints. 1 What, in a few short years, will remain of thy race but the footprints ? How canst thou walk in these streets, who hast trod the green turf of the prairies ? How canst thou breathe in this, who hast breathed the sweet air of the mountains ? Ah ! tis in vain that with lordly looks of disdain thou dost challenge Looks of dislike in return, and question these walls and these pavements, Claiming the soil for thy hunting-grounds, while down-trodden millions Starve in the garrets of Europe, and cry from its caverns that they, too, Have been created heirs of the earth, and claim its division ! Back, then, back to thy woods in the regions west of the Wabash ! There as a monarch thou reignest. In autumn the leaves of the maple Pave the floors of thy palace-halls with gold, and in summer Pine-trees waft through its chambers the odorous breath of their branches. TO THE 1)111 VI NG CLOUD. 230 There them art strong and great, a hero, a tamer of horses ! There thou chasest the stately stag on the banks of the Elk-horn, Or, by the roar of the Running- Water, or where the Omawhaw Calls thee, and leaps through the wild ravine like a brave of the Blackfeet ! Hark ! what murmurs arise from the heart of those mountainous deserts ? Is it the cry of the Foxes and Crows, or the mighty Behemoth, Who, unharmed, on his tusks once caught the bolts of the thunder, And now lurks in his lair to destroy the race of the red man ? Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the Crows and the Foxes, Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the tread of Behemoth, Lo ! the big thunder-canoe, that steadily breasts the Missouri s Merciless current ! and yonder, afar on the prairies, the camp-fires Gleam through the night ; and the cloud of dust in the gray of the daybreak Marks not the buffalo s track, nor the Mandan s dexterous horse-race ; It is a caravan, whitening the desert where dwell the Camanches ! Ha! how the breath of these Saxons and Celts, like the blast of the east-wind. Drifts evermore to the west the scanty smokes of thy wigwams ! [ 240 TO A CHILD. DEAR child ! how radiant on thy mother s knee, With merry-making eyes and jocund smiles, Thou gazest at the painted tiles, Whose figures grace, With many a grotesque form and face, The ancient chimney 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 Coromandel s sand ! Those silver bells Reposed of yore, As shapeless ore, Far down in the deep- sunk en wells Of darksome mines, In some obscure and sunless place, Beneath huge Chimborazo s base, Or Potosi s o erhanging pines ! And thus for thee, little child, Through many a danger and escape, The tall ships passed the stormy cape ; For thee in foreign lands remote, Beneath the burning, tropic skies, The Indian peasant, chasing the wild goat, Himself as swift and wild, In falling, clutched the frail arbute, The fibres of whose shallow root, Uplifted from the soil, betrayed The silver veins beneath it laid, The buried treasures of dead centuries. But, lo ! thy door is left ajar ! Thou nearest footsteps from afar ! And, at the sound, Thou turnest round With quick and questioning eyes, Like one, who, in a foreign land, Beholds on every hand Some source of wonder and surprise ! And, restlessly, impatiently, Thou strivest, strugglest, to be free. The four walls of thy nursery 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, ah, 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. TO A CHILD. 211 I T p and down these echoing stairs, Heavy with the weight of cares, 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 ! What ! tired already ! with those sup pliant 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 ! 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. [gleam ; Dream -like . the waters of the river 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. child ! new-born denizen Of life s great city ! on thy head The glory of the morn is shed, Like a celestial benison ! Here at the portal thou dost stand, And with thy little hand Thou openest the mysterious gate Into the future s undiscovered land. 1 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, i i 242 MISCELLANEOUS. And scarcely visible to us here, Hounds 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 with labor, faint with pain, Like a jarred pendulum, retain Only its motion, not its power, Kemember, 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. Nor to thyself the task shall be Without reward ; for thou 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 no longer strive 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. THE BKIDGE. I 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, [ocean And the current that came from the Seemed to lift and bear them away ; As, sweeping and eddying through them. Eose the belated tide, And, streaming into the moonlight, The sea-weed floated wide. And, like those waters rushing Among those 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, 0, 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. But now it has 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 with 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 ! And forever and forever, As long as the river flows, As long as the heart has passions, As long as life has woes ; The moon and its broken reflection And its shadows shall appear, As the symbol of love in heaven, And its wavering image here. CURFEW. SOLEMNLY, mournfully, Dealing its dole, The Curfew Bell Is beginning to toll. ( over the embers, And put out the light ; Toil comes with the morning, And rest with the night. 1 )ark grow the windows, And quenched is the fire ; Sound fades into silence, All footsteps retire. No voice iii the chambers, No sound in the hall ! Sleep and ob ivion Eeign over all ! II. The book is completed, And closed, like the day; And the hand that has written it Lays it away. Dim grow its fancies, Forgotten they lie ; Like coals in the ashes, They darken and die. Songs sink into silence, The story is told, The windows are darkened, The hearth-stone is cold. Darker and darker The black shadows fall ; Sleep and oblivion Reign over all. BIRDS OF PASSAGE. HP? 24<5 TIIK KOPK WALK. IN that building long and low, With its windows all a row, Like the port-holes of a hulk, Human spiders spin and spin, Backward down their threads so thin, Dropping, each, a hempen bulk. At the end an open door ; Squares of sunshine on the floor Light the long and dusky lane ; And the whirling of a wheel, Dull and drowsy, makes me feel All its spokes are in my brain. As the spinners to the end Downward go and re-ascend, Gleam the long threads in the sun ; While within this brain of mine Cobwebs brighter and more fine P>y the busy wheel are spun. Two fair maidens in a swing, Like white doves upon the wing, First before my vision pass ; Laughing, as their gentle hands Closely clasp the twisted strands, At their shadow on the grass. Then a booth of mountebanks, With its smell of tan and planks, And a girl poised high in air On a cord, in spangled dress, With a faded loveliness, And a weary look of care. Then a homestead among farms, And a woman with bare arms, Drawing water from a well ; As the bucket mounts apace, With it mounts her own fair face, As at some magician s spell. Then an old man in a tower Ringing loud the noontide hour, While the rope coils round and round, Like a serpent, at his feet, And again in swift retreat Almost lifts him from the ground. Then within a prison-yard, Faces fixed, and stern, and hard, Laughter and indecent mirth ; Ah ! it is the gallows-tree ! Breath of Christian charity, Blow, and sweep it from the earth ! Then a schoolboy, with his kite, Gleaming in a sky of light, And an eager, upward look ; Steeds pursued through lane and field : Fowlers with their snares concealed, And an angler by a brook. Ships rejoicing in the breeze, Wrecks that float o er unknown seas, Anchors dragged through faithless sand ; Sea-fog drifting overhead, And with lessening line and lead Sailors feeling for the land. All these scenes do I behold, These and many left untold, In that building long and low ; While the wheels go round and round With a drowsy, dreamy sound, And the spinners backward go. [ 247 THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. A MIST was driving down the British Channel, The day was just begun, And through the window-panes, on floor and panel, Streamed the red autumn sun. It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon, And the white sails of ships ; And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon Hailed it with feverish lips. Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hythe and Dover, Were all alert that day, To see the French war-steamers speeding over, When the fog cleared away. Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions, Their cannon through the night, Holding their breath, had watched in grim defiance The sea-coast opposite. And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations On every citadel ; Each answering each with morning salutations That all was well. And down the coast, all taking up the burden, Replied the distant forts, As if to summon from his sleep the Warden And Lord of the Cinque Ports. Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure, No drum-beat from the wall, No morning-gun from the black fort s embrasure Awaken with their call. 21$ BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 9 No more surveying with an eye impartial The long line of the coast, Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field-Marshal Be seen upon his post. For in the night, unseen, a single warrior, In sombre harness mailed, Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, The rampart wall has scaled. He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, The dark and silent room ; And as he entered, darker grew and deeper The silence and the gloom. He did not pause to parley or dissemble, But sniote the Warden hoar ; Ah ! what a blow ; that made all England tremble, And groan from shore to shore. Meanwhile, without the surly cannon waited, The sun rose bright o erhead ; Nothing in Nature s aspect intimated That a great man was dead ! THE TWO ANGELS. Two Angels, one of Life, and one of Death, Passed o er the village as the morning broke ; The dawn was on their faces ; and beneath, The sombre houses capped with plumes of smoke. Their attitude and aspect were the same ; Alike their features and their robes of white ; And one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame, And one with asphodels, like flakes of light. I saw them pause on their celestial way : Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed, " Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray The place where thy beloved are at rest ; " THE TWO ANGELS. And lie who wore the crown of asphodels, Descending at my door, "began to knock : And my soul sank within me, as in wells The waters sink before an earthquake s shock. I recognised the nameless agony The terror, and the tremor, and the pain That oft before had filled and haunted me, And now returned with threefold strength again. The door I opened to my heavenly guest, And listened, for I thought I heard God s voice ; And, knowing whatsoe er He sent was best, Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice. Then with a smile that filled the house with light " My errand is not Death, but Life," he said ; And, ere I answered, passing out of sight, ( )n his celestial embassy he sped. Twas at thy door, friend, and not at mine, The angel with the amaranthine wreath, Pausing, descended ; and, with voice divine. Whispered a word that had a sound like Death. Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom A shadow on those features fair and thin ; And softly, from that hushed and darkened room. Two angels issued, where but one went in. All is of God ! If- lie but wave His hand, The mists collect, the rains fall thick and loud; Till, with a smile of light on sea and land, Lo ! He looks back from the departing cloud. Angels of Life and Death alike are His ; Without His leave they pass no threshold o er ; Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this. Against His messengers to shut the door ? PROMETHEUS, OR THE POET S FORETHOUGHT. OF Prometheus, how undaunted On Olympus shining bastions His audacious foot he planted, Myths are told and songs are chaunted, Full of promptings and suggestions. Beautiful is the tradition Of that flight through heavenly portals, The old classic superstition Of the theft and the transmission Of the fire of the Immortals ! First the deed of noble daring, Born of heavenward aspiration, Then the fire with mortals sharing, Then the vulture, the despairing Cry of pain on crags Caucasian. All is but a symbol painted Of the Poet, Prophet, Seer ; Only those are crowned and sainted Who with grief have been acquainted, Making nations nobler, freer. In their feverish exultations, In their triumph and their yearning, In their passionate pulsations, In their words among the nations, The Promethean fire is burning. Shall it, then, be unavailing, All this toil for human culture ? Through the cloud-rack, dark and trailing, Must they see above them sailing O er life s barren crags the vulture ? Such a fate as this was Dante s, By defeat and exile maddened ; Thus were Milton and Cervantes, Nature s priests and Corybantes, By affliction touched and saddened. But the glories so transcendent That around their memories cluster, And, on all their steps attendant, Make their darkened lives resplendent With such gleams of inward lustre ! All the melodies mysterious, Through the dreary darkness chaunted ; Thoughts in attitudes imperious, Voices soft, and deep, and serious, Words that whispered, songs that haunted ! All the soul in rapt suspension, All the quivering, palpitating Chords of life in utmost tension, With the fervor of invention, With the rapture of creating ! Ah, Prometheus ! heaven-scaling ! In such hours of exultation Even the faintest heart, unquailing, Might behold the vulture sailing Eound the cloudy crags Caucasian ! Though to all there is not given Strength for such sublime endeavor, Thus to scale the walls of heaven, And to leaven with fiery leaven, All the hearts of men for ever ; Yet all bards, whose hearts unblighted Honor and believe the presage, Hold aloft their torches lighted, Gleaming through the realms benighted, As they onward bear the message ! [ 251 ] THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE. SAINT AUGUSTINE ! well liast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder,* if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame ! All common things, each day s events, That with the hour begin and end, Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend. The low desire, the base design, That makes another s virtues less ; The revel of the treacherous wine, And all occasions of excess ; The longing for ignoble things ; The strife for triumph more than truth ; The hardening of the heart, that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth ; All thoughts of ill ; all evil deeds, That have their root in thoughts of ill; _ Whatever hinders or impedes The action of the nobler will ; All these must first be trampled down Beneath our feet, if we would gain In the bright fields of fair renown The right of eminent domain. We have not wings, we cannot soar ; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time. The mighty pyramids of stone That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, When nearer seen, and better known, Are but gigantic flights of stairs. The distant mountains, that uprear Their solid bastions to the skies, Are crossed by pathways, that appear As we to higher levels rise. The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. Standing on what too long we bore With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, We may discern unseen before A path to higher destinies. Nor deem the irrevocable Past As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising 011 its wrecks, at last To something nobler we attain. The words of St. Augustine are, "De vitiis nostris scalam nobis fadiuus, si vitia ipsa i-aleaimis." SERMON III. De Ascensiottc, 25-2 J THE PHANTOM SHIP.* Lv Mather s Magnalia Christi, Of the old colonial time, May be found in prose the legend That is here set down in rhyme. A ship sailed from New Haven, And the keen and frosty airs. That filled her sails at parting, Were heavy with good men s prayers. " Lord ! if it be thy pleasure "- Thus prayed the old divine " To bury our friends in the ocean, Take them, for they are thine !" But Master Lamberton muttered, And under his breath said he, " This ship is so crank and walty, I fear our grave she will be ! " nd the ships that came from England When the winter months were gone, Brought no tidings of this vessel, Nor of Master Lamberton. This put the people to praying That the Lord would let them hear What in His greater wisdom He had done with friends so dear. And at last their prayers were answered : It was in the month of June, An hour before the sunset Of a windy afternoon, When, steadily steering landward, A ship was seen below, And they knew it was Lamberton, Master, Who sailed so long ago. On she came, with a cloud of canvas, Eight against the wind that blew, Until the eye could distinguish The faces of the crew. Then fell her straining topmasts, Hanging tangled in the shrouds ; And her sails were loosened and lifted, And blown away like clouds. And the masts, with all their rigging, Fell slowly, one by one ; And the hulk dilated and vanished, As a sea-mist in the sun ! And the people who saw this marvel Each said unto his friend, That this was the mould of their vessel, And thus her tragic end. And the pastor of the village Gave thanks to God in prayer, That, to quiet their troubled spirits, He had sent this Ship of Air. * A detailed account of this " apparition of a Ship in the Air " is given by Cotton Mather in his Magnalia Christi, Book I. ch. vi. It is contained in a letter from the Rev. James Pierpont, Pastor of New Haven. To this account Mather adds these words : "Reader, there being yet living so many credible gentlemen, that were eye-witnesses of this wonderful thing. I venture to publish it for a thing as undoubted as tis wonderful," [ 253 ] HAUNTED HOUSES. ALL houses wherein men have lived and died Are haunted houses. Through the open doors The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, 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 on the wall. The stranger at my fireside cannot see The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear; 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. 254 BIRDS OF PASS AC PI 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. And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud Throws o er the sea a floating bridge of light, Across whose trembling planks 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 sways and bends, Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss. IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE. IN the village churchyard she lies, Dust is in her beautiful eyes, No more she breathes, nor feels, nor stirs ; At her feet and at her head Lies a slave to attend the dead, But their dust is white as hers. Was she a lady of high degree, So much in love Avith vanity And foolish pomp of this world of ours ? Or was it Christian charity, And lowliness and humility, The richest and rarest of all dowers ? Who shall tell us ] No one speaks ; No color shoots into those cheeks, Either of anger or of pride, At the rude question we have asked ; Nor will the mystery be unmasked By those who are sleeping at her side. Hereafter 1 And do you think to look On the terrible pages of that Book To find her failings, faults, and errors 1 Ah, you will then have other cares, In your own shortcomings and despairs, In your own secret sins and terrors ! THE EMPEROR S BIRD S NEST. ONCE the Emperor Charles of Spain, With his swarthy, grave commanders, I forget in what campaign, Long besieged, in mud and rain, Some old frontier town of Flanders. Up and down the dreary camp, In great boots of Spanish leather, Striding with a measured tramp, These Hidalgos, dull and damp, Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather. Thus as to and fro they went, Over upland and through hollow, Giving their impatience vent, Perched upon the Emperor s tent In her nest they spied a swallow. Yes, it was a swallow s nest, Built of clay and hair of horses, Mane, or tail, or dragoon s crest, Found on hedge-rows east and west, After skirmish of the forces. Then an old Hidalgo said, As he twirled his gray nmstachio, " Sure this swallow overhead Thinks the Emperor s tent a shed, And the Emperor but a Macho !"* Hearing his imperial name Coupled with those words of malice, Half in anger, half in shame, Forth the great campaigner came Slowly from his canvas palace. " Let no hand the bird molest," Said he solemnly, "nor hurt her !" Adding then, by way of jest, " Golondrina is my guest, Tis the wife of some deserter ! " Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft, Through the camp was spread the rumor, And the soldiers, as they quaffed Flemish beer at dinner, laughed At the Emperor s pleasant humor. So unharmed and unafraid Sat the swallow still and brooded, Till the constant cannonade Through the walls a breach had made, And the siege was thus concluded. Then the army, elsewhere bent, Struck its tents as if disbanding, Only not the Emperor s tent, For he ordered, ere he went, Very curtly, "Leave it standing!" So it stood there all alone, Loosely napping, torn and tattered, Till the brood was fledged and flown, Singing o er those walls of stone Which the cannon-shot had shattered. Macho, in Spanish, signifies a mule. Golondrina is the feminine form of Golondrino, a swallow, and also a cant name for a desei ter. DAYLIGHT AND MOONLIGHT. IN broad daylight, and at noon, Yesterday I saw the moon Sailing high, but faint and white, As a schoolboy s paper kite. In broad daylight, yesterday, I read a Poet s mystic lay ; And it seemed to me at most As a phantom, or a ghost. But at length the feverish day Like a passion died away, And the night, serene and still, Fell on village, vale, and hill. Then the moon, in all her pride, Like a spirit glorified, Filled and overflowed the night k With revelations of her light. And the Poet s song again Passed like music through my brain ; Night interpreted to me All its m-ace and THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE. LEAFLESS are the trees ; their purple branches Spread themselves abroad, like reefs of coral, Rising silent In the Red Sea of the Winter sunset. From the hundred chimneys of the village, Like the Afreet in the Arabian story, Smoky columns Tower aloft into the air of amber. At the window winks the flickering fire-light ; Here and there the lamps of evening glimmer, Social watch-fires A i i.-wering one another through the darkness. L L BIRDS OF PASSAGE. On the hearth the lighted logs are glowing, And, like Ariel in the cloven pine-tree, For its freedom Groans and sighs the air imprisoned in them. By the fireside there are old men seated, Seeing ruined cities in the ashes, Asking sadly Of the Past what it can ne er restore them. By the fireside there are youthful dreamers, Building castles fair, with stately stairways, Asking blindly Of the Future what it cannot give them. By the fireside tragedies are acted In whose scenes appear two actors only, Wife and husband, And above them God the sole spectator. By the fireside there are peace and comfort, Wives and children, with fair, thoughtful faces, Waiting, watching For a well-known footstep in the passage. Each man s chimney is his Golden Mile-stone; Is the central point, from which he measures Every distance Through the gateways of the world around him. In his farthest wanderings still he sees it; Hears the talking flame, the answering night-wind, As he heard them When he sat with those who were, but are not. Happy he whom neither wealth nor fashion, Nor the march of the encroaching city, Drives an exile From the hearth of his ancestral homestead. We may build more splendid habitations, Fill our rooms with paintings and with sculptures, But we cannot Buy with gold the old associations [ 259 ] THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT NEWPORT. How strange it seems ! These Hebrews in their graves, Close by the street of this fair seaport town, Silent beside the never-silent waves, At rest in all this moving up and down! The trees are white with dust, that o er their sleep Wave their broad curtains in the south wind s breath. While underneath such leafy tents they keep The long, mysterious Exodus of Death. And these sepulchral stones, so old and brown, That pave with level flags their burial-place, Seem like the tablets of the Law, thrown down And broken by Moses at the mountain s base. The very names recorded here are strange, Of foreign accent, and of different climes ; Alvares and Rivera interchange With Abraham and Jacob of old times. " Blessed be God ! for He created Death ! " The mourners said, " and Death is rest and peace ; " Then added, in the certainty of faith, " And giveth Life that never more shall cease." Closed are the portals of their Synagogue, No Psalms of David now the silence break, No Rabbi reads the ancient Decalogue In the grand dialect the Prophets spake. Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected; for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty, like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green. 260 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. How came they here ? What burst of Christian hate, What persecution, merciless and blind, Drove o er the sea that desert desolate These Ishmaels and Hagars of mankind? They lived in narrow streets, and lanes obscure, Ghetto and Judenstrass, in mirk and mire ; Taught in the school of patience to endure The life of anguish and the death of fire. All their lives long, with the unleavened bread And bitter herbs of exile and its fears, The wasting famine of the heart they fed, And slaked its thirst with marah of their tears. Anathema maranatha ! was the cry That rang from town to town, from street to street ; At every gate the accursed Mordecai Was mocked and jeered, and spumed by Christian feet. Pride and humiliation hand in hand Walked with them through the world where er they went ; Trampled and beaten were they as the sand, And yet unshaken as the continent. For in the background figures vague and vast Of patriarchs and of prophets rose sublime, And all the great traditions of the Past They saw reflected in the coming time. And thus for ever with reverted look The mystic volume of the world they read, Spelling it backward, like a Hebrew book, Till life became a Legend of the Dead. Put ah ! what once has been shall be no more. The groaning earth in travail and in pain Tilings forth its races, but does not restore, And the dead nations never rise again. THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE. A LEAF *ROM KING ALFRED S OROSIUS. OTIIKKE, the old sea-captain, Who dwelt in Helgoland, To King Alfred, the Lover of Truth, I .rought a snow-white walrus tooth, His figure was tall and stately, Like a boy s his eye appeared ; His hair was yellow as hay, But threads of a silvery gray "Which ho held in his brown right hand. Gleamed in his tawny beard. BIRDS OF PASSAGE. Hearty and halo was Othero, His cheek had the color of oak ; With a kind of laugh in his speech, Like the sea-tide on a beach, As unto the King he spoke. And Alfred, King of the Saxons, Had a book upon his knees, And wrote down the wondrous tale Of him who was first to sail Into the Arctic seas. " So far I live to the northward, No man lives north of me ; To the east are wild mountain-chains, And beyond them meres and plains ; To the westward all is sea. " So far I live to the northward, From the harbour of Skeringes-hale, If you only sailed by day, With a fair wind all the way, More than a month would you sail. " I own six hundred reindeer, With sheep and swine beside ; I have tribute from the Finns, Whalebone and reindeer-skins, And ropes of walrus-hide. " I ploughed the land with horses, But my heart was ill at ease, For the old seafaring men Came to me now and then, With their sagas of the seas ; " Of Iceland and of Greenland, And the stormy Hebrides, And the undiscovered deep ; I could not eat nor sleep For thinking of those seas. " To the northward stretched the desert, How far I lain would know ; So at last I sallied forth, And three days sailed due north, As far as the whale-ships go. " To the west of me was the ocean, To the right the desolate shore, But I did not slacken sail For the walrus or the whale, Till after three days more. " The days grew longer and longer, Till they became as one, And southward through the haze I saw the sullen blaze Of the red midnight sun. " And then uprose before me, Upon the water s edge, The huge and haggard shape Of that unknown JS r orth Cape, Whose form, is like a wedge. "The sea was rough and storm}-, The tempest howled and wailed, And the sea-fog, like a ghost, Haunted that dreary coast, But onward still I sailed. " Four days I steered to eastward, Four days without a night : Round in a fiery ring Went the great sun, King, With red and lurid light." Here Alfred, King of the Saxons, Ceased writing for a while ; And raised his eyes from his book, With a strange and puzzled look, And an incredulous smile. But Othere, the old sea-captain, He neither paused nor stirred, Till the King listened, and then Once more took up his pen, And wrote down every word. OLIVER BASSELIN. - And now the land," said there, " Bent southward suddenly, And I followed the curving shore, And ever southward bore Into a nameless sea. " And there we hunted the walrus, The narwhale, and the seal ; Ha ! twas a noble game ! And like the lightning s flame Flew our harpoons of steel. " There were six of us altogether, Norsemen of Helgoland ; In two days and no more We killed of them threescore, And dragged them to the strand !" Here Alfred the Truth-Teller Suddenly closed his book, And lifted his blue eyes, With doubt and strange surmise Depicted in their look. And there, the old sea-captain, Stared at him wild and weird, Then smiled, till his shining teeth Gleamed white from underneath His tawny, quivering beard. And to the King of the Saxons, In witness of the truth, Raising his noble head, He stretched his brown hand, and said, "Behold this walrus-tooth ! " OLIVER BASSELIN* IN the Valley of the Vire Still is seen an ancient mill, With its gables quaint and queer, And beneath the window-sill, On the stone, These words alone : " Oliver Basselin lived here." Far above it, on the steep, Ruined stands the old Chateau ; Nothing but the donjon-keep Left for shelter or for show. Its vaca?nt eyes Stare at the skies, Stare at the valley green and deep. Once a convent, old and brown, Looked, but ah ! it looks no more, From the neighboring hillside down On the rushing and the roar Of the stream Whose sunny gleam Cheers the little Norman town. In that darksome mill of stone, To the water s dash and din, Careless, humble, and unknown, Sang the poet Basselin Songs that fill That ancient mill With a splendor of its own. * Oliver Basselin, the "Pere joyeux du Vaudeville," flourished in the fifteenth century, and gave to his convivial songs the name of his native valleys, in which he sang them, Vanx-de-Vire. This namo was afterwards corrupted into the modern BIRDS OF PASS AC JK. Never feeling of unrest Broke the pleasant dream he dreamed ; Only made to be his nest, All the lovely valley seemed ; No desire Of soaring higher Stirred or fluttered in his breast. True, his songs were not divine ; Were not songs of that high art, Which, as winds do in the pine, Find an answer in each heart ; But the mirth Of this green earth Laughed and revelled in his line. From the alehouse and the inn, Opening on the narrow street, Come the loud, convivial din, Singing and applause of feet, The laughing lays That in those days Sang the poet Basselin. In the castle, cased in steel, Knights, that fought at Agincourt, Watched and waited, spur on heel ; But the poet sang for sport Songs that rang Another clang, Songs that lowlier hearts could feel. In the convent, clad in gray, Sat the monks in lonely cells, Paced the cloisters, knelt to pray, And the poet heard their bells ; But his rhymes Found other chimes, Nearer to the earth than they. Gone are all the barons bold, Gone are all the knights and squires, Gone the abbot stern and cold, And the brotherhood of friars ; Not a name Remains to fame, From those mouldering days of old ! But the poet s memory here Of the landscape makes a part ; Like the river, swift and clear, Flows his song through many a heart ; Haunting still That ancient mill, In the Valley of the Vire. VICTOR GALBKAITH.* UNDER the walls of Monterey At daybreak the bugles began to play, Victor Galbraith ! In the mist of the morning damp and gray, These were the words they seemed to say, " Come forth to thy death, Victor Galbraith ! " * This poem is founded on fact. Victor GaVbraith was a bugler in a company of volunteer cavalry ; and was shot in Mexico for some breach of discipline. It is a common superstition among soldiers, that no balls will kill them unless their names are writ ten on them. The old proverb says, " Every bullet ha,s its billet." VICTOR GALBRAITH. 265 Forth he came, with a martial tread ; Firm was his step, erect his head, Victor Galbraith; He \vlio so well the bugle played, Could not mistake the words it said : "Come forth to thy death, Victor Galbraith ! " He looked at the earth, he looked at the sky, He looked at the files of musketry, Victor Galbraith ! And he said, with a steady voice Bnd eye, " Take good aim ; I am ready to die ! " Thus challenges death Victor Galbraith. Twelve fiery tongues flashed straight and red, Six leaden balls on their errand sped; Victor Galbraith Falls to the ground, but he is not dead ; His name was not stamped on those balls of lead, And they only scath Victor Galbraith. Three balls are in his breast and brain, But he rises out of the dust again, Victor Galbraith ! The water he drinks has a bloody stain ; "0 kill me, and put me out of my pain ! ; In his agony prayeth Victor Galbraith. Forth dart once more those tongues of flame, And the bugler has died a death of shame, Victor Galbraith! His soul has gone back to whence it came, And no one answers to the name, When the Sergeant saith, "Victor Galbraith!" Kims OF I>AKSA<;[<;. Under the walls of Monterey By night a bugle is heard to play, Victor Galbraith ! Through the mist of the valley damp and gray The sentinels hear the sound, and say, "That is the wraith Of Victor Galbraith ! MY LOST YOUTH. OFTEN I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea ; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, And my youth comes back to me. And a verse of a Lapland song Is haunting my memory still : " A boy s will is the wind s will. And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, And catch, in sudden gleams, The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, And islands that were the Hesperides Of all my boyish dreams. And the burden of that old song, It murmurs and whispers still : "A boy s will is the wind s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. I remember the black wharves and the slips, And the sea-tides tossing free; And Spanish sailors with bearded lips. And the beauty and mystery of the ships, And the magic of the sea. JVIY LOST YOUTH. 267 And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still : " A boy s will is the wind s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."" I remember the bulwarks by the shore, And the fort upon the hill; The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar, The drum-beat repeated o er and o er, And the bugle wild and shrill. And the music of that old song Throbs in my memory still : "A boy s will is the wind s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the sea-fight far away,* How it thundered o er the tide ! And the dead captains, as they lay In their graves, o erlooking the tranquil bay, Where they in battle died. And the sound of that mournful song Goes through me with a thrill : "A boy s will is the wind s will, And the thoughts of youth arc long, long thoughts. 7 I can see the breezy dome of groves, The shadows of Deeriiig s Woods : And the friendships old and the early loves Come back with a sabbath sound, as of doves In quiet neighborhoods. And the verse of that sweet old son- O? It k nutters and murmurs still: "A boy s will is the wind s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the gleams and glooms that dart Across the schoolboy s brain ; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part * This TOS the engagement between the Enterprise and Boxer, off the harbour of Portland in which both retains were slam. They were buried side by side, in the cemetery on Mountjoy. 268 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song Sings on, and is never still : " A boy s will is the wind s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. " There are things of which I may not speak ; There are dreams that cannot die ! There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye. And the words of that fatal song Come over me like a chill : " A boy s will is the wind s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." Strange to me now are the forms I meet When I visit the dear old town ; But the native air is pure and sweet, And the trees that o ershadow each well-known street, As they balance up and down, Are singing the beautiful song, Are sighing and whispering still : " A boy s will is the wind s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." And Deering s Woods are fresh and fair, And with joy that is almost pain My heart goes back to wander there, And among the dreams of the days that were I find my lost youth again. And the strange and beautiful song, The groves are repeating it still : " A boy s will is the wind s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." CHILDREN. COME to me, 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 the 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 1 We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. 270 1JTBDS OF PASSAGE. What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food, Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood, That to the world re children ; Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below. Come to me, ye children ! And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singin; In your sunny atmosphere. For what are all our contrivings, 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. SANTA FILOMENA. * WHENE ER a noble deed is wrought, Whene er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts, in glad surprise, To higher levels rise. The tidal wave of deeper souls Into our inmost being rolls, And lifts us unawares Out of all meaner cares. Honor to those whose words or deeds Thus help us in our daily needs, And by their overflow Eaise us from what is low ! Thus thought I, as by night I read Of the great army of the dead, The trenches cold and damp, The starved and froz en camp, The wounded from the battle-plain, In dreary hospitals of pain, The cheerless corridors, .The cold and stony floors. Lo ! in that house of misery A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom, And flit from room to room. And slow, as in a dream of bliss, The speechless sufferer turns to kiss Her shadow, as it falls Upon the darkening walls. As if a door in heaven should be Opened and then closed suddenly, The vision came and went, The light shone and was spent. On England s annals, through the long Hereafter of her speech and song, That light its rays shall cast From portals of the past. A Lady with a Lamp shall stand In the great history of the land, A noble type of good, Heroic womanhood. Nor even shall be wanting here The palm, the lily, and the spear, The symbols that of yore Saint Filomena bore. " At Pisa the church of San Francisco contains a chapel dedicated lately to Santa Pilomena ; over the altar a picture, by Sabatelli, representing the Saint as a beautiful, nymph-like figure, floating down from heaven, attended by two angels bearing the lily, palm, and javelin, and beneath, in the foreground, the sick and maimed, who are healed by her intercession. "MRS. JAMKRON, /5hnv<7 and legendary Art, II. 298. t 271 j SANDALPHOK HAVE you read in the Talmud of old, In the Legends the Rabbins 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, erowded with angels unnumbered, By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered Alone in the desert at night ? The Angels of Wind and of Fire Chaunt only one hymn, and expire With the song s irresistible stress ; Expire in their rapture and wonder, 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 unirnpassioned and slow, Among the dead angels, the deathless Sandalphon stands listening breathless To sounds that ascend from below ; From the spirits on earth that adore, From 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 hear. And he gathers the prayers as he stands, And they change into flowers in his hands, Into garlands of purple and red : BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 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, Of the ancient Rabbinical lore; Yet the old mediaeval tradition, 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. DAYBREAiv. A WIND came up out of the sea, And said, " mists, make room for me." It hailed the ships, and cried, " Sail on, Ye mariners, the night is gone." And hurried landward far away, Crying, "Awake ! it is the day." It said unto the forest, " Shout ! Hang all your leafy banners out ! " It touched the wood-bird s folded wing, And said, "0 bird, awake and sing." And o er the farms, " chanticleer, Your clarion blow ; the day is near." It whispered to the fields of corn, " Bow down, and hail the coming morn." It shouted through the belfry-tower, " Awake, bell ! proclaim the hour." It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, And said, " Xot yet ! in quiet He." THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. THIS Indian Edda if I may so call it is founded on a tradition prevalent among the North American Indians, of a personage of miraculous birth, who was sent among them to clear their rivers, forests, and fishing-grounds, and to teach them the arts of peace. He was known among different tribes by the several names of Michabou, Chiabo, Manabozo, Tarenyawagon, and Hiawatha. Mr. Schoolcraft gives an account of him in his Algic Researches, Vol. I. p. 134 ; and in his History, Condition, and Prospects of the Indian Tribes of the United States, Part III. p. 314, may be found the Iroquois form of the tradition, derived from the verbal narrations of an Onondaga chief. Into this old tradition I have woven other curious Indian legends, drawn chiefly from the various and valuable writings of Mr. Schoolcraft, to whom the literary world is greatly indebted for his indefati gable zeal in rescuing from oblivion so much of the legendary lore of the Indians. The scene of the poem is among the Ojibways on the southern shore of Lake Superior, in the region between the Pictured Rocks and the Grand Sable. SHOULD you ask me, whence these stories ? Whence these legends and traditions, With the odors of the forest, With the dew and damp of meadows, With the curling smoke of wigwams, AVith the rushing of great rivers, With their frequent repetitions, And their wild reverberations, As of thunder in the mountains 1 I should answer, I should tell you, " From the forests and the prairies, From the great lakes of the Northland, From the land of the Ojibways, From the land of the Dacotahs, From the mountains, moors, and fen- lands, Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, Feeds among the reeds and rushes. I repeat them, as I heard them From the lips of Nawadaha, The musician, the sweet singer." Should you ask where JSTawadaha Found these songs, so wild and wayward, Found these legends and traditions, I should answer, I should tell you, " In the birds -nests of the forests, In the lodges of the beaver, In the hoof-prints of the bison, In the eyrie of the eagle ! "All the wild-fowl sang them to him, In the moorlands and the fen lands, In the melancholy marshes ; Chetowaik, the plover, sang them, Mahng, the loon, the wild goose, Wawa, The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, And the grouse, the Mushkodasa ! ; If still further you should ask me, Saying, " Who was Nawadaha 1 Tell us of this Nawadaha," I should answer your inquiries Straightway in such words as follow. " In the Vale of Tawasentha, In the green and silent valley, By the pleasant water-courses, Dwelt the singer Nawadaha. Round about the Indian village Spread the meadows and the corn-fields, And beyond them stood the forest, Stood the groves of singing pine-trees, Green in Summer, white in Winter, Ever sighing, ever singing. THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. " And the pleasant water-courses, You could trace them through the valley, By the rushing in the Spring-time, By the alders in the Summer, By the white fog in the Autumn, By the black line in the Winter ; And beside them dwelt the singer, In the vale of Tawasentha,* In the green and silent valley. " There he sang of Hiawatha, Sang the Song of Hiawatha, Sang his wondrous birth and being, How he prayed and how he fasted, How he lived, and toiled, and suffered, That the tribes of men might prosper, That he might advance his people ! " Ye who love the haunts of Nature, Love the sunshine of the meadow, Love the shadow of the forest, Love the wind among the branches, And the rain-shower and the snow-storm, And the rushing of great rivers Through their palisades of pine-trees, And the thunder in the mountains, Whose innumerable echoes Flap like eagles in their eyries ; Listen to these wild traditions, To this Song of Hiawatha ! Ye who love a nation s legends, Love the ballads of a people, That like voices from afar off Call to us to pause and listen, Speak in tones so plain and childlike, Scarcely can the ear distinguish Whether they are sung or spoken ; Listen to this Indian Legend, To this Song of Hiawatha ! Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, Who have faith in God and Nature, Who believe, that in all ages Every human heart is human, That in even savage bosoms There are longings, yearnings, strivings, For the good they comprehend not, That the feeble hands and helpless, Groping blindly in the darkness, Touch God s right hand in that dark ness And are lifted up and strengthened ; Listen to this simple story, To this Song of Hiawatha ! Ye who sometimes in your rambles Through the green lanes of the country, Where the tangled barberry-bushes Hang their tufts of crimson berries, Over stone walls gray with mosses, Pause by some neglected graveyard, For a while to muse, and ponder On a half-effaced inscription, Written with little skill of song-craft, Homely phrases, but each letter Full of hope, and yet of heart-break, Full of all the tender pathos Of the Here and the Hereafter : Stay and read this rude inscription, Read this Song of Hiawatha ! THE PEACE-PIPE. ON the Mountains of the Prairie, l On the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry, Gitche Manito, the mighty, He the Master of Life, descending, On the red crags of the quarry Stood erect, and called the nations, Called the tribes of men together. From his footprints flowed a river, Leaped into the light of morning, O er the precipice plunging downward This valley, now called Norman s Kill, is in Albany County, New York. THE PEACE-PIPE. 275 Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet. And the spirit, stooping earthward, With his finger on the meadow Traced a winding pathway for it, Saying to it, " Eun in this way ! " From the red stone of the quarry With his hand he broke a fragment, Moulded it into a pipe-head, Shaped and fashioned it with figures ; From the margin of the river Took a long reed for a pipe-stem, With its dark green leaves upon it ; Filled the pipe with bark of willow, With the bark of the red willow : Breathed upon the neighboring forest, Made its great boughs chafe together, Till in flame they burst and kindled ; And erect upon the mountains, Gitche Manito, the mighty, Smoked the calumet, the Peace-Pipe, As a signal to the nations. And the smoke rose slowly, slowly, Through the tranquil air of morning, First a single line of darkness, Then a denser, bluer vapor, Then a snow-white cloud unfolding, Like the tree-tops of the forest, Ever rising, rising, rising, Till it touched the top of heaven, Till it broke against the heaven, And rolled outward all around it. From the Vale of Tawasentha, From the Valley of Wyoming, From the groves of Tuscaloosa, From the far-off Eocky Mounta : ns, From the Northern lakes and rivers, All the tribes beheld the signal, Saw the distant smoke ascending, The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe. And the Prophets of the nations Said : " Behold it, the Pukwana ! By this signal from afar off, Bending like a wand of willow, Waving like a hand that beckons, Gitche Manito, the mighty, Calls the tribes of men together, Calls the warriors to his council ! " Down the rivers, o er the prairies, Came the warriors of the nations, Came the Delawares and Mohawks, Came the Choctaws and Camanches, Came the Shoshonies and Blackfeet, Came the Pawnees and Omawhaws, Came the Mandans and Dacotahs, Came the Huron s and Ojibways, All the warriors drawn together By the signal of the Peace-Pipe, To the Mountains of the Prairie, To the great Eed Pipe-stone Quarry. And they stood there on the meadow, With their weapons and their war-gear, Painted like the leaves of Autumn, Painted like the sky of morning, Wildly glaring at each other ; In their faces stern defiance, In their hearts the feuds of ages, The hereditary hatred, The ancestral thirst of vengeance. Gitche Manito, the Mighty, The creator of the nations, Looked upon them with compassion, With paternal love and pity ; Looked upon their wrath and wrangling But as quarrels among children, But as feuds and fights of children ! Over them he stretched his right hand, To subdue their stubborn natures, To allay their thirst and fever, By the shadow of his right hand ; Spake to them with voice majestic As the sound of far-off waters Falling into deep abysses, Warning, chiding, spake in this wise : " my children ! my poor children ! 276 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Listen to the words of wisdom, Listen to the words of warning, From the lips of the Great Spirit, From the Master of Life who made you ! " I have given you lands to hunt in, I have given you streams to fish in, I have given you bear and bison, I have given you roe and reindeer, I have given you brant and beaver, Filled the marshes full of wild-fowl, Filled the rivers full of fishes ; Why then are you not contented 1 Why then will you hunt each other ? " J am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions ; All your strength is in your union, All your danger is in discord ; Therefore be at peace henceforward, And as brothers live together. " I will send a Prophet to you, A Deliverer of the nations, Who shall guide you and shall teach you, Who shall toil and suffer with you. If you listen to his counsels, You will multiply and prosper ; If his warnings pass unheeded, You will fade away and perish ! " Bathe now in the stream before you, Wash the war-paint from your faces, Wash the blood-stains from your fingers, Bury your war-clubs and your weapons, Break the red stone from this quarry, Mould and make it into Peace-Pipes, Take the reeds that grow beside you, Deck them with your brightest feathers, Smoke the calumet together, And as brothers live henceforward !" Then upon the ground the warriors Threw their cloaks and shirts of deer skin. Threw their weapons and their war-gear, Leaped into the rushing river, Washed the war-paint from their faces. Clear above them flowed the water, Clear and limpid from the footprints Of the Master of Life descending ; Dark below them flowed the water, Soiled and stained with streaks of crimson, As if blood were mingled with it i From the river came the warriors, Clean and washed from all their war paint ; On the banks their clubs they buried, Buried all their warlike weapons. Gitche Manito, the mighty, The Great Spirit, the creator, Smiled upon his helpless children ! And in silence all the warriors Broke the red stone of the quarry, Smoothed and formed it into Peace- Pipes, Broke the long reeds by the river, Decked them with their brightest feathers, And departed each one homeward, While the Master of Life, ascending, Through the opening of cloud-curtains, Through the doorways of the heaven, Vanished from before their faces, In the smoke that rolled around him, The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe ! II. THE FOUR WINDS. " HONOR be to Mudjekeewis !" Cried the warriors, cried the old men, When he came in triumph homeward With the sacred belt of Wampum. From the regions of the North-Wind, From the kingdom of Wabasso, From the land of the White Rabbit. THE FOUR WINDS. 277 He had stolen the belt of Wampum, From the neck of Mishe-Mokwa, From the Great Bear of the mountains, From the terror of the nations, As he lay asleep and cumbrous On the summit of the mountains, Like a rock with mosses on it, Spotted brown and gray with mosses. Silently he stole upon him, Till the red nails of the monster Almost tmched him, almost scared him, Till the hot breath of his nostrils Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis, As he drew the belt of Wampum, Over the round ears that heard not, Over the small eyes that saw not, Over the long nose and nostrils, The black muffle of the nostrils, Out of which the heavy breathing Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis. Then he swung aloft his war-club, Shouted loud and long his war-cry, Smote the mighty Mishe-Mokwa In the middle of his forehead, Eight between the eyes he smote him. With the heavy blow bewildered, Rose the Great Bear of the mountains ; But his knees beneath him trembled, And he whimpered like a woman, As he reeled and staggered forward, As he sat upon his haunches ; And the mighty Mudjekeewis, Standing fearlessly before him, Taunted him in loud derision, Spake disdainfully in this wise : " Hark you, Bear ! you are a coward, 2 And no Brave, as you pretended ; Else you would not cry and whimper Like a miserable woman ! Bear ! you know our tribes are hostile, Long have been at war together ; Now you find that we are strongest, You go sneaking in the forest, You go hiding in the mountains ! Had you conquered me in battle, Not a groan would I have uttered ; But you, Bear, sit here and whimper, And disgrace your tribe by crying, Like a wretched Shaugodaya, Like a cowardly old woman ! " Then again he raised his war-club, Smote again the Mishe-Mokwa In the middle of his forehead, Broke his skull, as ice is broken When one goes to fish in Winter. Thus was slain the Mishe-Mokwa, He the Great Bear of the mountains, He the terror of the nations. " Honor be to Mudjekeewis !" With a shout exclaimed the people, " Honor be to Mudjekeewis ! Henceforth he shall be the West- Wind, And hereafter and for ever Shall he hold supreme dominion Over all the winds of heaven. Call him no more Mudjekeewis, Call him Kabeyun, the West- Wind ! " Thus was Mudjekeewis chosen Father of the Winds of Heaven. For himself he kept the West- Wind, Gave the others to his children ; Unto Wabun gave the East- Wind, Gave the South to Shawondasee, And the North- Wind, wild and cruel, To the fierce Kabibonokka. Young and beautiful was Wabun ; He it was who brought the morning, He it was whose silver arrows Chased the dark o er hill and valley ; He it was whose cheeks were painted With the brightest streaks of crimson, And whose voice awoke the village, Called the deer and called the hunter. Lonely in the sky was Wabun ; 278 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Though, the birds sang gaily to him, Though the wild-flowers of the meadow Filled the air with odors for him, Though the forests and the rivers Sang and shouted at his coming, Still his heart was sad within him, For he was alone in heaven. But one morning, gazing earthward, While the village still was sleeping, And the fog lay on the river, Like a ghost, that goes at sunrise, He beheld a maiden walking All alone upon a meadow, Gathering water-flags and rushes By a river in the meadow. Every morning, gazing earthward, Still the first thing he beheld there Was her blue eyes looking at him, Two blue lakes among the rushes. And he loved the lonely maiden, Who thus waited for his comino- : o } For they both were solitary, She on earth and he in heaven. And he wooed her with caresses, Wooed her with his smile of sunshine, With his flattering words he wooed her, With his sighing and his singing, Gentlest whispers in the branches, Softest music, sweetest odors, Till he drew her to his bosom, Folded in his robes of crimson, Till into a star he changed her, Trembling still upon his bosom ; And for ever in the heavens They are seen together walking, Wabun and the Wabun- Annung, O* Wabun and the Star of Morning O But the fierce Kabibonokka Had his dwelling among icebergs, In the everlasting snow-drifts, In the kingdom of Wabasso, In the land of the White Eabbit. He it was whose hand in Autumn Painted all the trees with scarlet, Stained the leaves with red and yellow; He it was who sent the snow-flakes, Sifting, hissing through the forest, Froze the ponds, the lakes, the rivers, Drove the loon and sea-gull southward, Drove the cormorant and heron To their nests of sedge and sea-tang In the realms of Shawondasee. Once the fierce Kabibonokka Issued from his lodge of snow-drifts, From his home among the icebergs, And his hair, with snow besprinkled, Streamed behind him like a river, Like a black and wintry river, As he howled and hurried southward, Over frozen lakes and moorlands. There among the reeds and rushes Found he Shingebis, the diver, Trailing strings of fish behind him, O er the frozen fens and moorlands, Lingering still among the moorlands, Though his tribe had long departed To the land of Shawondasee. Cried the fierce Kabibonokka, "Who is this that dares to brave me ? Dares to stay in my dominions, When the Wawa has departed, When the wild-goose has gone southward, And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, Long ago departed southward ! I will go into his wigwam, I will put his smouldering fire out ! " And at night Kabibonokka To the lodge came wild and wailing, Heaped the snow in drifts about it, Shouted down into the smoke-flue, Shook the lodge-poles in his fury, Flapped the curtain of the doorway. Shingebis, the diver, feared not, Shingebis, the diver, cared not ; THE FOUR WINDS. 279 Four great logs had he for firewood, One for each moon of the winter, And for food the fishes served him. By his blazing fire he sat there, Warm and merry, eating, laughing, Singing, " Kabibonokka, You are but my fellow-mortal ! " Then Kabibonokka entered, And though Shingebis, the diver, Felt his presence by the coldness, Felt his icy breath upon him, Still he did not cease his singing, Still he did not leave his laughing, Only turned the log a little, Only made the fire burn brighter, Made the sparks fly up the smoke- flue. From Kabibonokka s forehead, From his snow-besprinkled tresses, Drops of sweat fell fast and heavy, Making dints upon the ashes, As along the eaves of lodges, As from drooping boughs of hemlock, Drips the melting snow in Spring-time, Making hollows in the snow-drifts. Till at last he rose defeated, Could not bear the heat and laughter, Could not bear the merry singing, But rushed headlong through the door way, Stamped upon the crusted snowdrifts, Stamped upon the lakes and rivers, Made the snow upon them harder, Made the ice upon them thicker, Challenged Shingebis, the diver, To come forth and wrestle with him, To come forth and wrestle naked On the frozen fens and moorlands. Forth went Shingebis, the diver, Wrestled all night with the North- Wind, Wrestled naked on the moorlands With the fierce Kabibonokka, Till his panting breath grew fainter, Till his frozen grasp grew feebler, Till he reeled and staggered backward, And retreated, baffled, beaten, To the kingdom of Wabasso, To the land of the White Eabbit, Hearing still the gusty laughter, Hearing Shingebis, the diver, Singing, " Kabibonokka, You are but my fellow-mortal ! " Shawondasee, fat and lazy, Had his dwelling far to southward, In the drowsy, dreamy sunshine, In the never-ending Summer. He it was who sent the wood-birds, Sent the Opechee, the robin, Sent the blue-bird, the Owaissa, Sent the Shawshaw, sent the swallow, Sent the wild-goose, Wawa, northward, Sent the melons and tobacco, And the grapes in purple clusters. From his pipe the smoke ascending, Filled the sky with haze and vapor, Filled the air with dreamy softness, Gave a twinkle to the water, Touched the ragged hills with smooth ness, Brought the tender Indian Summer, In the Moon when nights are brightest, In the dreary Moon of Snow-shoes. Listless, careless Shawondasee ! In his life he had one shadow, In his heart one sorrow had he. Once, as he was gazing northward, Far away upon a prairie He beheld a maiden standing, Saw a tall and slender maiden All alone upon a prairie ; Brightest green were all her garments, And her hair was like the sunshine. Day by day he gazed upon her, Day by day he sighed with passion, Day by day his heart within him THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Grew more hot with love and longing For the maid with yellow tresses. But he was too fat and lazy To bestir himself and woo her ; Yes, too indolent and easy To pursue her and persuade her. So he only gazed upon her, Only sat and sighed with passion For the maiden of the prairie. Till one morning, looking northward, He beheld her yellow tresses Changed and covered o er with whiteness, Covered, as with whitest snow-flakes. " Ah ! my brother from the North-land, From the kingdom of Wabasso, From the land of the White Eabbit ! You have stolen the maiden from me, You have laid your hand upon her, You have wooed and won my maiden, With your stories of the North-land ! " Thus the wretched Shawondasee Breathed into the air his sorrow ; And the South- Wind o er the prairie Wandered warm with sighs of passion, With the sighs of Shawondasee, Till the air seemed full of snow-flakes, Full of thistle-down the prairie, And the maid with hair like sunshine Vanished from his sight for ever ; Never more did Shawondasee See the maid with yellow tresses ! Poor, deluded Shawondasee ! Twas no woman that you gazed at, Twas no maiden that you sighed for, Twas the prairie dandelion, That through all the dreary Summer You had gazed at with such longing, You had sighed for with such passion, And had puffed away for ever, Blown into the air with sighing, Ah ! deluded Shawondasee ! Thus the Four Winds were divided ; Thus the sons of Mudjekeewis Had their stations in the heavens, At the corners of the heavens ; For himself the West- Wind only Kept the mighty Mudjekeewis. III. HIAWATHA S CHILDHOOD. DOWNWARD through the evening twilight, In the days that are forgotten, In the unremembered ages, From the full moon fell Nokomis. Fell the beautiful Nokomis, She a wife, but not a mother. She was sporting with her women, Swinging in a swing of grape-vines, When her rival, the rejected, Full of jealousy and hatred, Cut the leafy swing asunder, Cut in twain the twisted grape-vines, And Nokomis fell affrighted Downward through the evening twilight, On the Muskoday, the meadow, On the prairie full of blossoms. " See ! a star falls ! " said the people ; " From the sky a star is falling ! " There among the ferns and mosses, There among the prairie lilies, On the Muskoday, the meadow, In the moonlight and the starlight, Fair Nokomis bore a daughter. And she called her name Wenonah, As the first-born of her daughters. And the daughter of Nokomis Grew up like the prairie lilies, Grew a tall and slender maiden, With the beauty of the moonlight, With the beauty of the starlight. And Nokomis warned her oftc n, Saying oft, and oft repeating, " 0, beware of Mudjekeewis, HIAWATHA S CHILDHOOD. 281 Of the West- Wind, Mudjekeewis ; Listen not to what he tells you ; Lie not down upon the meadow, Stoop not down among the lilies, Lest the West- Wind- come and harm you ! " But she heeded not the warning, Heeded not those words of wisdom, And the West- Wind came at evening, Walking lightly o er the prairie, Whispering to the leaves and blossoms, Bending low the flowers and grasses, Found the beautiful Wenonah, Lying there among the lilies, Wooed her with his words of sweet ness, Wooed her with his soft caresses, Till she bore a son in sorrow, Bore a son of love and sorrow. Thus was born my Hiawatha, Thus was born the child of wonder ; But the daughter of Nokoinis, Hiawatha s gentle mother, In her anguish died deserted By the West- Wind, false and faithless, By the heartless Mudjekeewis. For her daughter long and loudly Wailed and wept the sad Nokomis ; "0 that I were dead ! " she murmured, " that I were dead, as thou art ! i\ T o more work, and no more weeping, Wahonomin ! Wahonomin ! " By the shores of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big- Sea- Water, Stood the wigwam of T^okomis, Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. Dark behind it rose the forest, Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, Rose the firs with cones upon them ; Bright before it beat the water, Beat the clear and sunny water, .Beat the shining Big- Sea- Water. There the wrinkled, old Nokomia ^Nursed the little Hiawatha, Rocked him in his linden cradle, Bedded soft in moss and rushes, Safely bound with reindeer sinews ; Stilled his fretful wail by saying, " Hush ! the Is T aked Bear will get thee ! " 3 Lulled him into slumber, singing, " Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! Who is this, that lights the wigwam ? With his great eyes lights the wigwam ? Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! " Many things Nokomis taught him, Of the stars that shine in heaven ; Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses ; Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits, Warriors with their plumes and war- clubs, Flaring far away to northward, In the frosty nights of Winter ; Showed the broad, white road in heaven, Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows, Running straight across the heavens, Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows. At the door on summer evenings Sat the little Hiawatha, Heard the whispering of the pine-trees, Heard the lapping of the water, Sounds of music, words of wonder ; " Minne-wawa ! " said the pine-trees, " Mudway-aushka ! " said the water. Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, Flitting through the dusk of evening, With the twinkle of its candle Lighting up the brakes and bushes ; And he sang the song of children, Sang the song Nokomis taught him : " Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly, Little, flitting, white-fire insect, Little, dancing, white-fire creature, Light me with your little candle, o o THE SONd OF HIAWATHA. Ere upon my Led I lay me, Ere in sleep I close my eyelids ! " Saw the moon rise from the water Eippling, rounding from the water, Saw the flecks and shadows on it, Whispered, " What is that, Nokomis 1 " And the good Xokomis answered y " Once a warrior, very angry, Seized his grandmother, and threw her, Up in to the sky at midnight ; Right against the moon he threw her ; Tis her body that you see there." Saw the rainbow in the heaven, In the eastern sky the rainbow, Whispered, " What is that, Nokomis 1 " And the good Nokomis answered : " Tis the heaven of flowers you see there ; All the wild flowers of the forest, All the lilies of the prairie, When on earth they fade and perish, Blossom in that heaven above us." When he heard the owls at midnight, Hooting, laughing in the forest, "What is that?" he cried, in terror; "What is that ?" he said, "Nokomis?" And the good ]STokomis answered : " That is but the owl and owlet, Talking in their native language, Talking, scolding at each other." Then the little Hiawatha Learned of every bird its language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How they built their nests in Summer, Where they hid themselves in Winter, Talked with them whene er he met them, Called them " Hiawatha s Chickens. " Of all beasts he learned the language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How the beavers built their lodges, Where the squirrels hid their acorns, How the reindeer ran so swiftly, Why the rabbit was so timid, Talked with them whene er he met them, Called them, " Hiawatha s Brothers." Then lagoo, the great boaster, He the marvellous story-teller, He the traveller and the talker, He the friend of old iS r okomis, Made a bow for Hiawatha ; From a branch of ash he made it, From an oak-bough made the arrows, Tipped with flint, and winged with feathers, And the cord he- made of deer-skin. Then he said to Hiawatha : " Go, my son, into the forest, Where the red deer herd together, Kill for us a famous roebuck, Kill for us a deer with antlers ! " Eorth into the forest straightway All alone walked Hiawatha Proudly, with his bow and arrows ; And the birds sang round him, o er him, " Do not shoot us, Hiawatha ! " Sang the Opechee, the robin, Sang the blue-bird, the Owaissa, " Do not shoot us, Hiawatha !" Up the oak-tree, close beside him, Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo, In and out among the branches, Coughed and chattered from the oak- tree, Laughed, and said between his laugh ing, "Do not shoot me, Hiawatha !" And the rabbit from his pathway Leaped aside, and at a distance Sat erect upon his haunches, Half in fear and half in frolic, Saying to the little hunter, " Do not shoot me, Hiawatha !" But lie heeded not, nor heard them, For his thoughts were with the red deer; On their tracks his eyes were fastened, Leading downward to the river, To the ford across the river, And as one in slumber walked he. Hidden in the alder-bushes, There he waited till the deer came, Till he saw two antlers lifted, Saw two eyes look from the thicket, Saw two nostrils point to windward, And a deer came down the pathway, Flecked with leafy light and shadow. And his heart within him fluttered, Trembled like the leaves above him, Like the birch-leaf palpitated, As the deer came down the pathway. Then, upon one knee uprising, Hiawatha aimed an arrow ; Scarce a twig moved with his motion, 248 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled, But the wary roebuck started, Stamped with all his hoofs together, Listened with one foot uplifted, Leaped as if to meet the arrow ; Ah ! the singing, fatal arrow, Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him ! Dead he lay there in the forest, By the ford across the river ; Beat his timid heart no longer, But the heart of Hiawatha Throbbed and shouted and exulted, As he bore the red deer homeward, And lagoo and Nokomis Hailed his coming with applauses. From the red deer s hide Nokomis Made a cloak for Hiawatha, From the red deer s flesh Nokoniis Made a banquet in his honor. All the village came and feasted, Al the guests praised Hiawatha, Called him Strong-Heart, Soan-ge-taha ! Called him Loon-Heart, Malm-go-taysee ! IY. HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS. OUT of childhood into manhood Now had grown my Hiawatha, Skilled in all the craft of hunters, Learned in all the lore of old men, In all youthful sports and pastimes, In all manly arts and labors. Swift of foot was Hiawatha ; He could shoot an arrow from him, And run forward with such fleetness, That the arrow fell behind him ! Strong of arm was Hiawatha ; He could shoot ten arrows upward, Shoot them with such strength and swiftness, That the tenth had left the bow-string Ere the first to earth had fallen ! He had mittens, Minjekahwun, Magic mittens made of deer-skin ; When upon his hands he wore them, He could smite the rocks asunder, He could grind them into powder. He had moccasons enchanted, Magic moccasons of deer-skin ; When he bound them round his ankles, When upon his feet he tied them, At each stride a mile he measured ! Much he questioned old Nokomis Of his father Mudjekeewis ; Learned from her the fatal secret Of the beauty of his mother, Of the falsehood of his father : And his heart was hot within him, Like a living coal his heart was. Then he said to old Nokomis, " I will go to Mudjekeewis, See how fares it with my father, At the doorways of the West- Wind, At the portals of the Sunset !" From his lodge went Hiawatha, Dressed for travel, armed for hunting ; Dressed in deer-skin shirt and leggings, Eichly wrought with quills and wampum ; On his head his eagle-feathers, Round his waist his belt of wampum, In his hand his bow of ash- wood, Strung with sinews of the reindeer ; In his quiver oaken arrows, Tipped with jasper, winged with feathers ; With his mittens, Minjekahwun, With his moccasons enchanted. Warning said the old Nokomis, " Go not forth, Hiawatha ! To the kingdom of the West- Wind, To the realms of Mudjekeewis, Lest he harm you with his magic, Lest he kill you with his cunning ! " But the fearless Hiawatha Heeded not her woman s warning ; HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS. 285 Forth lie strode into the forest, At each stride a mile he measured ; Lurid seemed the sky above him, Lurid seemed the earth beneath him, Hot and close the air around him, Filled with smoke and fiery vapors, As of burning woods and prairies, For his heart was hot within him, Like a living coal his heart was. So he journeyed westward, westward, Left the fleetest deer behind him, Left the antelope and bison ; Crossed the rushing Esconawbaw, Crossed the mighty Mississippi, Passed the Mountains of the Prairie, Passed the land of Crows and Foxes, Passed the dwellings of the Blackfeet, Came unto the Kocky Mountains, To the kingdom of the West- Wind, Where upon the gusty summits Sat the ancient Mudjekeewis, Ruler of the winds of heaven. Filled with awe was Hiawatha At the aspect of his father. On the air about him wildly Tossed and streamed his cloudy tresses, Gleamed like drifting snow his tresses. Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet, Like the star with fiery tresses. Filled with joy was Mudjekeewis When he looked on Hiawatha, Saw his youth rise up before him, In the face of Hiawatha, Saw the beauty of Wenonah From the grave rise up before him. " Welcome ! " said he, " Hiawatha, To the kingdom of the West- Wind ! Long have I been waiting for you ! Youth is lovely, age is lonely, Youth is fiery, age is frosty ; You bring back the days departed, You bring back my youth of passion, And the beautiful Wenonah ! " M any days tiiey talked together, Questioned, listened, waited, answered ; Much the mighty Mudjekeewis Boasted of his ancient prowess, Of his perilous adventures, His indomitable courage, His invulnerable body. Patiently sat Hiawatha, Listening to his father s boasting; With a smile he sat and listened, Uttered neither threat nor menace, Neither word nor look betrayed him, But his heart was hot within him, Like a living coal his heart was. Then he said, " Mudjekeewis, Is there nothing that can harm you 1 Nothing that you are afraid of ] " And the mighty Mudjekeewis, Grand and gracious in his boasting, Answered, saying, " There is nothing, Nothing but the black rock yonder, No thing but the fatal Wawbeek." And he looked at Hiawatha With a wise look and benignant, With a countenance paternal, Looked with pride upon the beauty Of his tall and graceful figure, Saying, " my Hiawatha ! Is there anything can harm you ? Anything you are afraid of 1 " But the wary Hiawatha Paused awhile, as if uncertain, Held his peace, as if resolving, And then answered, " There is nothing, Nothing but the bulrush yonder, Nothing but the great Apukwa ! " And as Mudjekeewis, rising, Stretched his hand to pluck the bulrush, Hiawatha cried in terror, Cried in well-dissembled terror, " Kago ! Kago ! do not touch it ! " 286 TIIK SONU OF HIAWATHA. "Ah, kaween ! " said Mudjekeewis, " No, indeed, I will not touch it ! " Then they talked of other matters ; First of Hiawatha s brothers, First of Wabun, of the East- Wind, Of the South- Wind, Shawondasee, Of the North, Kabiboiiokka ; Then of Hiawatha s mother, Of the beautiful Wenonah, Of her birth, upon the meadow, Of her death, as old Nokomis Had remembered and related. And he cried, " Mudjekeewis, It was you who killed Wenonah, Took her young life and her beauty, Broke the Lily of the Prairie, Trampled it beneath your footsteps ; You confess it ! you confess it ! " And the mighty Mudjekeewis Tossed his gray hairs to the West-Wind, Bowed his hoary head in anguish, With a silent nod assented. Then up started Hiawatha, And with threatening look and gesture Laid his hand upon the black rock, On the fatal Wawbeek laid it, With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Eent the jutting crag asunder, Smote and crushed it into fragments, Hurled them madly at his father, The remorseful Mudjekeewis, For his heart was hot within him, Like a living coal his heart was. But the ruler of the West- Wind Blew the fragments back ward from him. With the breathing of his nostrils, With the tempest of his anger, Blew them back at his assailant ; Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa, Dragged it with its roots and fibres, From the margin of the meadow, From its oozn, the giant bulrush ; Long and loud laughed Hiawatha ! Then began the deadly conflict, Hand to hand among the mountains ; From his eyrie screamed the eagle ; The Keneu, the great War-Eagle \ Sat upon the crags around them, Wheeling napped his wings above them. Like a tall tree in the tempest Bent and lashed the giant bulrush ; And in masses huge and heavy Crashing fell the fatal Wawbeek ; Till the earth shook with the tumult And confusion of the battle, And the air was full of shoutings, And the thunder of the mountains, Starting, answered, " Baim-wawa ! " Back retreated Mudjekeewis, Eushing westward o er the mountains, Stumbling west ward down the mountains, Three whole days retreated fighting, Still pursued by Hiawatha To the doorways of the West- Wind, To the portals of the Sunset, To the earth s remotest border, Where into the empty spaces Sinks the sun, as a flamingo Drops into her nest at nightfall, In the melancholy marshes. " Hold ! " at length cried Mudjekeewis, " Hold, my son, my Hiawatha ! Tis impossible to kill me, For you cannot kill the immortal. I have put you to this trial, But to know and prove your courage ; Now receive the prize of valour ! " Go back to your home and people, Live among them, toil among them, Cleanse the earth from all that harms it, Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers, Slay all monsters and magicians, All the giants, the Wendigoes, All the serpents, the Kenabeeks, HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKKEW1S. 2S7 As I slew the Mislie-Mokwa, Slew the Great Bear of the Mountains. " And at last when Death draws near you, When the awful eyes of Pauguk Glare upon you in the darkness, I will share my kingdom with you, Kuler shall you be thenceforward Of the North-west Wind, Keewaydin, Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin." Thus was fought that famous battle In the dreadful days of Shah-shah, In the days long since departed, In the kingdom of the West- Wind. Still the hunter see its traces Scattered far o er hill and valley ; Sees the giant bulrush growing By the ponds and water-courses, Sees the masses of the Wawbeek Lying still in every valley. Homeward now went Hiawatha ; Pleasant was the landscape round him, Pleasant was the air above him, For the bitterness of anger Had departed wholly from him, From his brain the thought of vengeance, From his heart the burning fever. Only once his pace he slackened, Only once he paused or halted, Paused to purchase heads of arrows Of the ancient Arrow-maker, In the land of the Dacdtahs, Where the Falls of Minnehaha* Flash and gleam among the oak-trees, Laugh and leap into the valley. There the ancient Arrow-maker Made his arrow-heads of sandstone, Arrow-heads of chalcedony, Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, Smoothed and sharpened at the edges, Hard and polished, keen and costly. With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter, Wayward as the Minnehaha, With her moods of shade and sunshine, Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate, Feet as rapid as the river, Tresses flowing like the water, And as musical a laughter ; And he named her from the river, From the water-fall he named her, Minnehaha, Laughing Water. Was it then for heads of arrows, Arrow-heads of chalcedony, Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, That my Hiawatha halted In the land of the Dacotahs 1 Was it not to see the maiden, See the face of Laughing. Water Peeping from behind the curtain, Hear the rustling of her garments From behind the waving curtain, As one sees the Minnehaha Gleaming, glancing through the branches, As one hears the Laughing Water From behind its screen of branches ? Who shall say what thoughts and visions Fill the fiery brains of young men ? Who shall say what dreams of beauty Filled the heart of Hiawatha ? All he told to old Nokomis, When he reached the lodge at sunset, Was the meeting with his father, Was his fight with Mudjekeewis ; Not a word he said of arrows, Not a word of Laughing Water ! "The scenery about Fort Snelling is rich in beauty. The Falls of St. Anthony are familiar to travellers, and to readers of Indian sketches. Between the fort and these falls are the Little Falls, forty feet in height, on a stream that empties into the Mississippi. The Indians call them Mine-hah-hah, or laughing waters. " Mrs. Eastman s Dnratcili, or Legends of ike Stoux, Introd. p. ii. 288 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. V. HIAWATHA S FASTING. You shall hear how Hiawatha Prayed and fasted in the forest, Not for greater skill in hunting, Not for greater craft in fishing, Not for triumphs in the battle, And renown among the warriors, Eat for profit of the people, For advantage of the nations. First he built a lodge for fasting, Built a wigwam in the forest, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, In the blithe and pleasant Spring-time, In the Moon of Leaves he built it. And with dreams and visions many, Seven whole days and nights he fasted. On the first day of his fasting, Through the leafy woods he wandered ; Saw the deer start from the thicket, Saw the rabbit in his burrow, Heard the pheasant, Bena, drumming, Heard the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Rattling in his hoard of acorns, Saw the pigeon, the Omenie, Building nests among the pine-trees, And in flocks the wild-goose, Wawa, Flying to the fenlands northward, Whirring, wailing far above him. "Master of Life !" he cried, desponding, "Must our lives depend on these things ? " On the next day of his fasting By the river s brink he wandered, Through the Muskoday, the meadow, Saw the wild-rice, Mahnomonee, Saw the blueberry, Meenahga, And the strawberry, Odahmin, And the gooseberry, Shahbomin, And the grape-vine, the Bemahgut, Trailing o er the elder-branches, Filling all the air with fragrance ! "Master of Life!" he cried, desponding, "Must ourlives depend on these things ] On the third day of his fasting By the lake he sat and pondered ; By the still, transparent water, Saw the sturgeon, Nahma, leaping, Scattering drops like beads of wampum ; Saw the yellow perch, the Sahwa, Like a sunbeam in the water, Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, And the herring, Okahahwis, And the Shawgashee, the craw-fish ! " Master of Life! " he cried, desponding, "Must our lives depend on these things 1 " On the fourth day of his fasting, In his lodge he lay exhausted ; From his couch of leaves and branches Gazing with half-open eyelids, Full of shadowy dreams and visions, On the dizzy, swimming landscape, On the gleaming of the water, On the splendor of the sunset. And he saw a youth approaching, Dressed in garments green and yellow Coming through the purple twilight, Through the splendor of the sunset ; Plumes of green bent o er his forehead, And his hair was soft and golden. Standing at the open doorway, Long he looked at Hiawatha, Looked with pity and compassion On his wasted form and features, And, in accents like the sighing Of the South- Wind in the tree-tops, Said he, " my Hiawatha ! All your prayers are heard in heaven, For you pray not like the others, Not for greater skill in hunting, Not for greater craft in fishing, Not for triumph in the battle, Nor renown among the warriors, HIAWATHA S FASTINa 289 But for profit of the people, For advantage of the nations. " From the Master of Life descending, I, the friend of man, Mondamin, Come to warn you and instruct you, How by struggle and by labor You shall gain what you have prayed for. Rise up from your bed of branches, Rise, youth, and wrestle with me ! " Faint with famine, Hiawatha Started from his bed of branches, From the twilight of his wigwam Forth into the flush of sunset Came, and wrestled with Mondamin ; At his touch he felt new courage Throbbing in his brain and bosom, Felt new life and hope and vigor Run through every nerve and fibre. So they wrestled there together In the glory of the sunset, And the more they strove and struggled, Stronger still grew Hiawatha ; Till the darkness fell around them, And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, From her haunts among the fenlands, Gave a cry of lamentation, Gave a scream of pain and famine. " Tis enough ! " then said Mondamin, Smiling upon Hiawatha, "But to-morrow, when the sun sets, I will come again to try you." And he vanished, and was seen not ; Whether sinking as the rain sinks, Whether rising as the mists rise, Hiawatha saw not, knew not, Only saw that he had vanished, Leaving him alone and fainting, With the misty lake below him, And the reeling stars above him. On the morrow and the next day, When the sun through heaven descending, Like a red and burning cinder From the hearth of the Great Spirit, Fell into the western waters, Came Mondamin for the trial, For the strife with Hiawatha ; Came as silent as the dew comes From the empty air appearing, Into empty air returning, Taking shape when earth it touches, But invisible to all men In its coming and its going. Thrice they wrestled there together, In the glory of the sunset, Till the darkness fell around them, Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, From her haunts among the fenlands, Uttered her loud cry of famine, And Mondamin paused to listen. Tall and beautiful he stood there, In his garments green and yellow ; To and fro his plumes above him Waved and nodded with his breathing, And the sweat of the encounter Stood like drops of dew upon him. And he cried, " Hiawatha ! Bravely have you wrestled with me, Thrice have wrestled stoutly with me, And the Master of Life, who sees us, He will give to you the triumph ! Then he smiled, and said : "To-morrow Is the last day of your conflict, Is the last day of your fasting. You will conquer and o ercome me ; Make a bed for me to lie in, Where the rain may fall upon me, Where the sun may come and warm me : Strip these garments, green and yellow, Strip this nodding plumage from me, Lay me in the earth, and make it Soft and loose and light above me. " Let no hand disturb my slumber, Let no weed nor worm molest me, Let not Kahgahgee, the raven, p p 290 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Come to haunt me and molest me, Only come yourself to watch me, Till I wake, and start, and quicken, Till I leap into the sunshine." And thus saying, he departed ; Peacefully slept Hiawatha, But he heard the Wawonaissa, Heard the whippoorwill complaining, Perched upon his lonely wigwam ; Heard the rushing Sebowisha, Heard the rivulet rippling near him, Talking to the darksome forest ; Heard the sighing of the branches, As they lifted and subsided At the passing of the night- wind, Heard them, as one hears in slumber Far-off murmurs, dreamy whispers : Peacefully slept Hiawatha. On the morrow came Nokomis, On the seventh day of his fasting, Came with food for Hiawatha, Came imploring and bewailing, Lest his hunger should o ercome him, Lest his fasting should be fatal. But he tasted not, and touched not, Only said to her, " Nokonris, Wait until the sun is setting, Till the darkness falls around us, Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, Crying from the desolate marshes, Tells us that the day is ended." Homeward weeping went Nokomis, Sorrowing for her Hiawatha, Fearing lest his strength should fail him, Lest his fasting should be fatal. He meanwhile sat weary waiting For the coming of Mondamin, Till the shadows, pointing eastward, Lengthened over field and forest, Till the sun dropped from the heaven, Floating on the waters westward, As a red leaf in the Autumn Falls and floats upon the water, Falls and sinks into its bosom. And behold ! the young Mondamin, With his soft and shining tresses, With his garments green and yellow, With his long and glossy plumage, Stood and beckoned at the doorway. And as one in slumber walking, Pale and haggard, but undaunted, From the wigwam Hiawatha Came and wrestled with Mondamin. Eound about him spun the landscape, Sky and forest reeled together, And his strong heart leaped within him, As the sturgeon leaps and struggles In a net to break its meshes. Like a ring of fire around him Blazed and flared the red horizon, And a hundred suns seemed looking At the combat of the wrestlers. Suddenly upon the greensward All alone stood Hiawatha, Panting with his wild exertion, Palpitating with the struggle ; And before him, breathless, lifeless, Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled, Plumage torn, and garments tattered, Dead he lay there in the sunset. And victorious Hiawatha Made the grave as he commanded, Stripped the garments from Mondamin, Stripped his tattered plumage from him. Laid him in the earth, and made it Soft and loose and light above him ; And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, From the melancholy moorlands, Gave a cry of lamentation, Gave a cry of pain and anguish ! Homeward then went Hiawatha To the lodge of old Nokomis, And the seven days of his fasting Were accomplished and completed. HIAWATHA S FUIENDS. 291 But the place was riot forgotten Where he wrestled with Mondamin ; Nor forgotten nor neglected Was the grave where lay Mondamin, Sleeping in the rain and sunshine, Where his scattered plumes and gar ments Faded in the rain and sunshine. Day by day did Hiawatha Go to wait and watch beside it ; Kept the dark mould soft above it, Kept it clean from weeds and insects, Drove away, with scoffs and shoutings, Kahgahgee, the king of ravens. Till at length a small green feather From the earth shot slowly upward, Then another and another, And before the summer ended Stood the maize in all its beauty, With its shining robes about it, And its long, soft, yellow tresses ; And in rapture Hiawatha Cried aloud, "It is Mondamin ! Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin ! " Then he called to old Nokomis And lagoo, the great boaster, [growing, Showed them where the maize was Told them of his wondrous vision, Of his wrestling and his triumph, Of this new gift to the nations, Which should be their food for ever. And still later, when the Autumn Changed the long, green leaves to yellow, And the soft and juicy kernels Grew like wampum hard and yellow, Then the ripened ears he gathered, Stripped the withered husks from off them, As he once had stripped the wrestler, Gave the first feast of Mondamin, And made known unto the people This new gift of the Great Spirit. VI. HIAWATHA S FRIENDS, Two good friends had Hiawatha, Singled out from all the others, Bound to him in closest union, And to whom he gave the right hand Of his heart, in joy and sorrow ; Chibiabos, the musician, And the very strong man, Kwasind. Straight between them ran the path way, Never grew the grass upon it ; Singing-birds, that utter falsehoods, Story-tellers, mischief-makers, Found no eager ear to listen, Could not breed ill-will between them, For they kept each other s counsel, Spake with naked hearts together, Pondering much, and much contriving How the tribes of men might prosper. Most beloved by Hiawatha Was the gentle Chibiabos, He the best of all musicians, He the sweetest of all singer*, Beautiful and childlike was he, Brave as man is, soft as woman, Pliant as a wand of willow, Stately as a deer with antlers. When he sang, the village listened ; All the warriors gathered round him, All the women came to hear him : Now he stirred their souls to passion, Now he melted them to pity. From the hollow reeds he fashioned Flutes so musical and mellow, That the brook, the Sebowisha, Ceased to murmur in the woodland, That the wood-birds ceased from singing, And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Ceased his chatter in the oak-tree, And the rabbit, the Wabasso, Sat upright to look and listen. 292 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Yes, the brook, the Sebowisha, Pausing, said, " Chibiabos, Teach my waves to flow in music, Softly as your words in singing ! " Yep, the blue-bird, the \vaissa, Envious, said, " Chibiabos, Teach me tones as wild and wayward, Teach me songs as full of frenzy ! " Yes, the Opechee, the robin, Joyous said, " Chibiabos, Teach me tones as sweet and tender, Teach me songs as full of gladness ! " And the whippoorwill, Wawonaissa, Sobbing, said, "0 Chibiabos, Teach me tones as melancholy, Teach me songs as full of sadness ! " All the many sounds of nature Borrowed sweetness from his singing, All the hearts of men were softened By the pathos of his music ; For he sang of peace and freedom, Sang of beauty, love, and longing ; Sang of death, and life undying In the Islands of the Blessed, In the kingdom of Pone m ah, In the land of the Hereafter. Very dear to Hiawatha Was the gentle Chibiabos, He the best of all musicians, He the sweetest of all singers ; For his gentleness he loved him, And the magic of his singing. Dear, too, unto Hiawatha Was the very strong man, Kwasind, He the strongest of all mortals, He the mightiest among many ; For his very strength he loved him, For his strength allied to goodness. Idle in his youth was Kwasind, Very listless, dull, and dreamy, Never played with other children, Never fished and never hunted, Not like other children was he ; But they saw that much he fasted, Much his Manito entreated, Much besought his Guardian Spirit. " Lazy Kwasind !" said his mother " In my work you never help me ! In the Summer you are roaming Idly in the fields and forests ; In the Winter you are cowering O er the fire-brands in the wigwam ! In the coldest days of Winter I must break the ice for fishing ; With my nets you never help me ! At the door my nets are hanging, Dripping, freezing with the water ; Go and wring them, Yenadizze ! Go and dry them in the sunshine !" Slowly, from the ashes, Kwasind Hose, but made no angry answer j From the lodge went forth in silence, Took the nets that hung together, Dripping, freezing at the doorway, Like a wisp of straw he wrung them, Like a wisp of straw he broke them, Could not wring them without breaking, Such the strength was in his fingers. " Lazy Kwasind ! " said his father, " In the hunt you never help me ; Every bow you touch is broken, Snapped asunder every arrow ; Yet come with me to the forest, You shall bring the hunting homeward." Down a narrow pass they wandered, Where a brooklet led them onward, Where the trail of deer and bison Marked the soft mud on the margin, Till they found all further passage Shut against them, barred securely By the trunks of trees uprooted, Lying lengthwise, lying crosswise, And forbidding further passage. " We must go back," said the old man HIAWATHA S SAILING. 293 " O er these logs we cannot clamber ; Not a woodchuck could get through them, Not a squirrel clamber o er them ! " And straightway his pipe he lighted, And sat down to smoke and ponder. But before his pipe was finished, Lo ! the path was cleared before him ; All the trunks had Kwasind lifted, To the right hand, to the left hand, Shot the pine-trees swift as arrows, Hurled the cedars light as lances. " Lazy Kwasind ! " said the young men, As they sported in the meadow, " Why stand idly looking at us, Leaning on the rock behind you ? Come and wrestle with the others, Let us pitch the quoit together ! " Lazy Kwasind made no answer, To their challenge made no answer, Only rose, and, slowly turning, Seized the huge rock in his fingers, Tore it from its deep foundation, Poised it in the air a moment, Pitched it sheer into the river, Sheer into the swift Pauwating, Where it still is seen in Summer. Once as down that foaming river, Down the rapids of Pauwating, Kwasind sailed with his companions, In the stream he saw ,a beaver, Saw Ahmeek, the King of Beavers, Struggling with the rushing currents, Rising, sinking in the water. Without speaking, without pausing, Kwasind leaped into the river, Plunged beneath the bubbling surface, Through the whirlpools chased the beaver, Followed him among the islands, Stayed so long beneath the water, That his terrified companions Cried, "Alas ! good-bye to Kwasind ! We shall never more see Kwasind ! " But he reappeared triumphant, And upon his shining shoulders Brought the beaver, dead and dripping, Brought the King of all the Beavers. And these two, as I have told you, Were the friends of Hiawatha, Chibiabos, the musician, And the very strong man, Kwasind. Long they lived in peace together, Spake with naked hearts together, Pondering much, and much contriving How the tribes of men might prosper. VII. HIAWATHA S SAILING. " GIVE me of your bark, Birch-Tree ! Of your yellow bark, Birch-Tree ! Growing by the rushing river, Tall and stately in the valley ! I a light canoe will build me, Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing, That shall float upon the river, Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, Like a yellow water-lily ! " Lay aside your cloak, Birch-Tree ! Lay aside your white- skin wrapper, For the Summer-time is coming, And the sun is warm in heaven, And you need no white-skin wrapper ! " Thus aloud cried Hiawatha In the solitary forest, By the rushing Taquamenaw, When the birds were singing gaily, In the Moon of Leaves were singing, And the sun, from sleep awaking, Started up and said, " Behold me ! Geezis, the great Sun, behold me ! " And the tree with all its branches THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Rustled in the breeze of morning, Saying, with a sigh of patience, "Take my cloak, Hiawatha.! " With his knife the tree he girdled ; Just beneath its lowest branches, Just above the roots, he cut it, Till the sap came oozing outward ; Down the trunk, from top to bottom, Sheer he cleft the bark asunder, With a wooden wedge he raised it, Stripped it from the trunk unbroken. " Give me of your boughs, Cedar ! Of your strong and pliant branches, My canoe to make more steady, Make more strong and firm beneath me!" Through the summit of the Cedar Went a sound, a cry of horror, Went a murmur of resistance ; But it whispered, bending downward, " Take my boughs, Hiawatha ! ; Down he hewed the boughs of Cedar, Shaped them straightway to a frame work, Like two bows he formed and shaped them, Like two bended bows together. " Give me of your roots, Tamarack ! Of your fibrous roots, Larch-Tree ! My canoe to bind together, So to bind the ends together, That the water may not enter, That the river may not wet me ! " And the Larch, with all its fibres, Shivered in the air of morning, Touched its forehead with its tassels, Said, with one long sigh of sorrow, " Take them all, Hiawatha ! " From the earth he tore the fibres, Tore the tough roots of the Larch-Tree, Closely sewed the bark together, Bound it closely to the framework. " Give me of your balm, Fir-Tree ! Of your balsam and your resin, So to close the seams together That the water may not enter, That the river may not wet me ! " And the Fir-Tree, tall and sombre. Sobbed through all its robes of darkness, Rattled like a shore with pebbles, Answered wailing, answered weeping, " Take my balm, Hiawatha ! " And he took the tears of balsam, Took the resin of the Fir-Tree, Smeared therewith each seam and fissure, Made each crevice safe from water. " Give me of your quills, Hedgehog ! All your quills, Kagh, the Hedgehog ! I will make a necklace of them, Make a girdle for my beauty, And two stars to deck her bosom From a hollow tree the Hedgehog With his sleepy eyes looked at him, Shot his shining quills like arrows, Saying, with a drowsy murmur, Through the tangle of his whiskers, "Take my quills, Hiawatha!" From the ground the quills he gathered, All the little shining arrows, Stained them red and blue and yellow With the juice of roots and berries ; Into his canoe he wrought them, Round its waist a shining girdle, Round its bows a gleaming necklace, On its breast two stars resplendent. Thus the Birch Canoe was builded In the valley, by the river, In the bosom of the forest j And the forest s life was in it, All its mystery and its magic, All the lightness of the birch -tree, All the toughness of the cedar, HIAWATHA S FISHING. 295 All the larch s supple sinews ; And it floated on the river Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, Like a yellow water-lily. Paddles none had Hiawatha, Paddles none he had or needed, For his thoughts as paddles served him, And his wishes served to guide him j Swift or slow at will he glided, Veered to right or left at pleasure. Then he called aloud to Kwasind, To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind, Saying, " Help me clear this river Of its sunken logs and sand-bars. " Straight into the river Kwasind Plunged as if he were an otter, Dove as if he were a beaver, Stood up to his waist in water, To his arm-pits in the river, Swam and shouted in the river, Tugged at sunken logs and branches, With his hands he scooped the sand-bars, With his feet the ooze and tangle. And thus sailed my Hiawatha, Down the rushing Taquamenaw, Sailed through all its bends and wind ings, Sailed through all its deeps and shal lows, While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind, Swam the deeps, the shallows waded. Up and down the river went they, In and out among its islands, Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar, Dragged the dead trees from its channel, Made its passage safe and certain, Made a pathway for the people, From its springs among the mountains, To the waters of Pauwating, To the bay of Taquamenaw. VIII. HIAWATHA S FISHING. FORTH upon the Gitche Gumee, On the shining Big-Sea-Water, With his fishing-line of cedar, Of the twisted bark of cedar, Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma, Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes, In his birch canoe exulting All alone went Hiawatha. Through the clear, transparent water Pie could see the fishes swimming Far down in the depths below him : See the yellow perch, the Sahwa, Like a sunbeam in the water, See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish, Like a spider on the bottom, On the white and sandy bottom. At the stern sat Hiawatha, With his fishing-line of cedar ; In his plumes the breeze of morning Played as in the hemlock branches ; On the bows, with tail erected, Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo : In his fur the breeze of morning Played as in the prairie grasses. On the white sand of the bottom Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma, Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes ; Through his gills he breathed the water, With his fins he fanned and winnowed, With his tail he swept the sand-floor. There he lay in all his armor ! On each side a shield to guard him, Plates of bone upon his forehead, Down his sides and back and shoulders Plates of bone with spine projecting ! Painted was he with his war-paints, Stripes of yellow, red, and azure, Spots of brown and spots of sable j And he lay there on the bottom, Fanning with his fins of purple, 296 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. As above him Hiawatha In his birch canoe came sailing, With his fishing-line of cedar. " Take my bait !" cried Hiawatha Down into the depths beneath him, " Take my bait, Sturgeon, Nahma ! Come up from below the water ; Let us see which is the stronger ! " And he dropped his line of cedar Through the clear, transparent water, Waited vainly for an answer, Long sat waiting for an answer, And repeating loud and louder, " Take my bait, King of Fishes ! " Quiet lay the sturgeon, ISTahma, Fanning slowly in the water, Looking up at Hiawatha, Listening to his call and clamor, His unnecessary tumult, Till he wearied of the shouting ; And he said to the Kenozha, To the pike, the Maskenozha, " Take the bait of this rude fellow, Break the line of Hiawatha ! " In his fingers Hiawatha Felt the loose line jerk and tighten ; As he drew it in, it tugged so That the birch canoe stood endwise, Like a birch log in the water, With the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Perched and frisking on the summit. Full of scorn was Hiawatha When he saw the fish rise upward, Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, Coming nearer, nearer to him. And he shouted through the water, " Esa ! esa ! shame upon you ! You are but the pike, Kenozha, You are not the fish I wanted, You are not the King of Fishes ! " Reeling downward to the bottom Sank the pike in great confusion, And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma, Said to Ugudwash, the sun-fish, " Take the bait of this great boaster, Break the line of Hiawatha ! " Slowly upward, wavering, gleaming Like a white moon in the water, Rose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, Seized the line of Hiawatha, Swung with all his weight upon it, Made a whirlpool in the water, Whirled the birch canoe in circles, Round and round in gurgling eddies, Till the circles in the water, Reached the far-off sandy beaches, Till the water-flags and rushes Nodded on the distant margins. But when Hiawatha saw him Slowly rising through the water, Lifting his great disc of whiteness, Loud he shouted in derision, " Esa ! esa ! shame upon you ! You are Ugudwash, the sun-fish, You are not the fish I wanted, You are not the King of Fishes ! Wavering downward, white and ghastly, Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, And again the sturgeon, Nahma, Heard the shout of Hiawatha, Heard his challenge of defiance, The unnecessary tumult, Ringing far across the water. From the white sand of the bottom Up he rose with angry gesture, Quivering in each nerve and fibre, Clashing all his plates of armour, Gleaming bright with all his war-paint ; In his wrath he darted upward, Flashing leaped into the sunshine, Opened his great jaws, and swallowed Both canoe and Hiawatha. Down into that darksome cavern HIAWATHA S FISHING. Plunged the headlong Hiawatha, As a log on some black river Shoots and plunges down the rapids, Found himself in utter darkness, Groped about in helpless wonder, Till he felt a great heart beating, Throbbing in that utter darkness. And he smote it in his anger, With his fist, the heart of Nahina, Felt the mighty King of Fishes Shudder through each nerve and fibre, Heard the water gurgle round him As he leaped and staggered through it, Sick at heart, and faint and weary. Crosswise then did Hiawatha Drag his birch canoe for safety, Lest from out the jaws of Nahma, In the turmoil and confusion, Forth he might be hurled and perish. And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Frisked and chattered very gaily, Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha Till the labor was completed. Then said Hiawatha to him, " my little friend, the squirrel, Bravely have you toiled to help me ; Take the thanks of Hiawatha, And the name which now he gives you For hereafter and for ever Boys shall call you Adjidaumo, Tail-in-air the boys shall call you ! " And again the sturgeon, Nahma, Gasped and quivered in the water, Then was still, and drifted landward Till he grated on the pebbles, Till the listening Hiawatha Heard him grate upon the margin, Felt him strand upon the pebbles, Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes, Lay there dead upon the margin. Then he heard a clang and flapping, As of many wings assembling, Heard a screaming and confusion,^. As of birds of prey contending, Saw a gleam of light above him, Shining through the ribs of Nahma, Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls, Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering, Gazing at him through the opening, Heard them saying to each other, " Tis our brother, Hiawatha ! " And he shouted from below them, Cried exulting from the caverns, " ye sea-gulls ! my brothers ! I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma ; Make the rifts a little larger, With your claws the openings widen, Set me free from this dark prison, And hence forward and for ever Men shall speak of your achievements, Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers !" And the wild and clamorous sea-gulls Toiled with beaks and claws together, Made the rifts and openings wider In the mighty ribs of Nahma, And from peril and from prison, From the body of the sturgeon, From the peril of the water, Was released my Hiawatha. He was standing near his wigwam, On the margin of the water, And he called to old Nokonris, Called and beckoned to Kokomis, Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahrna, Lying lifeless on the pebbles, With the sea-gulls feeding on him. " I have slain the Mishe-Nahma, Slain the King of Fishes ! " said he ; " Look ! the sea-gulls feed upon him, Yes, my friend Kayoshk, the sea-gulls ; Drive them not away, Nokomis, They have saved me from great peril In the body of the sturgeon, Q ^ 21)8 THE SON<! OK HIAWATHA. Wait until their meal is ended, Till their craws are full with feasting, Till they homeward fly, at sunset, To their nests among the marshes ; Then bring all your pots and kettles, And make oil for us in Winter." And she waited till the sunset, Till the pallid moon, the night-sun, Eose above the tranquil water, Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls, From their banquet rose with clamor, And across the fiery sunset Winged their way to far-off islands, To their nests among the rushes. To his sleep went Hiawatha, And Nokomis .to her labor, Toiling patient in the moonlight, Till the sun and moon changed places, Till the sky was red with sun-rise, And Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls, Came back from the reedy islands, Clamorous for their morning banquet. Three whole days and nights alternate Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma, Till the waves washed through the rib- bones, Till the sea-gulls came no longer, And upon the sands lay nothing But the skeleton of Nahma. IX. HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL- FEATHER. ON the shores of Gitche Gumee, Of the shining Big-Sea-Water, Stood Nokomis, the old woman, Pointing with her finger westward, O er the water pointing westward, To the purple clouds of sunset. Fiercely the red sun descending Burned his way along the heavens, Set the sky on fire behind him, As war-parties, when retreating, Burn the prairies on their war-trail ; And the moon, the Night-Sun, eastward, Suddenly starting from his ambush, Followed fast those bloody footprints, Followed in that fiery war-trail, With its glare upon his features. And Nokomis, the old woman, Pointing with her finger westward, Spake these words to Hiawatha : "Yonder dwells the great Pearl-Feather, Megissogwon, the Magician, Manito of Wealth and Wampum, Guarded by his fiery serpents, Guarded by the black pitch-water ! You can see his fiery serpents, The Kenabeek, the great serpents, Coiling, playing in the water ; You can see the black pitch- water Stretching far away beyond them, To the purple clouds of sunset ! " He it was who slew my father, By his wicked wiles and cunning, When he from the moon descended, When he came on earth to seek me. He, the Mightiest of Magicians, Sends the fever from the marshes, Sends the pestilential vapors, Sends the poisonous exhalations, Sends the white-fog from the fenlands, Sends disease and death among us ! " Take your bow, Hiawatha, Take your arrows, jasper-headed, Take your war-club, Puggawaugun, And your mittens, Minjekahwun, And your birch canoe for sailing, And the oil of Mishe-Nahma, So to smear its sides, that swiftly You may pass the black pitch- water ; Slay this merciless magician, Save the people from the fever That he breathes across the fenlands, HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER. And avenge my father s murder ! " Straightway then my Hiawatha Armed himself with all his war-gear, Launched his birch canoe for sailing ; With his palm its sides he patted, Said with glee, " Cheemaun, my darling, my Birch Canoe ! Jeap forward, Where you see the fiery serpents, Where you see the black pitch- water ! " Forward leaped Cheemaun exulting, And the noble Hiawatha Sang his war-song wild and woful, And above him the war- eagle, The Keneu, the great war-eagle, Master of all fowls with feathers, Screamed and hurtled through the heavens. Soon he reached the fiery serpents, The Kenabeek, the great serpents, Lying huge upon the water, Sparkling, rippling in the water, Lying coiled across the passage, With their blazing crests uplifted, Breathing fiery fogs and vapors, So that none could pass beyond them. But the fearless Hiawatha Cried aloud, and spake in this wise : " Let me pass my way, Kenabeek, Let me go upon my journey ! " And they answered, hissing fiercely, With their fiery breath made answer : " Back, go back ! Sfraugodaya ! Back to old Is r okomis, Faint-heart ! " Then the angry Hiawatha Raised his mighty bow of ash-tree, Seized his arrows, jasper-headed, Shot them fast among the serpents : Every twanging of the bow-string Was a war-cry and a death-cry, Every whizzing of an arrow Was a death-song of Kenabeek. Weltering in the bloody water, Dead lay all the fiery serpents, And among them Hiawatha Harmless sailed, and cried exulting : " Onward, Cheemaun, my darling ! Onward to the black pitch-water !" Then he took the oil of ^"ahma, And the bows and sides anointed, Smeared them well with oil, that swiftly He might pass the black pitch-water. All night long he sailed upon it, Sailed upon that sluggish water, Covered with its mould of ages, Black with rotting water- rushes, Rank with flags and leaves of lilies, Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal, Lighted by the shimmering moonlight, And by will-o -the-wisps illumined, Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled, In their weary night encampments. All the air was white with moonlight, All the water black with shadow, And around him the Suggema, The mosquitos, sang their war-song, And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee, Waved their torches to mislead him ; And the bull-frog, the Dahinda, Thrust his head into the moonlight, Fixed his yellow eyes upon him, Sobbed and sank beneath the surface, And anon a thousand whistles Answered over all the fenlands, And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, Far off on the reedy margin, Heralded the hero s coming. Westward thus fared Hiawatha, Toward the realm of Megissogwon Toward the land of the Pearl-Feather, Till the level moon stared at him, In his face stared pale and haggard, Till the sun was hot behind him, Till it burned upon his shoulders, And before him on the upland 300 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. He could see the Shining Wigwam Of the Manito of Wampum, Of the mightiest of Magicians. Then once more Cheemaun he patted, To his birch canoe said, " Onward ! " And it stirred in all its fibres, And with one great bound of triumph Leaped across the water-lilies, Leaped through tangled flags and rushes, And upon the beach beyond them Dryshod landed Hiawatha. Straight he took his bow of ash-tree, One end on the sand he rested, With his knee he pressed the middle, Stretched the faithful bow-string tighter, Took an arrow, jasper-headed, Shot it at the Shining Wigwam, Sent it singing as a herald, As a bearer of his message, Of his challenge loud and lofty : "Come forth from your lodge, Pearl- Feather ! Hiawatha waits your coming ! " Straightway from the Shining Wig wam Came the mighty Megissogwon, Tall of stature, broad of shoulder, Dark and terrible in aspect, Clad from head to foot in wampum, Armed with all his warlike weapons, Painted like the sky of morning, Streaked with crimson, blue, and yellow, Crested with great eagle-feathers, Streaming upward, streaming outward. "Well I know you, Hiawatha ! " Cried he in a voice of thunder, In a tone of loud derision. " Hasten back, Shaugodaya ! Hasten back among the women, Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart ! I will slay you as you stand there, As of old I slew her father ! " But my Hiawatha answered, Nothing daunted, fearing nothing : "Big words do not smite like war-clubs, Boastful breath is not a bow-string, Taunts are not so sharp as arrows, Deeds are better things than words are, Actions mightier than boastings ! " Then began the greatest battle That the sun had ever looked on, That the war-birds ever witnessed. All a Summer s day it lasted, From the sunrise to the sunset ; For the shafts of Hiawatha Harmless hit the shirt of wampum, Harmless fell the blows he dealt it With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Harmless fell the heavy war-club ; It could dash the rocks asunder, But it could not break the meshes Of that magic shirt of wampum. Till at sunset Hiawatha, Leaning on his bow of ash-tree, Wounded, weary, and desponding, With his mighty war-club broken, With his mittens torn and tattered, And three useless arrows only, Paused to rest beneath a pine-tree, From whose branches trailed the mosses, And whose trunk was coated over With the Dead-man s Moccason leather, With the fungus white and yellow. Suddenly from the boughs above him Sang the Mama, the woodpecker : " Aim your arrows, Hiawatha, At the head of Megissogwon, Strike the tuft of hair upon it, At their roots the long black tresses ; There alone can he be wounded ! " Winged with feathers, tipped with jasper, Swiftly flew Hiawatha s arrow, Just as Megissogwon, stooping, Kaised a heavy stone to throw it. HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER. Full upon the crown it struck him, At the roots of his long tresses, And he reeled and staggered forward, Plunging like a wounded bison, Yes, like Pezhekee, the bison, When the snow is on the prairie. Swifter flew the second arrow, In the pathway of the other, Piercing deeper than the other, Wounding sorer than the other ; And the knees of Megissogwon Shook like windy reeds beneath him, Bent and trembled like the rushes. But the third and latest arrow Swiftest flew and wounded sorest, And the mighty Megissogwon Saw the fiery eyes of Pauguk, Saw the eyes of Death glare at him, Heard his voice call in the darkness ; At the feet of Hiawatha Lifeless lay the great Pearl-Feather, Lay the mightiest of Magicians. Then the grateful Hiawatha Called the Mama, the woodpecker, From his perch among the branches Of the melancholy pine-tree, And, in honor of his service, Stained with blood the tuft of feathers On the little head of Mama ; Even to this day he wears it, Wears the tuft of crimson feathers, As a symbol of his service. Then he stripped the shirt of wampum From the back of Megissogwon, As a trophy of the battle, As a signal of his conquest. On the shore he left the body, Half on land and half in water, In the sand his feet were buried, And his face was in the water, And above him wheeled and clamored The Keneu, the great war-eagle, Sailing round in narrower circles, Hovering nearer, nearer, nearer. From the wigwam Hiawatha Bore the wealth of Megissogwon, All his wealth of skins and wampum, Furs of bison and of beaver, Furs of sable and of ermine, Wampum belts and strings and pouches, Quivers wrought with beads of wampum, Filled with arrows, silver-headed. Homeward then he sailed exulting, Homeward through the black pitch- water, Homeward through the weltering ser pents, With the trophies of the battle, With a shout and song of triumph. On the shore stood old Nokomis, Ou the shore stood Chibiabos, And the very strong man, Kwasiml, Waiting for the hero s coming, Listening to his song of triumph. And the people of the village Welcomed him with songs and dances, Made a joyous feast, and shouted : " Honor be to Hiawatha ! He has slain the great Pearl-Feather, Slain the mightiest of Magicians, Him who sent the fiery fever, Sent the white-fog from the fenlands, Sent disease and death among us !" Ever dear to Hiawatha Was the memory of Mania ! And in token of his friendship, As a mark of his remembrance, He adorned and decked his pipe-stem With the crimson tuft of feathers, With the blood-red crest of Mama. But the wealth of Megissogwon, All the trophies of the battle, He divided with his people, Shared it equally among them. 302 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. HIAWATHA S WOOING. "As unto the bow the cord is, So unto the man is woman, Though she bends him she obeys him, Though she draws him, yet she follows, Useless each without the other !" Thus the youthful Hiawatha Said within himself and pondered, Much perplexed by various feelings, Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, Dreaming still of Minnehaha, Of the lovely Laughing Water, In the land of the Dacotahs. " Wed a maiden of your people," Warning said the old IsTokomis . " Go not eastward, go not westward, For a stranger, whom we know not ! Like a fire upon the hearth-stone Is a neighbour s homely daughter, Like the starlight or the moonlight Is the handsomest of strangers ! " Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, And my Hiawatha answered Only this : " Dear old Nokomis, Very pleasant is the fire-light, Bat I like the starlight better, Better do I like the moonlight !" Gravely then said old Nokomis : " Bring not here an idle maiden, "Bring not here a useless woman, Hands unskilful, feet unwilling ; Bring a wife with nimble fingers, Heart and hand that move together, Feet that run on willing errands !" Smiling, answered Hiawatha : " In the land of the Dacotahs Lives the Arrow-maker s daughter, Minnehaha, Laughing Water, Handsomest of all the women. 1 will bring her to your wigwam, She shall run upon your errands, Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, Be the sunlight of my people ! " Still dissuading, said Xokomis : " Bring not to my lodge a stranger From the land of the Dacotahs ! Very fierce are the Dacotahs, Often is there war between us, There are feuds yet un forgotten, Wounds that ache and still may open !" Laughing answered Hiawatha : " For that reason, if no other, Would I wed the fair Dacotah, That our tribes might be united, That old feuds might be forgotten, And old wounds be healed for ever !" Thus departed Hiawatha To the land of the Dacotahs, To the land of handsome women ; Striding over moor and meadow, Through interminable forests, Through uninterrupted silence. With his moccasons of magic, At each stride a mile he measured ; Yet the way seemed long before him, And his heart outrun his footsteps ; And he journeyed without resting, Till he heard the cataract s thunder, Heard the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to him through the silence. "Pleasant is the sound !" he murmured, "Pleasant is the voice that calls me ! " On the outskirts of the forest, Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, Herds of fallow deer were feeding, But they saw not Hiawatha ; To his bow he whispered, " Fail not ! " To his arrow whispered, " Swerve not!" Sent it singing on its errand, To the red heart of the roebuck ; Threw the deer across his shoulder, And sped forward without pausing. At the doorway of his wigwam Sat the ancient Arrow-maker, In the land of the Dacotahs, Making arrow-heads of jasper, Arrow-heads of chalcedony. At his side, in all her beauty, Sat the lovely Minnehaha, Sat his daughter, Laughing Water, Plaiting mats of flags and rushes : Of the past the old man s thoughts were, And the maiden s of the future. He was thinking, as he sat there, Of the days when with such arrows He had struck the deer and bison, On the Muskoday, the meadow ; Shot the wild-goose, flying southward, On the wing, the clamorous Wawa ; Thinking of the great war-parties, How they came to buy his arrows, Could not fight without his arrows. .Ah, no more such noble warriors Could be found on earth as they were ! Now the men were all like women, Only used their tongues for weapons ! She was thinking of a hunter, From, another tribe and country, Young and tall, and very handsome, Who one morning, in the Spring-time, Came to buy her father s arrows, Sat and rested in the, wigwam, Lingered long about the doorway, Looking back as he departed. She had heard her father praise him, Praise his courage and his wisdom ; Would he come again for arrows To the Falls of Minnehaha ? On the mat her hands lay idle, And her eyes were very dreary. Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, Heard a rustling in the branches, And with glowing cheek and forehead, With the deer upon his shoulders, 304 TIIK S()XC OF HIAWATHA. Suddenly from out the woodlands Hiawatha stood before them. Straight the ancient Arrow-maker Looked up gravely from his labor, Laid aside the unfinished arrow, Bade him enter at the doorway, Saying, as he rose to meet him, " Hiawatha, you are welcome ! " At the feet of Laughing Water Hiawatha laid his burden, Threw the red deer from his shoulders. And the maiden looked up at him, Looked up from her mat of rushes, Said, with gentle look and accent, " You are welcome, Hiawatha ! " Very spacious was the wigwam, Made of deer-skin dressed and whitened, With the gods of the Dacotahs Drawn and painted on its curtains, And so tall the doorway, hardly Hiawatha stooped to enter, Hardly touched his eagle-feathers As he entered at the doorway. Then uprose the Laughing Water, From the ground fair Minnehaha, Laid aside her mat unfinished, Brought forth food and set before them, Water brought them from the brooklet, Gave them food in earthen vessels, Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood, Listened while the guest was speaking, Listened while her father answered, But not once her lips she opened, Not a single word she uttered. Yes, as in a dream she listened To the words of Hiawatha, As he talked of old ISTokomis, Who had nursed him in his childhood, As he told of his companions, Chibiabos, the musician, And the very strong man, Kwasind, And of happiness and plenty In the land of the Ojibways, In the pleasant land and peaceful. " After many years of warfare, Many years of strife and bloodshed, There is peace between the Ojibways And the tribe of the Dacotahs. " Thus continued Hiawatha, And then added, speaking slowly, "That this peace may last for ever, And our hands be clasped more closely, And our hearts be more united, Give me as my wife this maiden, Minnehaha, Laughing Water, Loveliest of Dacotah women ! " And the ancient Arrow-maker Paused a moment ere he answered, Smoked a little while in silence, Looked at Hiawatha proudly, Fondly looked at Laughing Water, And made answer, very gravely, " Yes, if Minnehaha wishes ; Let youi- heart speak, Minnehaha ! " And the lovely Laughing Water, Seemed more lovely, as she stood there, Neither willing nor reluctant, As she went to Hiawatha, Softly took the seat beside him, While she said, and blushed to say it, " I will follow you, my husband ! " This was Hiawatha s wooing ! Thus it was he won the daughter Of the ancient Arrow-maker, In the land of the Dacotahs ! From the wigwam he departed, Leading with him Laughing Water, Pland in hand they went together, Through the woodland and the meadow, Left the old man standing lonely At the doorway of his wigwam, Heard the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to them from the distance, Crying to them from afar off, HI AWATHA S WOOING. 3U5 " Pare thee well, Minnehaha ! " And the ancient Arrow-maker Turned again unto his labor, Sat down by his sunny doorway, Murmuring to himself, and saying, " Thus it is our daughters leave us, Those we love, and those who love us ! Just when they have learned to help us, When we are old and lean upon them, Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, With his flute of reeds, a stranger Wanders piping through the village, Beckons to the fairest maiden, And she follows where he leads her, Leaving all things for the stranger ! " Pleasant was the journey homeward, Through interminable forests, Over meadow, over mountain, Over river, hill, and hollow. Short it seemed to Hiawatha, Though they journeyed very slowly, Though his pace he checked and slack ened To the steps of Laughing Water. Over wide and rushing rivers In his arms he bore the maiden ; Light he thought her as a feather, As the plume upon his head-gear; Cleared the tangled pathway for her, Bent aside the swaying branches, Made at night a lodge of branches, And a bed with boughs of hemlock, And a fire before the doorway With the dry cones of the pine-tree. All the travelling winds went with them, O er the meadow, through the forest ; All the stars of night looked at them, Watched with sleepless eyes their slum ber ; From his ambush in the oak-tree Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Watched with eager eyes the lovers ; And the rabbit, the Wabasso, Scampered from the path before them, Peering, peeping from his burrow, Sat erect upon his haunches, Watched with curious eyes the lovers. Pleasant was the journey homeward, All the birds sang loud and sweetly Songs of happiness and heart s-eaae ; Sang the blue-bird, the Owaissa, " Happy are you, Hiawatha, Having such a wife to love you ! " Sang the Opechee, the robin, " Happy are you, Laughing Water, Having such a noble husband ! " From the sky the sun benignant Looked upon them thro the branches, Saying to them, "0 my children, Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, Life is checkered shade and sunshine ; Rule by love, Hiawatha ! " From the sky the moon looked at them, Filled the lodge with mystic splendors, Whispered to them, " my children, Day is restless, night is quiet, Man imperious, woman feeble ; Half is mine, although I follow ; Rule by patience, Laughing Water ! " Thus it was they journeyed home ward ; Thus it was that Hiawatha To the lodge of old Nokomis Brought the moonlight, starlight, fire light, Brought the sunshine of his people, Minnehaha, Laughing Water, Handsomest of all the women In the land of the Bacotahs, In the land of handsome women. THE SONG 0V HIAWATHA. XL HIAWATHA S WEDDING-FEAST. You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, How the handsome Yenadizze Danced at Hiawatha s wedding ; How the gentle Chibiabos, He the sweetest of musicians, Sang his songs of love and longing ; How lagoo, the great boaster, He the marvellous storyteller, Told his tales of strange adventure, That the feast might be more joyous, That the time might pass more gaily, And the guests be more contented. Sumptuous was the feast Nokomis Made at Hiawatha s wedding. All the bowls were made of bass-wood, White and polished very smoothly, All the spoons of horn of bison, Black and polished very smoothly. She had sent through all the village Messengers with wands of willow, As a sign of invitation, As a token of the feasting ; And the wedding guests assembled, Clad in all their richest raiment, Robes of fur and belts of wampum, Splendid with their paint and plumage, Beautiful with beads and tassels. First they ate the sturgeon, Nahma, And the pike, the Maskenozha, Caught and cooked by old Nokomis ; Then on pern lean they feasted, Pemican and buffalo marrow, Haunch of deer and hump of bison, Yellow cakes of the Mondamin, And the wild rice of the river. But the gracious Hiawatha, And the lovely Laughing Water, And the careful old ^Tokomis, Tasted not the food before them, Only waited oil the others, Only served their guests in silence. And when all the guests had finished, Old ]\okomis, brisk and busy, From an ample pouch of otter, Filled the red stone pipes for smoking With tobacco from the South-land, Mixed with bark of the red willow, And with herbs and leaves of fragrance. Then she said, " Pau-Puk-Keewis, Dance for us your merry dances, Dance the Beggar s Dance to please us, That the feast may be more joyous, That the time may pass more gaily, And our guests be more contented ! " Then the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis, He the idle Yenadizze, He the merry mischief-maker, Whom the people called the Storm-Fool, Rose among the guests assembled. Skilled was he in sports and pastimes, In the merry dance of snow-shoes, In the play of quoits and ball-play ; Skilled was he in games of hazard, In all games of skill and hazard, Purgasaing, the Bowl and Counters, Kuntassoo, the Game of Plum-stones. Though the warriors called him Faint heart, Called him coward, Shaugodaya, Idler, gambler, Yenadizze, little heeded he their jesting, Little cared he for their insults, For the women and the maidens Loved the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis. He was dressed in shirt of doe-skin, White and soft, and fringed with ermine, All inwrought Avith beads of wampum ; He was dressed in deer-skin leggings, Fringed with hedgehog quills and ermine, And in moccasons of buck-skin Thick with quills and beads embroidered. On his head were plumes of swan s down, On his heels were tails of foxes, In one hand a fan of feathers, And a pipe was in the other. Barred with streaks of red and yellow, Streaks of blue and bright vermilion, Shone the face of Pau-Puk-Keewis. From his forehead fell his tresses, Smooth and parted like a woman s, Shining bright with oil and plaited, Hung with braids of scented grasses, As among the guests assembled, To the sound of flutes and singing, To the sound of drums and voices, Rose the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis, And began his mystic dances. First he danced a solemn measure, Very slow in step and gesture, In and out among the pine-trees, Through the shadows and the sunshine, Treacling softly like a panther, Then more swiftly and still swifter, AYhirling, spinning round in circles, 308 THE S<)\<! ()F HIAWATHA. Leaping o er the guests assembled, Eddying round and round the wigwam, Till the leaves went whirling with him, Till the dust and wind together Swept in eddies round about him. Then along the sandy margin Of the lake, the Big-Sea-Water, On he sped with frenzied gestures, Stamped upon the sand, and tossed it Wildly in the air around him ; Till the wind became a whirlwind, Till the sand was blown and sifted Like great snowdrifts o er the landscape, Heaping all the shores with Sand Dunes, Sand Hills of the ]S T agow Wucljoo ! 4 Thus the merry Pau-Puk-Keewis Danced his Beggar s Dance to please them, And, returning, sat down laughing There among the guests assembled, Sat and fanned himself serenely With his fan of turkey-feathers. Then they said to Chibiabos, To the friend of Hiawatha, To the sweetest of all singers, To the best of all musicians, "Sing to us, Chibiabos ! Songs of love and songs of longing, That the feast may be more joyous, That the time may pass more gaily, And our guests be more contented ! " And the gentle Chibiabos Sang in accents sweet and tender, Sang in tones of deep emotion, Songs of love and songs of longing ; Looking still at Hiawatha, Looking at fair Laughing Water, Sang he softly, sang in this Aviso : " Onaway ! Awake, beloved ! Thou the wild-flower of the forest ! Thou the wild-bird of the prairie ! Thou with eyes so soft and fawn-like ! " If thou only lookest at me, I am happy, 1 am happy, As the lilies of the prairie, When they feel the dew upon them ! " Sweet thy breath is as the fragrance Of the wild-flowers in the morning, As their fragrance is at evening, In the Moon when leaves are falling. " Does not all the blood within me Leap to meet thee, leap to meet thee, As the springs to meet the sunshine, In the Moon when nights arc brightest? " Onaway ! my heart sings to thee, Sings with joy when thou art near me, As the sighing, singing branches In the pleasant Moon of Strawberries ! " When thou art not pleased, beloved, Then my heart is sad and darkened, As the shining river darkens When the clouds drop shadows on it ! " When thou smilest, my beloved, Then my troubled heart is brightened, As in sunshine gleam the ripples That the cold wind makes in rivers. "Smiles the earth, and smile the waters, Smile the cloudless skies above us, But I lose the w T ay of smiling When thou art no longer near me ! " I myself, myself ! behold me ! Blood of my beating heart, behold me ! O awake, awake, beloved ! Onaway ! awake, beloved ! "* Thus the gentle Chibiabos Sang his song of love and longing ; And lagoo, the great boaster, He the marvellous storyteller, He the friend of old Nokomis, Jealous of the sweet musician, * The original of this song may be found in Little s Liring Age, vol. xxv. ]>. 45. THE SON OF THE EVENING STAK. 309 Jcjilous of the applause tliey gave him, Saw in all the eyes around him, Saw in all their looks and gestures, That the wedding guests assembled Longed to hear his pleasant stories, His immeasurable falsehoods. Very boastful was lagoo ; Never heard he an adventure But himself had met a greater ; Never any deed of daring But himself had done a bolder ; Never any marvellous story But himself could tell a stranger. Would you listen to his boasting, Would you only give him credence, No one ever shot an arrow Half so far and high as he had ; Ever caught so many fishes, Ever killed so many reindeer, Ever trapped so many beaver ! None could run so fast as he could, None could dive so deep as he could, None could swim so far as he could ; None had made so many journeys, None had seen so many wonders, As this wonderful lagoo, As this marvellous storyteller ! Thus his name became a by-word And a jest among the people ; And whene er a boastful hunter Praised his own address too highly, Or a warrior, home returning, Talked too much of his achievements, All his hearers cried, " lagoo ! Here s lagoo come among us ! " He it was who carved the cradle Of the little Hiawatha, Carved its framework out of linden, Bound it strong with reindeer s sinews ; He it was who taught him later How to make his bows and arrows, How to make the bows of ash-tree, And the arrows of the oak-tree. So among the guests assembled At my Hiawatha s wedding Sat lagoo, old and ugly, Sat the marvellous storyteller. And they said, " good lagoo, Tell us now a tale of wonder, Tell us of some strange adventure. That the feast may be more joyous, That the time may pass more gaily, And our guests be more contented ! " And lagoo answered straightway, " You shall hear a tale of wonder, You shall hear the strange adventures Of Osseo, the Magician, From the Evening Star descended." XII. THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR. CAN it be the sun descending O er the level plain of water 1 Or the Red Swan floating, flying, 5 Wounded by the magic arrow, Staining all the waves with crimson, With the crimson of its life-blood, Filling all the air with splendor, With the splendor of its plumage ? Yes ; it is the sun descending, Sinking down into the water ; All the sky is stained with purple, All the water flushed with crimson ! No ; it is the Eed Swan floating, Diving down beneath the water ; To the sky its wings are lifted, With its blood the waves are reddened ! Over it the Star of Evening Melts and trembles through the purple, Hangs suspended in the twilight. No ; it is a bead of wampum On the robes of the Great Spirit, As he passes through the twilight, Walks in silence through the heavens ! This with joy beheld lagoo, And he said in haste : " Behold it ! See the Sacred Star of Evening ! You shall hear a tale of wonder, Hear the Story of Osseo, Son of the Evening Star, Osseo ! " Once, in days no more remembered, Ages nearer the beginning, When the heavens were closer to us, And the Gods were more familiar, In the North-land lived a hunter, With ten young and comely daughters, Tall and lithe as wands of willow ; Only Oweenee, the youngest, She the wilful and the wayward, She the silent, dreamy maiden, Was the fairest of the sisters. "All these women married warriors, Married brave and haughty husbands ; Only Oweenee, the youngest, Laughed and flouted all her lovers, All her young and handsome suitors, And then married old Osseo, Old Osseo, poor and ugly, Broken with age and weak with cough ing, Always coughing like a squirrel. " Ah, but beautiful within him Was the Spirit of Osseo, From the Evening Star descended, Star of Evening, Star of Woman, Star of tenderness and passion, All its fire was in his bosom, All its beauty in his spirit, All its mystery in his being, All its splendor in his language ! "And her lovers, the rejected, Handsome men with belts of wampum, Handsome men with paint and feathers, Pointed at her in derision, Followed her with jests and laughter ! But she said, I care not for you, THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR. 311 Care not for your belts of wampum, Care not for your paint and feathers, Care not for your jests and laughter ! I am happy with Osseo ! " Once to some great feast invited, Through the damp and dusk of evening, "Walked together the ten sisters, Walked together with their husbands ; Slowly followed old Osseo, With fair Oweenee beside him ; All the others chatted gaily, These two only walked in silence. " At the Western sky Osseo Gazed intent, as if imploring, Often stopped and gazed imploring At the trembling Star of Evening, At the tender Star of Woman ; And they heard him murmur softly, Ah, showain nemeskin, Nosa ! Pity, pity me, my father ! " Listen ! said the eldest sister, He is praying to his father ! What a pity that the old man Does not stumble in the pathway, Does not break his neck by falling ! And they laughed till all the forest Rang with their unseemly laughter. " On their pathway through the woodlands Lay an oak, by storms uprooted, Lay the great trunk of an oak-tree, Buried half in leaves and mosses, Mouldering, crumbling, huge and hol low. And Osseo, when he saw it, Gave a shout, a cry of anguish, Leaped into its yawning cavern, At one end went in an old man, Wasted, wrinkled, old and ugly ; Prom the other came a young man, Tall and straight, and strong, and handsome. "Thus Osseo was transfigured, Tims restored to youth and beauty ; But, alas ! for good Osseo, And for Oweenee, the faithful ! Strangely, too, was she transfigured, Changed into a weak old woman. With a staff she tottered onward, Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly ! And the sisters and their husbands Laughed until the echoing forest Rang with their unseemly laughter. " But Osseo turned not from her, Walked with slower step beside her, Took her hand, as brown and withered As an oak-leaf is in Winter, Called her sweetheart, Nenemoosha, Soothed her with soft words of kind ness, Till they reached the lodge of feasting, Till they sat down in the wigwam, Sacred to the Star of Evening, To the tender Star of Woman. " Wrapt in visions, lost in dreaming, At the banquet sat Osseo ; All were merry, all were happy, All were joyous but Osseo. Neither food nor drink he tasted, Neither did he speak nor listen, But as one bewildered sat he, Looking dreamily and sadly, Eirst at Oweenee, then upward At the gleaming sky above them. " Then a voice was heard, a whisper, Coming from the starry distance, Coming from the empty vastness, Low, and musical, and tender ; And the voice said : Osseo ! my son, my best beloved ! Broken are the spells that bound you, All the charms of the magicians, All the magic pow r ers of evil ; Come to me ; ascend, Osseo ! 312 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. " Taste the food that stands before you; It is blessed and enchanted, . It has magic virtues in it, It will change you to a spirit. All your bowls and all your kettles Shall be wood and clay no longer ; But the bowls be changed to wampum, Arid the kettles shall be silver ; They shall shine like shells of scarlet, Like the fire shall gleam and glimmer. " And the women shall no longer Eear the dreary doom of labor, But be changed to birds, and glisten With the beauty of the starlight, Painted with the dusky splendors Of the skies and clouds of evening ! "What Osseo heard as whispers, What as words he comprehended, Was but music to the others, Music as of birds afar off, Of the whippoorwill afar off, Of the lonely Wawonaissa Singing in the darksome forest. " Then the lodge began to tremble, Straight began to shake and tremble, And they felt it rising, rising, Slowly through the air ascending, From the darkness of the tree-tops Forth into the dewy starlight, Till it passed the topmost branches ; And behold ! the wooden dishes All were changed to shells of scarlet ! And behold ! the earthen kettles All were changed to bowls of silver ! And the roof-poles of the wigwam Were as glittering rods of silver, And the roof of bark upon them As the shining shards of beetles. " Then Osseo gazed around him, And he saw the nine fair sisters, All the sisters and their husbands, Changed to birds of various plumage, Some were jays and some were magpies, Others thrushes, others blackbirds ; And they hopped, and sting, and twit tered, Perked and fluttered all their feathers, Strutted in their shining plumage, And their tails like fans unfolded. " Only Oweenee, the youngest, Was not changed, but sat in silence, Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly, Looking sadly at the others j Till Osseo, gazing upward, Gave another cry of anguish, Such a cry as he had uttered By the oak-tree in the forest. "Then returned her youth and beauty And her soiled and tattered garments Were transformed to robes of ermine, And her staff became a feather, Yes, a shining silver feather ! " And again the wigwam trembled, Swayed and rushed through airy cur rents, Through transparent cloud and vapor, And amid celestial splendors On the Evening Star alighted, As a snow-flake falls on snow-flake, As a leaf drops on a river, As the thistle-down on water. "Forth with cheerful words of wel come Came the father of Osseo, He with radiant locks of silver, He with eyes serene and tender. And he said : * My son, Osseo, Hang the cage of birds you bring there, Hang the cage with rods of silver, And the birds with glistening feathers, At the doorway of my wigwam. " At the door he hung the bird-cage. And they entered in and gladly THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR. 313 Listened to Osseo s father, Killer of the Star of Evening, As he said : my Osseo ! I have had compassion on you, Given you back your youth and beauty, Into birds of various plumage Changed your sisters and their hus bands ; Changed them thus because they mocked you In the figure of the old man, In that aspect sad and wrinkled, Could not see your heart of passion, Could not see your youth immortal ; Only Oweenee, the faithful, Saw your naked heart and loved you. " In the lodge that glimmers yonder, In the little star that twinkles Through the vapors, on the left hand, Lives the envious Evil Spirit, The Wabeno, the magician, AVho transformed you to an old man. Take heed lest his beams fall on you, For the rays he darts around him Are the power of his enchantment, Are the arrows that he uses. " Many years, in peace and quiet, On the peaceful Star of Evening Dwelt Osseo with his father ; Many years, in song and flutter, At the doorway of the wigwam, Hung the cage with rods of silver. And fair Oweenee, the faithful, Bore a son unto Osseo, With the beauty of his mother, With the courage of his father. " And the boy grew up and prospered, And Osseo, to delight him, Made him little bows and arrows, Opened the great cage of silver, And let loose his aunts and uncles, All those birds with glossy feathers, For his little son to shoot at. " Round and round they wheeled and darted, Filled the Evening Star with music, With their songs of joy and freedom ; Filled the Evening Star with splendor, With the fluttering of their plumage ; Till the boy, the little hunter, Bent his bow and shot an arrow, Shot a swift and fatal arrow, And a bird, with shining feathers, At his feet fell wounded sorely. " But, wondrous transformation ! Twas no bird he saw before him, Twas a beautiful young woman, With the arrow in her bosom ! " When her blood fell on the planet, On the sacred Star of Evening, Broken was the spell of magic, Powerless was the strange enchantment, And the youth, the fearless bowman, Suddenly felt himself descending, Held by unseen hands, but sinking Downward through the empty spaces, Downward through the clouds and vapors, Till he rested on an island, On an island green and grassy, Yonder in the Big-Sea-Water. " After him he saw descending All the birds with shining feathers, Fluttering, falling, wafted downward, Like the painted leaves of Autumn ; And the lodge with poles of silver, With its roof like wings of beetles, Like the shining shards of beetles, By the winds of heaven uplifted, Slowly sank upon the island, Bringing back the good Osseo, Bringing Oweenee, the faithful. " Then the birds, again transfigured, Reassumed the shape of mortals, S B 314 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Took their shape, but not their stature ; They remained as Little People, Like the pigmies, the Puk-Wudjies, And on pleasant nights of Summer, When the Evening Star was shining, Hand in hand they danced together On the island s craggy headlands, On the sand-beach low and level. " Still their glittering lodge is seen there, On the tranquil Summer evenings, And upon the shore the fisher Sometimes hears their happy voices, Sees them dancing in the starlight ! " When the story was completed, When the wondrous tale was ended, Looking round upon his listeners, Solemnly lagoo added : "There are great men, I have known such, Whom their people understand not, Whom they even make a jest of, Scoff and jeer at in derision. From the story of ( )sseo, Let them learn the fate of jesters ! " All the wedding-guests delighted Listened to the marvellous story, Listened laughing and applauding, And they whispered to each other, " Does he mean himself, I wonder ? And are we the aunts and uncles 1 " Then again sung Chibiabos, Sang a song of love and longing, In those accents sweet and tender, In those tones of pensive sadness, Sang a maiden s lamentation, For her lover, her Algonquin. " When f. think of my beloved,* Ah me ! think of my beloved, When ];ty heart is thinking of him, ];iy sweetheart, my Algonquin ! " Ah me ! when 1 parted from him, Round my neck he hung the wampum, As a pledge, the snow-white wampum, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! " I will go with you, he whispered, All me ! to your native country ; Let me go with you, he whispered, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! " Far away, away, I answered, Very far away, I answered, Ah me ! is my native country, my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! " When I L >oked back to behold him, Where we parted, to behold him, After mo lie still was gazing, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! " By the tree he still was standing, r.y the fallen tree was standing, That had dropped into the water, my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! " When I think of my beloved, Ah me ! think of my beloved, When my heart is thinking of him, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! " Such was 1 Liawatha s Wedding, Such the dance of Pau-Puk-Keewis, Such the story of lagoo, Such the songs of Chibiabos ; Thus the wedding-banquet ended, And the wedding-guests departed, Leaving Hiawatha happy With the night and Miimehaha. XIII. BLESSING THE CORN-FIELDS. SING, O Song of Hiawatha, Of the happy days that followed, In the land of the < jibways, In the pleasant land and peaceful ! Sing the mysteries of Mondamin, 6 Sing the Llessing of the Corn-fields ! * The original of this song may be found in Oncnlci, p. 15. Buried was the bloody hatchet, Buried was the dreadful war-club, Buried were all warlike weapons, And the war-cry was forgotten. There was peace among the nations, Unmolested roved the hunters, Built the birch canoe for sailing, Caught the fish in lake and river, Shot the deer and trapped the beaver ; Unmolested worked the women, Made their sugar from the maple, Gathered wild rice in the meadows, Dressed the skins of deer and beaver. All around the happy village Stood the maize-fields, green and shining, Waved the green plumes of Mondamin, Waved his soft and sunny tresses, Filling all the land with plenty. Twas the women who in Spring-time Planted the broad fields and fruitful, Buried in the earth Mondamin ; Twas the women who in Autumn 316 THE SONO OF HIAWATHA. Stripped the yellow Imsks of harvest, Stripped the garments from Mondamin, Even as Hiawatha taught them. Once, when all the maize was planted, Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful, Spake and said to Minnehaha, To his wife, the Laughing Water : " You shall bless to-night the corn-fields, Draw a magic circle round them, To protect them from destruction, Blast of mildew, blight of insect, Wagemin, the thief of corn-fields, Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear ! " In the night, when all is silence, In the night, when all is darkness, When the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, Shuts the doors of all the wigwams So that not an ear can hear yon, So that not an eye can see you, Rise up from your bed in silence, Lay aside your garments wholly, Walk around the fields you planted, Round the borders of the corn-fields, Covered by your tresses only, Robed with darkness as a garment. " Thus the fields shall be more fruitful, 7 And the passing of your footsteps Draw a magic circle round them, So that neither blight nor mildew, .Neither burrowing worm nor insect, Shall pass o er the magic circle ; Not the dragon-fly, Kwo-ne-she, Nor the spider, Subbekashe, Nor the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena, Nor the mighty caterpillar, Way-muk-kwana, with the bear-skin, King of all the caterpillars ! " On the tree-tops near the corn-fields Sat the hungry crows and ravens, Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, With Jus band of black marauders. And they laughed at Hiawatha, Till the tree-tops shook with laughter, With their melancholy laughter, At the words of Hiawatha. " Hear him ! " said they ; " hear the Avise man ! Hear the plots of Hiawatha ! " When the noiseless night descended P>road and dark o er field and forest, When the mournful Wawonaissa Sorrowing sang among the hemlocks, And the Spirit of Sleep, Nepali win, Shut the doors of all the wigwams, From her bed rose Laughing Water, Laid aside her garments wholly, And with darkness clothed and guarded, Unashamed and unaffrighted, Walked securely round the corn-fields, Drew the sacred, magic circle Of her footprints round the corn-fields. No one but the Midnight only Saw her beauty in the darkness, No one but the Wawonaissa Heard the panting of her bosom ; Guskewau, the darkness, wrapped her Closely in his sacred mantle, So that none might see her beauty, So that none might boast, " I saw her ! " On the morrow, as the day dawned, Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, Gathered all his black marauders, Crows and blackbirds, jays and ravens, Clamorous on the dusky tree-tops, And descended, fast and fearless, On the fields of Hiawatha, On the grave of the Mondamin. "We will drag Mondamin," said they, " From the grave where he is buried, Spite of all the magic circles Laughing Water draws around it, Spite of all the sacred footprints Minnehaha stamps upon it ! " BLESSING THE CORN-FIELDS. 317 But the wary Hiawatha, Ever thoughtful, careful, watchful, Had o erheard the scornful laughter When they mocked him from the tree- tops. " Kaw ! " he said, " my friends the ravens ! Kahgahgee, my King of Eavens ! I will teach you all a lesson That shall not be soon forgotten ! " He had risen before the daybreak, He had spread o er all the corn-fields Snares to catch the black marauders, And was lying now in ambush In the neighboring grove of pine-trees, Waiting for the crows and blackbirds, Waiting for the jays and ravens. Soon they came with caw and clamor, Eush of wings and cry of voices, To their work of devastation, Settling down upon the corn-fields, Delving deep with beak and talon, For the body of Mondamin. And with all their craft and cunning, All their skill in wiles of warfare, They perceived no danger near them, Till their claws became entangled, Till they found themselves imprisoned In the snares of Hiawatha. From his place of ambush came he, Striding terrible among them, And so awful was his aspect That the bravest quailed with terror. Without mercy he destroyed them Eight and left, by tens and twenties, And their wretched, lifeless bodies Hung aloft on poles for scarecrows Eound the consecrated corn-fields, As a signal of his vengeance, As a warning to marauders. Only Kahgahgee, the leader, Kahgahgee, the King of Eavens, He alone was spared among them As a hostage for his people. With his prisoner-string he bound him,* Led him captive to his wigwam, Tied him fast with cords of elm-bark To the ridge-pole of his wigwam. " Kahgahgee, my raven ! " said he, " You the leader of the robbers, You the plotter of this mischief, The contriver of this outrage, I will keep you, I will hold you, As a hostage for your people, As a pledge of good behaviour ! " And he left him, grim and sulky, Sitting in the morning sunshine On. the summit of the wigwam, Croaking fiercely his displeasure, Flapping his great sable pinions, Vainly struggling for his freedom, Vainly calling on his people ! Summer passed, and Shawondasee Breathed his sighs o er all the landscape. From the South-land sent his ardors, Wafted kisses warm and tender ; And the maize-field grew and ripened, Till it stood in all the splendor Of its garments green and yellow, Of its tassels and its plumage, And the maize-ears full and shining Gleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure. Then Nokomis, the old woman, Spake and said to Minnehaha : " Tis the Moon when leaves are falling ; All the wild- rice has been gathered, And the maize is ripe and ready ; * " These cords," says Mr. Tanner, " are made of the bark of the elm-tree, by boiling and then immersing it in cold water. . . . The leader of a war-party commonly carries several fastened about his waist : and if, in the course of the fight, any one of his young men takes a prisoner, it is his duty to bring him immediately to the chief, to be tied, and the latter is responsible for his safe keeping." Narrative of Captivity and Anivnturr*, p. 41-2. 318 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Let us gather in the harvest, Let us wrestle with Mondamin, Strip him of his plumes and tassels, Of his garments green and yellow ! " And the merry Laughing Water Went rejoicing from the wigwam, With Nbkomis, old and wrinkled ; And they called the women round them, Called the young men and the maidens, To the harvest of the corn-fields, To the husking of the maize-ear. On the border of the forest, Underneath the fragrant pine-trees, Sat the old men and the warriors Smoking in the pleasant shadow. In uninterrupted silence Looked they at the gamesome labor Of the young men and the women ; Listened to their noisy talking, To their laughter and their singing, Heard them chattering like the magpies, Heard them laughing like the blue-jays, Heard them singing like the robins. And whene er some lucky maiden Found a red ear in the husking, Found a maize-ear red as blood is, " Nushka ! " cried they altogether, " Nushka ! you shall have a sweetheart, You shall have a handsome husband ! " " Ugh ! " the old men all responded, From their seats beneath the pine-trees. And whene er a youth or maiden Found a crooked ear in husking, Found a maize-ear in the husking Blighted, mildewed, or misshapen, Then they laughed and sang together, Crept and limped about the corn-fields, Mimicked in their gait and gestures Some old man, bent almost double, Singing singly or together : " Wagemin, .the thief of corn-fields ! 8 Paimosaid, the skulking robber ! " Till the corn-fields rang with laughter, Till from Hiawatha s wigwam I^ahgahgee, the King of Eavens, Screamed and quivered in his anger, And from all the neighboring tree-tops Cawed and croaked the black marauders. " Ugh !" the old men all responded, From their seats beneath the pine-trees. XIV. PICTURE-WRITING. IN those days said Hiawatha, " Lo ! how all things fade and perish ! From the memory of the old men Fade away the great traditions, The achievements of the warriors, The adventures of the hunters, All the wisdom of the Medas, All the craft of the Wabenos, All the marvellous dreams and visions Of the Jossakeeds, the Prophets ! " Great men die and are forgotten, Wise men speak ; their words of wisdom Perish in the ears that hear them, Do not reach the generations That, as yet unborn, are waiting In the great, mysterious darkness Of the speechless days that shall be ! " On the grave-posts of our fathers Are no signs, no figures painted ; Who are in those graves we know not, Only know they are our fathers. Of what kith they are and kindred, From what old, ancestral Totem, Be it Eagle, Bear, or Beaver, They descended, this we know not, Only know they are our fathers. " Face to face we speak together, But we cannot speak when absent, Cannot send our voices from us To the friends that dwell afar off; PICTURE-WRITING. 319 Cannot send a secret message, But the bearer learns our secret, May pervert it, may betray it, May reveal it unto others." Thus said Hiawatha, walking In the solitary forest, Pondering, musing in the forest, On the welfare of his people. From his pouch he took his colors, Took his paints of different colors, On the smooth bark of a birch-tree Pointed many shapes and figures, Wonderftd and mystic figures, And each figure had a meaning, Each some word or thought suggested. Gitche Manito the Mighty, He the Master of Life, was painted As an egg. with points projecting To the four winds of the heavens. Everywhere is the Great Spirit, Was the meaning of this symbol. Mitclie Manito the Mighty, He the dreadful Spirit of Evil, As a serpent was depicted, As Kenabeek, the great serpent. Very crafty, very cunning, Is the creeping Spirit of Evil, Was the meaning of this symbol. Life and Death lie drew as circles, Life was white, but Death was darkened ; Sun and moon and stars k he painted, Man and beast, and fish and reptile, Forests, mountains, lakes, and rivers. For the earth he drew a straight line, For the sky a bow above it : White the space between for day-time, Filled with little stars for night-time ; On the left a point for sunrise, On the right a point for sunset, On the top a point for noon-tide, And for rain and cloudy weather Waving lines descending from it. Footprints pointing towards a wigwam Were a sign of invitation, Were a sign of guests assembling ; Bloody hands with palms uplifted Were a symbol of destruction, Were a hostile sign and symbol. All these things did Hiawatha Show unto his wondering people, And interpreted their meaning, And he said: "Behold, your grave-posts Have no mark, no sign, nor symbol. Go and paint them all with figures, Each one with its household symbol, With its own ancestral Totem ; So that those who follow after May distinguish them and know them." A IK! they painted 011 the grave-posts Of the graves yet unforgottcn, Eacli his own ancestral Totem, Each the symbol of his household ; Figures of the Bear and Reindeer, Of the Turtle, Crane, and Beaver, Each inverted as a token That the owner was departed, That the chief who bore the symbol Lay beneath in dust and ashes. And the Jossakeeds, the prophets, The Wabcnos, the magicians, And the medicine-men, the Medas, Painted upon bark and deer-skin Figures for the songs they chanted, For each song a separate symbol, Figures mystical and awful, Figures strange and brightly colored ; And each figure had its meaning, Each some magic song suggested. The Great Spirit, the Creator, Flashing light through all the heaven ; The Great Serpent, the Kenabeek, Wilh his bloody crest erected, Creeping, looking into heaven ; In the sky the sun, that listens, 320 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. And the moon eclipsed and dying ; Owl and eagle, crane and lien-hawk, And the cormorant, bird of magic ; Headless men that walk the heavens, Bodies lying pierced with arrows, Bloody hands of death uplifted, Flags on graves, and great war-captains Grasping both the earth and heaven ! Such as these the shapes they painted On the birch-bark and the deer-skin ; Songs of war and songs of hunting, Songs of medicine and of magic, All were written in these figures, For each figure had its meaning, Each its separate song recorded. Nor forgotten was the Love-Song, The most subtle of all medicines, The most potent spell of magic, Dangerous more than war or hunting ! Thus the Love-Song was recorded, Symbol and interpretation. First a human figure standing, Painted in the brightest scarlet : Tis the lover, the musician, And the meaning is, " My painting Makes me powerful over others." Then the figure seated, singing, Playing on a drum of magic, And the interpretaton, " Listen ! Tis my voice you hear, my singing ! " Then the same red figure seated In the shelter of a wigwam, And the meaning of the symbol, " I will come and sit beside you In the mystery of my passion !" Then two figures, man and woman, Standing hand in hand together, With their hands so clasped together That they seemed in one united ! And the words thus represented Are, " I see your heart within you, And your cheeks are red with blushes I" Next the maiden on an island, In the centre of an island ; And the song this shape suggested Was, " Though you were at a distance, Were upon some far-off island, Such the spell I cast upon you, Such the magic power of passion, I could straightway draw you to me ! " Then the figure of the maiden Sleeping, and the lover near her, Whispering to her in her slumbers, Saying, " Though you were far from me, In the land of Sleep and Silence, Still the voice of love would reach you ! " And the last of all the figures Was a heart within a circle, Drawn within a magic circle ; And the image had this meaning : " Naked lies your heart before me,! To your naked heart I whisper ! " Thus it was that Hiawatha, In his wisdom, taught the people All the mysteries of painting, All the art of Picture- Writing, On the smooth bark of the birch-tree, On the white skin of the reindeer, On the grave-posts of the village. XV. HIAWATHA S LAMENTATION. IN those days of Evil Spirits, A 11 the Manitos of mischief, Fearing Hiawatha s wisdom, And his love for Chibiabos, Jealous of their faithful friendship, And their noble words and actions, Made at length a league against them, To molest them and destroy them. Hiawatha, wise and wary, Often said to Chibiabos, " ray brother ! do not leave me, Lest the Evil Spirits harm you ! " HIAWATHA S LAMENTATION. 321 Chibiabos, young and heedless, Laughing shook his coal-black tresses, Answered ever sweet and childlike, " Do not fear for me, brother ! Harm and evil come not near me ! " Once when Peboan, the Winter, Eoofed with ice the Big-Sea-Water, When the snow-flakes, whirling down ward, Hissed among the withered oak-leaves, Changed the pine-trees into wigwams, Covered all the earth with silence, Armed with arrows, shod with snow- shoes, Heeding not his brother s warning, Fearing not the Evil Spirits, Forth to hunt the deer with antlers All alone went Chibiabos. Eight across the Big-Sea-Water Sprang with speed the deer before him. With the wind and snow he followed, O er the treacherous ice he followed, Wild with all the fierce commotion And the rapture of the hunting. But beneath, the Evil Spirits Lay in ambush, waiting for him, Broke the treacherous ice beneath him, Dragged him downward to the bottom, Buried in the sand his body. Unktahee, the god of water, He the god of the Dacotahs, Drowned him in the deep abysses Of the lake of Gitche Gumee. Erom the headlands Hiawatha Sent forth such a Avail of anguish, Such a fearful lamentation, That the bison paused to listen, And the wolves howled from the prairies, And the thunder in the distance Woke and answered, " Bairn- wawa ! " Then his face with black he painted, With his robe his head he covered, In his wigwam sat lamenting, Seven long weeks he sat lamenting, 1 Uttering still this moan of sorrow : "He is dead, the sweet musician ! He the sweetest of all singers ! He has gone from us for ever, He has moved a little nearer To the Master of all music, To the Master of all singing ! my brother, Chibiabos ! " And the melancholy fir-trees Waved their dark green fans above him, AVaved their purple cones above him, Sighing with him to console him, Mingling with his lamentation Their complaining, their lamenting. Came the Spring, and all the forest Looked in vain for Chibiabos ; Sighed the rivulet, Sebowisha, Sighed the rushes in the meadow ; Erom the tree-tops sang the blue-bird, Sang the blue-bird, the Owaissa, " Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! He is dead, the sweet musician ! " Erom the wigwam sang the robin, Sang the Opechee, the robin, " Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! He is dead, the sweetest singer ! " And at night through all the forest Went the whippoorwill complaining, Wailing went the Wawonaissa, " Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! He is dead the sweet musician ! He the sweetest of all singers ! " Then the medicine-men, the Medas, The magicians, the Wabenos, And the Jossakeeds, the prophets, Came to visit Hiawatha ; Built a Sacred Lodge beside him, To appease him, to console him, Walked in silent, grave procession, Bearing each a pouch of healing, 322 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Skin of beaver, lynx, or otter, Filled with magic roots and simples, Filled with very potent medicines. When he heard their steps approach ing, Hiawatha ceased lamenting, Called no more on Chibiahos ; Nought he questioned, nought he answered, But his mournful head uncovered, From his face the mourning colours Washed he slowly and in silence, Slowly and in silence followed Onward to the Sacred Wigwam. There a magic drink they gave him, Made of Nahma-wusk, the spearmint, And Wabeno-wusk, the yarrow, Boots of power, and herbs of healing ; Beat their drums, and shook their rattles ; Chanted singly and in chorus, Mystic songs like these they chanted : " I myself, myself ! behold me ! Tis the great Gray Eagle talking ; Come, ye white crows, come and hear him ! The loud-speaking thunder helps me j All the unseen spirits help me ; I can hear their voices calling, All around the sky I hear them ! I can blow you strong, my brother, I can heal you, Hiawatha ! " " Hi-au-ha ! " replied the chorus, " Way-ha-way ! " the mystic chorus. " Friends of mine are all the serpents ! Hear me shake my skin of hen-hawk ! Mahng, the white loon, I can kill him ; I can shoot your heart and kill it ! I can blow you strong, my brother, I can heal you, Hiawatha ! " " Hi-au-ha ! " replied the chorus, " Way-ha-way ! " the mystic chorus. " I myself, myself ! the prophet ! W r hen I speak the wigwam trembles, Shakes the Sacred Lodge with terror, Hands unseen begin to shake it ! When I walk, the sky I tread on Bends and makes a noise beneath me ! I can blow you strong, my brother ! Bise and speak, Hiawatha ! " " Hi-au-ha ! " replied the chorus, " Way-ha-way ! " the mystic chorus. Then they shook their medicine- pouches O er the head of Hiawatha, Danced their medicine-dance around him j And upstarting wild and haggard, Like a man from dreams awakened, He was healed of all his madness. As the clouds are swept from heaven, Straightway from his brain departed All his moody melancholy ; As the ice is swept from rivers, Straightway from his heart departed All his sorrow and affliction. Then they summoned Chibiabos From his grave beneath the waters, From the sands of Gitche Gumee Summoned Hiawatha s brother. And so mighty was the magic Of that cry and invocation, That he heard it as he lay there Underneath the Big-Sea-W r ater. From the sand he rose and listened, Heard the music and the singing, Came, obedient to the summons, To the doorway of the wigwam, But to enter they forbade him. Through a chink a coal they gave him, Through the door a burning firebrand ; Buler in the Land of Spirits, Buler o er the dead, they made him, Telling him a fire to kindle PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 323 For all those that died thereafter, Camp-fires for their night encampments On their solitary journey To the kingdom of Ponemah, To the land of the Hereafter. From the village of his childhood, From the homes of those who knew him, Passing silent through the forest, Like a smoke-wreath wafted sideways, Slowly vanished Chibiabos ! Where he passed, the branches moved not; Where he trod, the grasses bent not, And the fallen leaves of last year Made no sound beneath his footsteps. Four whole days he journeyed onward Down the pathway of the dead men ; On the dead man s strawberry feasted, Crossed the melancholy river, On the swinging log he crossed it, Came unto the Lake of Silver, In the Stone Canoe was carried To the Islands of the Blessed, To the land of ghosts and shadows. On that journey, moving slowly, Many weary spirits saw he, Panting under heavy burdens, Laden with war-clubs, bows and arrows, Eobes of fur, and pots and kettles, And with food that friends had given For that solitary journey. " Ah ! why do the living," said they, " Lay such heavy burdens on us 1 Better were it to go naked, Better were it to go fasting, Than to bear such heavy burdens, On our long and weary journey ! " Forth then issued Hiawatha, Wandered eastward, wandered west ward, Teaching men the use of simples And the antidotes for poisons, And the cure of all diseases. Thus was first made known to mortals All the mystery of Medamin, All the sacred art of healing. XVI. PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, He, the handsome Yenadizze, Whom the people called the Storm-Fool, Vexed the village with disturbance ; You shall hear of all his mischief, And his flight from Hiawatha, And his wondrous transmigrations, And the end of his adventures. On the shores of Gitche Gumee, On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo, By the shining Big- Sea- Water Stood the lodge of Pau-Puk-Keewis. It was he who in his frenzy Whirled these drifting sands together, On the dunes of JSTagow Wudjoo, When, amongst the guests assembled, He so merrily and madly Danced at Hiawatha s wedding, Danced the Beggar s dance to please them. K"ow, in search of new adventures, From his lodge went Pau-Puk-Keewis, Came with speed into the village, Found the young men all assembled In the lodge of old lagoo, Listening to his monstrous stories, To his wonderful adventures. He was telling them the story Of Ojeeg, the Summer-Maker, How he made a hole in heaven, How he climbed up into heaven, And let out the Summer-weather, The perpetual, pleasant Summer ; How the Otter first essayed it ; 324 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. How the Beaver, Lynx, and Badger Tried in turn the great achievement, From the summit of the mountain Smote their fists against the heavens, Smote against the sky their foreheads, Cracked the sky, but could not break it ; How the Wolverine, uprising, Made him ready for the encounter, Bent his knees down, like a squirrel, Drew his arms back, like a cricket. " Once he leaped," said old lagoo, " Once he leaped, and lo ! above him Bent the sky, as ice in rivers When the waters rise beneath it j Twice he leaped, and lo ! above him Cracked the sky, as ice in rivers When the freshet is at highest ! Thrice he leaped, and lo ! above him Broke the shattered sky asunder, And he disappeared within it, And Ojeeg, the Fisher Weasel, With a bound went in behind him ! " "Hark you!" shouted Pau-Puk- Keewis As he entered at the doorway ; " I am tired of all this talking, Tired of old lagoo s stories, Tired of Hiawatha s wisdom. Here is something to amuse you, Better than this endless talking." Then from out his pouch of wolf -skin Forth he drew, with solemn manner, All the game of Bowl and Counters, Pugasaing, with thirteen pieces. 9 White on one side were they painted, And vermilion on the other ; Two Kenabeeks or great serpents, Two Ininewug or wedge-men, One great war-club, Pugamaugun, And one slender fish, the Keego, Four round pieces, Ozawabeeks, And three Sheshebwug or ducklings. All were made of bone and painted, All except the Ozawabeeks ; These were brass, on one side burnished, And were black upon the other. In a wooden bowl he placed them, Shook and jostled them together, Threw them on the ground before him, Thus exclaiming and explaining : " Red side up are all the pieces, And one great Kenabeek standing On the bright side of a brass piece, On a burnished Ozawabeek ; Thirteen tens and eight are counted." Then again he shook the pieces, Shook and jostled them together, Threw them on the ground before him, Still exclaiming and explaining : 11 White are both the great Kenabeeks, White the Ininewug, the wedge-men, Red are all the other pieces j Five tens and an eight are counted." Thus he taught the game of hazard, Thus displayed it and explained it, Running through its various chances, Various changes, various meanings ; Twenty curious eyes stared at him, Full of eagerness stared at him. " Many games," said old lagoo, " Many games of skill and hazard Have I seen in different nations, Have I played in different countries. He who plays with old lagoo Must have very nimble fingers ; Though you think yourself so skilful, I can beat you, Pau-Puk-Keewis, I can even give you lessons In your game of Bowl and Counters ! " So they sat and played together, All the old men and the young men, Played for dresses, weapons, wampum, Played till midnight, played till morn ing, PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 325 Played until the Yenadizze, Till the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, Of their treasures had despoiled them, Of the best of all their dresses, Shirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine, Belts of wampum, crests of feathers, Warlike weapons, pipes and pouches. Twenty eyes glared wildly at him, Like the eyes of wolves glared at him. Said the lucky Pau-Puk-Keewis, " In my wigwam I am lonely, In my wanderings and adventures I have need of a companion, Fain would have a Meshinauwa, An attendant and pipe-bearer. I will venture all these winnings, All these garments heaped about me, All this wampum, all these feathers, On a single throw will venture All against the young man yonder ! " Twas a youth of sixteen summers, Twas a nephew of lagoo ; Face-in-a-Mist, the people called him. As the fire burns in a pipe-head Dusky red beneath the ashes, So beneath his shaggy eyebrows Glowed the eyes of old lagoo. " Ugh ! " he answered, very fiercely : " Ugh !" they answered all and each one. Seized the wooden bowl the old man, Closely in his bony fingers Clutched the fatal bowl, Onagon, Shook it fiercely and with fury, Made the pieces ring together As he threw them down before him. Eed were both the great Kenabeeks, Eed the Iiiinewug, the wedge-men, Eed the Sheshebwug, the ducklings, Elack the four brass Ozawabeeks, White alone the fish, the Keego ; Only five the pieces counted ! Then the smiling Pau-Puk-Keewis Shook the bowl and threw the pieces ; Lightly in the air he tossed them, And they fell about him scattered ; Dark and bright the Ozawabeeks, Eed and white the other pieces, And upright among the others One Ininewug was standing, Even as crafty Pau-Puk-Keewis Stood alone among the players, Saying, " Five tens ! mine the game is ! " Twenty eyes glared at him fiercely, Like the eyes of wolves glared at him, As he turned and left the wigwam, Followed by his Meshinauwa, By the nephew of lagoo, By the tall and graceful stripling, Bearing in his arms the winnings, Shirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine, Belts of wampum, pipes and weapons. " Carry them," said Pau-Puk-Keewis, Pointing with his fan of feathers, " To my wigwam far to eastward, On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo ! " Hot and red with smoke and gambling Were the eyes of Pau-Puk-Keewis As he came forth to the freshness Of the pleasant Summer morning. All the birds were singing gaily, All the streamlets flowing swiftly, And the heart of Pau-Puk-Keewis Sang with pleasure as the birds sing, Beat with triumph like the streamlets, As he wandered through the village, In the early gray of morning, With his fan of turkey-feathers, With his plumes and tufts of swan s down, Till he reached the farthest wigwam, Eeached the lodge of Hiawatha. Silent was it and deserted ; No one met him at the doorway, Xo one came to bid him welcome ; 326 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. But the birds were singing round it, In and out and round the doorway, Hopping, singing, fluttering, feeding, And aloft upon the ridge-pole Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, Sat with fiery eyes, and, screaming, Flapped his wings at Pau-Puk-Keewis. " All are gone ! the lodge is empty ! " Thus it was spake Pau-Puk-Keewis, In his heart resolving mischief ; " Gone is wary Hiawatha, Gone the silly Laughing Water, Gone ISTokomis, the old woman, And the lodge is left unguarded ! " By the neck he seized the raven, Whirled it round him like a rattle, Like a medicine pouch he shook it, Strangled Kahgahgee, the raven, From the ridge-pole of the wigwam Left its lifeless body hanging, As an insult to its master, As a taunt to Hiawatha. With a stealthy step he entered, Round the lodge in wild disorder Threw the household things about him, Piled together in confusion Bowls of wood and earthen kettles, Robes of buffalo and beaver, Skins of otter, lynx, and ermine, As an insult to Nokomis, As a taunt to Minnehaha. Then departed Pau-Puk-Keewis, Whistling, singing through the forest, Whistling gaily to the squirrels, Who from hollow boughs above him Dropped their acorn-shells upon him, Singing gaily to the wood-birds, Who from out the leafy darkness Answered with a song as merry. Then he climbed the rocky headlands, Looking o er the Gitche Guniee, Perched himself upon their summit, Waiting full of mirth and mischief The return of Hiawatha. Stretched upon his back he lay there ; Far below him plashed the waters, Plashed and washed the dreamy waters ; Far above him swam the heavens, Swam the dizzy, dreamy heavens ; Round him hovered, fluttered, rustled, Hiawatha s mountain chickens, Flock-wise swept and wheeled about him, Almost brushed him with their pinions. And he killed them as he lay there, Slaughtered them by tens and twenties, Threw their bodies down the headland, Threw them on the beach below him, Till at length Kaycshk, the sea-gull, Perched upon a crag above them, Shouted : " It is Pau-Puk-Keewis ! He is slaying us by hundreds ! Send a message to our brother, Tidings send to Hiawatha ! " XVII. THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. FULL of wrath was Hiawatha When he came into the village, Found the people in confusion, Heard of all the misdemeanors, All the malice and the mischief ,! Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis. Hard his breath came through his nostrils, Through his teeth he buzzed and mut tered Words of anger and resentment, Hot and humming, like a hornet. " I will slay this Pau-Puk-Keewis, Slay this mischief-maker ! " said he. " Not so long and wide the world is, Not so rude and rough the way is, THE HUNTING OF TAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 327 That my wrath shall not attain him, That my vengeance shall not reach him !" Then in swift pursuit departed Hiawatha and the hunters On the trail of Pau-Puk-Keewis, Through the forest where he passed it, To the headlands where he rested ; But they found not Pau-Puk-Keewis, Only in the trampled grasses, In the whortleberry bushes, Found the couch where he had rested, Found the impress of his body. From the lowlands far beneath them, From the Muskoday, the meadow, Pau-Puk-Keewis, turning backward, Made a gesture of defiance, Made a gesture of derision ; And aloud cried Hiawatha, From the summit of the mountain : " Not so long and wide the world is, Not so rude and rough the way is, But my wrath shall overtake you, And my vengeance shall attain you ! " Over rock and over river, Through the bush and brake and forest, Ran the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis ; Like an antelope he bounded, Till he came unto a streamlet In the middle of the forest, To a streamlet still and tranquil, That had overflowed its margin, To a dam made by the beavers, To a pond of quiet water, Where knee-deep the trees were standing, Where the water-lilies floated, Where the rushes waved and whispered. On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, On the dam of trunks and branches, Through whose chinks the water spouted, O er whose summit flowed the streamlet. From the bottom rose a beaver, Looked with two great eyes of wonder, Eyes that seemed to ask a question, At the stranger, Pau-Puk-Keewis. On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, O er his ankles flowed the streamlet, Flowed the bright and silvery water, And he spake unto the beaver, With a smile he spake in this wise : " my friend, Ahmeek, the beaver, Cool and pleasant is the water ; Let me dive into the water, Let me rest there in your lodges ; Change me, too, into a beaver ! " Cautiously replied the beaver, With reserve he thus made answer : " Let me first consult the others, Let me ask the other beavers." Down he sank into the water, Heavily sank he as a stone sinks, Down among the leaves and branches, Brown and matted at the bottom. On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, O er his ankles flowed the streamlet, Spouted through the chinks below him, Dashed upon the stones beneath him, Spread serene and calm before him, And the sunshine and the shadows Fell in flecks and gleams upon him, Fell in little shining patches, Through the waving rustling branches. From, the bottom rose the beavers, Silently above the surface Eose one head and then another, Till the pond seemed full of beavers, Full of black and shining faces. To the beavers Pau-Puk-Keewis Spake entreating, said in this wise : "Very pleasant is your dwelling, my friends ! and safe from danger ; Can you not with all your cunning, All your wisdom and contrivance, Change me, too, into a beaver ? " " Yes," replied Ahmeek, the beaver, 328 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. He the King of all the beavers, " Let yourself slide down among us, Down into the tranquil water." Down into the pond among them Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis ; Black became his shirt of deer-skin, Black his moccasons and leggings, In a broad black tail behind him Spread his fox-tails and his fringes ; He was changed into a beaver. "Make me large," said Pau-Puk- Keewis, " Make me large and make me larger, Larger than the other beavers." " Yes," the beaver chief responded, " When our lodge below you enter, In our wigwam we will make you Ten times larger than the others/ Thus into the clear, brown water Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis ; Found the bottom covered over With the trunks of trees and branches, Hoards of food against the winter, Piles and heaps against the famine, Found the lodge with arching doorway Leading into spacious chambers. Here they made him large and larger, Made him largest of the beavers, Ten times larger than the others. " You shall be our ruler," said they ; " Chief and king of all the beavers." But not long had Pau-Puk-Keewis Sat in state among the beavers, When there came a voice of warning From the watchman at his station In the water-flags and lilies, Saying, " Here is Hiawatha ! Hiawatha with his hunters ! " Then they heard a cry above them, Heard a shouting and a tramping, Heard a crashing and a rushing, And the water round and o er them Sank and sucked away in eddies, And they knew their dam was broken. On the lodge s roof the hunters Leaped and broke it all asunder ; Streamed the sunshine through the crevice, Sprang the beavers through the door way, Hid themselves in deeper water, In the channel of the streamlet ; But the mighty Pau-Puk-Keewis Could not pass beneath the doorway ; He was puffed with pride and feeding, He was swollen like a bladder. Through the roof looked Hiawatha, Cried aloud, " Pau-Puk-Keewis ! Vain are all your craft and cunning, Vain your manifold disguises ! Well I know you, Pau-Puk-Keewis ! " With their clubs they beat and bruised him, Beat to death poor Pau-Puk-Keewis, Pounded him as maize is pounded, Till his skull was crushed to pieces. Six tall hunters, lithe and limber, Bore him home on poles and branches, Bore the body of the beaver ; But the ghost, the Jeebi in him, Thought and felt as Pau-Puk-Keewis, Still lived on as Pau-Puk-Keewis. And it fluttered, strove, and struggled, Waving hither, waving thither, As the curtains of a wigwam Struggle with their thongs of deer-skiu, When the wintry wind is blowing ; Till it drew itself together, Till it rose up from the body, Till it took the form and features Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, Vanishing into the forest. But the wary Hiawatha Saw the figure ere it vanished, THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 329 Saw the form of Pau-Puk-Keewis Glide into the soft blue shadow Of the pine-trees of the forest ; Toward the squares of white beyond it, Toward an opening in the forest, Like a wind it rushed and panted, Bending all the boughs before it, And behind it, as the rain comes, Came the steps of Hiawatha. To a lake with many islands Came the breathless Pau-Puk-Keewis, Where among the water-lilies Pishnekuh, the brant, were sailing ; Through the tufts of rushes floating, Steering through the reedy islands, Now their broad black beaks they lifted, Now they plunged beneath the water, Now they darkened in the shadow, Now they brightened in the sunshine. "Pishnekuh!" cried Pau-Puk-Kee wis, " Pishnekuh my brothers ! " said he, <; Change me to a brant with plumage, With a shining neck and feathers, Make me large, and make me larger, Ten times larger than the others/ Straightway to a brant they changed him, With two huge and dusky pinions, With a bosom smooth and rounded, With a bill like two great paddles, Made him larger than the others, Ten times larger than the largest, Just as, shouting from the forest, On the shore stood Hiawatha. Up they rose with cry and clamor, With a whirr and beat of pinions, Rose up from the reedy islands, From the water-flags and lilies. And they said to Pau-Puk-Keewis : "In your flying, look not downward, Take good heed and look not downward, Lest some strange mischance should happen, Lest some great mishap befall you ! " Fast and far they fled to northward, East and far through mist and sunshine, Fed among the moors and fenlands, Slept among the reeds and rushes. On the morrow as they journeyed, Buoyed and lifted by the South-wind, Wafted onward by the South-wind, Blowing fresh and strong behind them, Rose a sound of human voices, Rose a clamor from beneath them, From the lodges of a village, From the people miles beneath them. For the people of the village Saw the flock of brant with wonder, Saw the wings of Pau-Puk-Keewis Flapping far up in the ether, Broader than two doorway curtains. Pau-Puk-Keewis heard the shouting, Knew the voice of Hiawatha, Knew the outcry of lagoo, And, forgetful of the warning, Drew his neck in and looked downward, And the wind that blew behind him Caught his mighty fan of feathers, Sent him wheeling, whirling downward ! All in vain did Pau-Puk-Keewis Struggle to regain his balance ! Whirling round and round and down- ward, He beheld in turn the village And in turn the flock above him, Saw the village coming nearer, And the flock receding farther, Heard the voices growing louder, Heard the shouting and the laughter, Saw no more the flock above him, Only saw the earth beneath him ; Dead out of the empty heaven, Dead among the shouting people, u u 330 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. With a heavy sound and sullen, Fell the brant with broken pinions. But his soul, his ghost, his shadow, Still survived as Pau-Puk-Keewis, Took again the form arid features Of the handsome Yenadizze, And again went rushing onward, Followed fast by Hiawatha, Crying : " Not so wide the world is, Not so long and rough the way is, But my wrath shall overtake you, But my vengeance shall attain you ! " And so near he came, so near him, That his hand was stretched to seize him, His right hand to seize and hold him, When the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis Whirled and spun about in circles, Fanned the air into a whirlwind, Danced the dust and leaves about him, And amid the whirling eddies Sprang into a hollow oak-tree, Changed himself into a serpent, Gliding out through root and rubbish. With his right hand Hiawatha Smote amain the hollow oak-tree, Rent it into shreds and splinters, Left it lying there in fragments. But in vain ; for Pau-Puk-Keewis, Once again in human figure, Full in sight ran on before him, Sped away in gust and whirlwind, On the shores of Gitche Gumee. Westward by the Big-Sea-Water, Came unto the rocky headlands, To the Pictured Rocks of sandstone, 10 Looking over lake and landscape. And the Old Man of the Mountain, He the Manito of Mountains, Opened wide his rocky doorways, Opened wide his deep abysses, Giving Pau-Puk-Keewis shelter In his caverns dark and dreary, Bidding Pau-Puk-Keewis welcome To his gloomy lodge of sandstone. There without stood Hiawatha, Found the doorways closed against him, With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Smote great caverns in the sandstone, Cried aloud in tones of thunder, " Open ! I am Hiawatha ! " But the Old Man of the Mountain Opened not, and made no answer From the silent crags of sandstone, From the gloomy rock abysses. Then he raised his hands to heaven, ( ailed imploring on the tempest, Called Waywassimo, the lightning, And the thunder, Annemeekee ; And they came with night and darkness, Sweeping down the Big- Sea- Water From the distant Thunder Mountains : And the trembling Pau-Puk-Keewis Heard the footsteps of the thunder, Saw the red eyes of the lightning, Was afraid, and crouched and trembled. Then Waywassimo, the lightning, Smote the doorways of the caverns, With his war-club smote the doorways, Smote the jutting crags of sandstone, And the thunder, Annemeekee, Shouted down into the caverns, Saying, "Where is Pau-Puk-Keewis ? " And the crags fell, and beneath them Dead among the rocky ruins Lay the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, Lay the handsome Yenadizze, Slain in his own human figure. Ended were his wild adventures, Ended were his tricks and gambols, Ended all his craft and cunning, Ended all his mischief-making, All his gambling and his dancing, All his wooing of the maidens. THE DEATH OF KWASIND. 331 Then the noble Hiawatha Took his soul, his ghost, his shadow, Spake and said : " Pau-Puk-Keewis ! Never more in human figure Shall you search for new adventures, Never more with jest and laughter Dance the dust and leaves in whirl winds, But above there in the heavens You shall soar and sail in circles ; I will change you to an eagle, To Keneu, the great War-Eagle, Chief of all the fowls with feathers, Chief of Hiawatha s chickens." And the name of Pau-Puk-Keewis Lingers still among the people, Lingers still among the singers, And among the storytellers ; And in Winter, when the snow-flakes Whirl in eddies round the lodges, When the wind in gusty tumult O er the smoke-flue pipes and whistles, "There," they cry, "comes Pau-Puk- Keewis ; He is dancing through the village, He is gathering in his harvest ! " XYIII. THE DEATH OF KWASIND. FAR and wide among the nations Spread the name and fame of Kwasind ; No man dared to strive with Kwasind, No man could compete with Kwasind. But the mischievous Puk-Wudjies, They the envious Little People, They the fairies and the pigmies, Plotted and conspired against him. " If this hateful Kwasind," said they, " If this great, outrageous fellow Goes on thus a little longer, Tearing everything he touches, Eending everything to pieces, Filling all the world with wonder, What becomes of the Puk-Wudjies? Who will care for the Puk-Wudjies ] He will tread us down like mushrooms, Drive us all into the water, Give our bodies to be eaten By the wicked Nee-ba-naw-baigs, By the Spirits of the Water ! " So the angry Little People All conspired against the Strong Man, All conspired to murder Kwasind, Yes, to rid the world of Kwasind, The audacious, overbearing, Heartless, haughty, dangerous Kwasind. Now this wondrous strength of Kwa sind In his crown alone was seated ; In his crown, too, was his weakness ; There alone could he be wounded, Nowhere else could weapon pierce him, Nowhere else could weapon harm him. Even there the only weapon That could wound him, that could slay him, Was the seed-cone of the pine-tree, Was the blue cone of the fir-tree. This was Kwasind s fatal secret, Known to no man among mortals ; But the cunning Little People, The Puk-Wudjies, knew the secret, Knew the only way to kill him. So they gathered cones together, Gathered seed-cones of the pine-tree, Gathered blue cones of the fir-tree, In the woods by Taquamenaw, Brought them to the river s margin, Heaped them in great piles together, Where the red rocks from the margin, Jutting overhang the river. There they lay in wait for Kwasind, The malicious Little People. THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Twas an afternoon in Summer ; Yery hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows : Insects glistened in the sunshine, Insects skated on the water, Filled the drowsy air with buzzing, With a far-resounding war-cry. Down the river came the Strong Man, In his birch canoe came Kwasind, Floating slowly down the current Of the sluggish Taquamenaw, Very languid with the weather, Very sleepy with the silence. i/ Jr i/ From the overhanging branches, From the tassels of the birch-trees, Soft the Spirit of Sleep descended ; By his airy hosts surrounded, His invisible attendants, Came the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin ; Like the burnished Dush-kwo-ne-she, Like a dragon-fly, he hovered O er the drowsy head of Kwasind. To his ear there came a murmur As of waves upon a seashore, As of far-off tumbling waters, As of winds among the pine-trees ; And he felt upon his forehead Blows of little airy war-clubs, Wielded by the slumbrous legions Of the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, As of some one breathing on him. At the first blow of their war-clubs, Fell a drowsiness on Kwasind ; At the second blow they smote him, Motionless his paddle rested ; At the third, before his vision Reeled the landscape into darkness, Very sound asleep was Kwasind. So he floated down the river, Like a blind man seated upright, Floated down the Taquamenaw, Underneath the trembling birch-trees, Underneath the wooded headlands, Underneath the war encampment Of the pigmies, the Puk-Wudjies. There they stood, all armed and waiting, Hurled the pine-cones down upon him, Struck him on his brawny shoulders, On his crown defenceless struck him. " Death to Kwasind ! " was the sudden War-cry of the Little People. And he sideways swayed and tumbled, Sideways fell into the river, Plunged beneath the sluggish water Headlong as an otter plunges ; And the birch-canoe, abandoned, Drifted empty down the river, Bottom upward swerved and drifted : Nothing more was seen of Kwasind. But the memory of the Strong Man Lingered long among the people, And whenever through the forest Raged and roared the wintry tempest, And the branches, tossed and troubled, Creaked and groaned and split asunder, " Kwasind ! " cried they ; " that is Kwa sind 1 He is gathering in his fire-wood ! " XIX. THE GHOSTS. NEVER stoops the .soaring vulture On his quarry in the desert, On the sick or wounded bison, But another vulture, watching From his high aerial look-out, Sees the downward plunge, and follows ; And a third pursues the second, Coming from the invisible ether, First a speck, and then a vulture, Till the air is dark with pinions. So disasters come not singly ; But as if they watched and waited, THE GHOSTS. 333 Scanning one another s motions, "When the first descends, the others Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise Eound their victim, sick and wounded, First a shadow, then a sorrow, Till the air is dark with anguish. Now, o er all the dreary Northland, Mighty Peboan, the Winter, Breathing on the lakes and rivers. Into stone had changed their waters. From his hair he shook the snow-flakes, Till the plains were strewn with white ness, One uninterrupted level, As if, stooping, the Creator With his hand had smoothed them over. Through the forest, wide and wailing, Roamed the hunter on his snow-shoes ; In the village worked the women, Pounded maize, or dressed the deer-skin; And the young men played together On the ice the noisy ball-play, On the plain the dance of snow-shoes. One dark evening, after sun-down, In her wigwam Laughing Water Sat with old Nokomis, waiting For the steps of Hiawatha Homeward from the hunt returning. On their faces gleamed the fire-light, Painting them with streaks of crimson, In the eyes of old Nokomis Glimmered like the watery moonlight, In the eyes of Laughing Water Glistened like the sun in water ; And behind them crouched their shadows In the corners of the wigwam, And the smoke in wreaths above them Climbed and crowded through the smoke- flue. Then the curtain of the doorway From without was slowly lifted ; Brighter glowed the fire a moment, And a moment swerved the smoke-wreath, As two women entered softly, Passed the doorway uninvited, Without word of salutation, Without sign of recognition, Sat down in the farthest corner, Crouching low among the shadows. From their aspect and their garments Strangers seemed they in the village ; Very pale and haggard were they, As they sat there sad and silent, Trembling, cowering with the shadows. Was it the wind above the smoke-flue, Muttering down into the wigwam ? Was it the owl, the Koko-koho, Hooting from the dismal forest 1 Sure a voice said in the silence : " These are corpses clad in garments, These are ghosts that come to haunt you, From the kingdom of Ponemah, From the land of the Hereafter ! " Homeward now came Hiawatha From his hunting in the forest, With the snow upon his tresses, And the red deer on his shoulders. At the feet of Laughing Water Down he threw his lifeless burden ; Nobler, handsomer she thought him, Than when first he came to woo her ; First threw down the deer before her, As a token of his wishes, As a promise of the future. Then he turned and saw the strangers, Cowering, crouching with the shadows ; Said within himself, " Who are they 1 What strange guests has Minnehaha 1 " But he questioned not the strangers, Only spake to bid them welcome To his lodge, his food, his fireside. When the evening meal was ready, And the deer had been divided, Both the pallid guests, the strangers, 334 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Springing from among the shadows, Seized upon the choicest portions, Seized the white fat of the roebuck, Set apart for Laughing Water, For the wife of Hiawatha ; Without asking, without thanking, Eagerly devoured the morsels, Flitted back among the shadows In the corner of the wigwam. Not a word spake Hiawatha, Not a motion made Nokomis, Not a gesture Laughing Water ; Not a change came o er their features : Only Minnehaha softly Whispered, saying, " They are famished; Let them do what best delights them ; Let them eat, for they are famished." Many a daylight dawned and darkened, Many a night shook off the daylight As the pine shakes off the snow-flakes From the midnight of its branches ; Day by day the guests unmoving Sat there silent in the wigwam ; But by night, in stoi m or starlight, Forth they went into the forest, Bringing firewood to the wigwam, Bringing pine-cones for the burning, Always sad and always silent. And whenever Hiawatha Came from fishing or from hunting, When the evening meal was ready, And the food had been divided, Gliding from their darksome corner, Came the pallid guests, the strangers, Seized upon the choicest portions, Set aside for Laughing Water, And without rebuke or question Flitted back among the shadows. Never once had Hiawatha By a word or look reproved them : Never once had old Nokoniis Made a gesture of impatience ; Never once had Laughing Water Shown resentment at the outrage. All had they endured in silence, That the rights of guest and stranger, That the virtue of free-giving, By a look might not be lessened, By a word might not be broken. Once at midnight Hiawatha, Ever wakeful, ever watchful, In the wigwam dimly lighted By the brands that still were burning, By the glimmering, flickering fire-light, Heard a sighing, oft repeated, Heard a sobbing, as of sorrow. From his couch rose Hiawatha, From his shaggy hides of bison, Pushed aside the deer-skin curtain, Saw the pallid guests, the shadows, Sitting upright on their couches, Weeping in the silent midnight. And he said : " guests ! why is it That your hearts are so afflicted, That you sob so in the midnight 1 Has perchance the old Nokomis, Has my wife, my Minnehaha, Wronged or grieved you by unkindness, Failed in hospitable duties 1 " Then the shadows ceased from weeping, Ceased from sobbing and lamenting, And they said, with gentle voices : " We are ghosts of the departed, Souls of those who once were with you. From the realms of Chibiabos Hither have we come to try you, Hither have we come to warn you. " Cries of grief and lamentation Reach us in the Blessed Islands ; Cries of anguish from the living, Calling back their friends departed, Sadden us with useless sorrow. Therefore have we come to try you ; THE FAMINE. 335 No one knows us, no one heeds us. We are but a burden to you, And we see that the departed Have no place among the living. "Think of this, Hiawatha ! Speak of it to all the people, That henceforward and for ever They no more with lamentations Sadden the souls of the departed In the Islands of the Blessed. "Do not lay such heavy burdens In the graves of those you bmy, ~Not such w r eight of furs and wampum, Not such weight of pots and kettles, For the spirits faint beneath them. Only give them food to carry, Only give them, fire to light them. "Four days is the spirit s journey To the land of ghosts and shadows. Four its lonely night encampments ; Four times must their fires be lighted. Therefore, when the dead are buried, Let a fire, as night approaches, Four times on the grave be kindled, That the soul upon its journey May not lack the cheerful fire-light, May not grope about in darkness. " Farewell, noble Hiawatha ! We have put you to the trial, To the proof have put your patience, By the insult of our presence, By the outrage of our actions. We have found you great and noble. Fail not in the greater trial, Faint not in the harder struggle." When they ceased, a sudden darkness Fell and filled the silent wigwam. Hiawatha heard a rustle As of garments trailing by him, Heard the curtain of the doorway Lifted by a hand he saw not, Felt the cold breath of the night-air, For a moment saw the starlight ; But he saw the ghosts no longer, Saw no more the wandering spirits From the kingdom of Ponemah, From the land of the Hereafter. XX. THE FAMINE. THE long and dreary Winter ! the cold and cruel Winter ! Ever thicker, thicker, thicker Froze the ice on lake and river, Ever deeper, deeper, deeper Fell the snow o er all the landscape, Fell the covering snow, and drifted Through the forest, round the village. Hardly from his buried wigwam Could the hunter force a passage ; With his mittens and his snow-shoes Vainly walked he through the forest, Sought for bird or beast and found none, Saw no track of deer or rabbit, In the snow beheld no footprints, In the ghastly, gleaming forest, Fell, and could not rise from weakness, Perished there from cold and hunger. the famine and the fever ! the wasting of the famine ! the blasting of the fever ! the wailing of the children ! the anguish of the women ! All the earth was sick and famished, Hungry was the air around them, Hungry was the sky above them, And the hungry stars in heaven Like the eyes of wolves glared at them ! Into Hiawatha s wigwam Came two other guests, as silent As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, Waited not to be invited, Did not parley at the doorway, Sat there without word of welcome 336 -THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. In the seat of Laughing Water ; Looked with haggard eyes and hollow At the face of Laughing Water. And the foremost said, " Behold me ! I am Famine, Buckadawin !" And the other said, " Behold me ! I am Fever, Ahkosewin ! " And the lovely Minnehaha Shuddered as they looked upon her, Shuddered at the words they uttered, Lay down on her bed in silence, Hid her face, but made no answer ; Lay there trembling, freezing, burning At the looks they cast upon her, At the fearful words they uttered. Forth into the empty forest Bushed the maddened Hiawatha ; In his heart was deadly sorrow, In his face a stony firmness ; On his brow the sweat of anguish Started, but it froze, and fell not. Wrapped in furs, and armed for hunt ing, With his mighty bow of ash-tree, With his quiver full of arrows, With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Into the vast and vacant forest On his snow-shoes strode he forward. " Gitche Manito, the Mighty !" Cried he with, his face uplifted In that bitter hour of anguish, " Give your children food, father ! Give us food or we must perish ! Give me food for Minnehaha, For my dying Minnehaha ! " Through the far resounding forest, Through the forest vast and vacant, Bang that cry of desolation, But there came no other answer Than the echo of his crying, Than the echo of the woodlands, " Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! " All day long roved Hiawatha In that melancholy forest, Through the shadow of whose thicket In the pleasant days of Summer, Of that ne er-forgotten Summer, He had brought his young wife home ward, From the land of the Dacotahs ; When the birds sang in the thickets, And the streamlets laughed and glistened, And the air was full of fragrance, And the lovely Laughing Water Said, with voice that did not tremble, " I will follow you, my husband ! " In the wigwam with ISTokomis, With those gloomy guests that watched her, With the Famine and the Fever, She was lying, the Beloved, She the dying Minnehaha. " Hark ! " she said, " I hear a rushing, Hear a roaring and a rushing, Hear the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to me from a distance ! " "No, my child ! " said old Nokomis, "Tis the night-wind in the pine-trees !" " Look !" she said, " I see my father Standing lonely at his doorway, Beckoning to me from his wigwam, In the land of the Dacotahs ! " " Xo, my child ! " said old Nokomis, " Tis the smoke that waves and beckons !" " Ah ! " she said, " the eyes of Pauguk Glare upon me in the darkness , I can feel his icy fingers Clasping mine aniid the darkness ! Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " And the desolate Hiawatha, Far away amid the forest, Miles away among the mountains, Heard that sudden cry of anguish, THE WHITE MAN S FOOT. Heard the voice of Minnehaba Calling to him in the darkness, " Hiawatha ! Hiawatha !" Over snow-fields waste and pathless, Under snow-encumbered branches, Homeward hurried Hiawatha, Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, Heard !N"okomis moaning, wailing, " Wahonomin ! Wahonomin ! Would that I had perished for you, Would that I were dead as you are ! Wahonomin ! Wahonomin !" And he rushed into the wigwam, Saw the old Nokomis slowly Rocking to and fro and moaning, Saw his lovely Minnehaha Lying dead and cold before him ; And his bursting heart within him Uttered such a cry of anguish, That the forest moaned and shuddered, That the very stars in heaven Shook and trembled with his anguish O Then he sat down, still and speechless, On the bed of Minnehaha, At the feet of Laughing Water, At those willing feet, that never More would lightly run to meet him, Never more would lightly follow. With both hands his face he covered, Seven long days and nights he sat there, As if in a swoon he sat there, Speechless, motionless, unconscious Of the daylight or the darkness. Then they buried Minnehaha ; In the snow a grave they made her, In the forest deep and darksome, Underneath the moaning hemlocks ; Clothed her in her richest garments, Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, Covered her with snow, like ermine ; Thus they buried Minnehaha. And at night a fire was lighted, On her grave four times was kindled, For her soul upon its journey To the Islands of the Blessed. From his doorway Hiawatha Saw it burning in the forest, Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks ; From his sleepless bed uprising, From the bed of Minnehaha, Stood and watched it at the doorway, That it might not be extinguished, Might not leave her in the darkness. " Farewell," said he, " Minnehaha : Farewell, my Laughing Water ! All my heart is buried with you, All my thoughts go onward with you ! Come not back again to labor, Come not back again to suffer, Where the Famine and the Fever Wear the heart and waste the body. Soon my task will be completed, Soon your footsteps I shall follow To the Islands of the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah ! To the Land of the Hereafter ! " THE WHITE MANS FOOT. IN his lodge beside a river, Close beside a frozen river, Sat an old man, sad and lonely. White his hair was as a snow-drift ; Dull and low his fire was burning, And the old man shook and trembled, Folded in his Waubewyon, In his tattered white-skin-wrapper, Hearing nothing but the tempest As it roared along the forest, Seeing nothing but the snow-storm As it whirled and hissed and drifted. All the coals were white with ashes, And the fire was slowly dying, 338 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. As a young man, walking lightly, At the open doorway entered. Bed with blood of youth his cheeks were, Soft his eyes as stars in Spring-time ; Bound his forehead was with grasses, Bound and plumed with scented grasses ; On his lips a smile of beauty, Filling all the lodge with sunshine ; In his hand a bunch of blossoms, Filling all the lodge with sweetness. " Ah, my son ! " exclaimed the old man, " Happy are my eyes to see you. Sit here on the mat beside me, Sit here by the dying embers, Let us pass the night together, Tell me of your strange adventures, Of the lands where you have travelled ; I will tell you of my prowess, Of my many deeds of wonder." From his pouch he drew his peace-pipe, Very old and strangely fashioned ; Made of red stone was the pipe-head, And the stem a reed with feathers ; Filled the pipe with bark of willow, Placed a burning coal upon it, Gave it to his guest, the stranger, And began to speak in this wise : " When I blow my breath about me, When I breathe upon the landscape, Motionless are all the rivers, Hard as stone becomes the water ! " And the young man answered, smiling: " When I blow my breath about me, When I breathe upon the landscape, Flowers spring up o er all the meadows, Singing, onward rush the rivers !" " When I shake my hoary tresses," Said the old man, darkly frowning, " All the land with snow is covered ; All the leaves from all the branches Fall and fade and die and wither, For I breathe, and lo ! they are not. From the waters and the marshes liise the wild-goose and the heron, Fly away to distant regions, For I speak, and lo ! they are not. And where er my footsteps wander, All the wild beasts of the forest Hide themselves in holes and caverns, And the earth becomes as flint-stone !" " When I shake my flowing ringlets," Said the young man, softly laughing, "Showers of rain fall warm and welcome, Plants lift up their heads rejoicing, Back unto their lakes and marshes Come the wild-goose and the heron, Homeward shoots the arrowy swallow, Sing the blue-bird and the robin ; And where er my footsteps wander, All the meadows wave with blossoms, All the woodlands ring with music, All the trees are dark with foliage ! " While they spake, the night departed ; From the distant realms of Wabun, From his shining lodge of silver, Like a warrior robed and painted, Came the sun, and said, " Behold me ! Gheezis, the great sun, behold me !" Then the old man s tongue was speechless, And the air grew warm and pleasant, And upon the wigwam sweetly Sang the blue-bird and the robin, And the stream began to murmur, And a scent of growing grasses Through the lodge was gently wafted. And Segwun, the youthful stranger, More distinctly in the daylight Saw the icy face before him ; It was Peboan, the AVinter ! From his eyes the tears were flowing, As from melting lakes the streamlets, And his body shrunk and dwindled THE WHITE MAN S FOOT. 339 As the shouting sun ascended, Till into the air it faded, Till into the ground it vanished, And the young man saw before him, On the hearthstone of the wigwam, Where the fire had smoked and smoul dered, Saw the earliest flowers of Spring-time, Saw the Beauty of the Spring-time, Saw the Miskodeed in blossom. Thus it was that in the Northland, Alter that unheard-of coldness, That intolerable Winter, Came the Spring with all its splendor, All its birds and all its blossoms, All its flowers and leaves and grasses. Sailing on the wind to northward, Flying in great flocks, like arrows, Like huge arrows shot through heaven, Passed the swan, the Mahnahbezee, Speaking almost as a man speaks ; And in long lines waving, bending Like a bowstring snapped asunder, The white goose, the Waw-be-wawa ; And in pairs, or singly flying, Mahng the loon, with clangorous pinions, The blue-heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, And the grouse, the Mushkodasa. In the thickets and the meadows Piped the blue-bird, the Owaissa ; On the summit of the lodges Sang the Opechee, the robin ; In the covert of the pine-trees Cooed the Omeme, the pigeon ; And the sorrowing Hiawatha, Speechless in his infinite sorrow, Heard their voices calling to him, Went forth from his gloomy doorway, Stood and gazed into the heaven, Gazed upon the earth and waters. From his wanderings far to eastward, From the regions of the morning, From the shining land of Wabun, Homeward now returned lagoo, The great traveller, the great boaster, Full of new and strange adventures, Marvels many and many wonders. And the people of the village Listened to him as he told them Of his marvellous adventures, Laughing answered him in this wise : " Ugh ! it is indeed lagoo ! No one else beholds such wonders ! " He had seen, he said, a water Bigger than the Big-Sea-Water, Broader than the Gitche Gumee, Bitter so that none could drink it ! At each other looked the warriors, Looked the women at each other, Smiled, and said, " It cannot be so ! Kaw !" they said, "it cannot be so !" O er it, said he, o er this water Came a great canoe with pinions, A canoe with wings came flying, Bigger than a grove of pine-trees, Taller than the tallest tree-tops ! And the old men and the women Looked and tittered at each other. " Kaw !" they said, "we don t believe it ! " From its mouth, he said, to greet him, Came Waywassimo, the lightning, Came the thunder, Annemeekee ! And the warriors and the women Laughed aloud at poor Tagoo ; "Kaw!" said they, "what tales you tell us!" In it, said he, came a people, In the great canoe with pinions Came, he said, a hundred warriors ; Painted white were all their faces, And with hair their chins were covered ! And the warriors and the women Laughed and shouted in derision, Like the ravens on the tree-tops. 340 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Like the crows upon the hemlock?. " Kaw ! " they said, "what lies you tell us ! Do not think that we believe them !" Only Hiawatha laughed not, But he gravely spake and answered To their jeering and their jesting : "True is all lagoo tells us; I have seen it in a vision, Seen the great canoe with pinions, Seen the people with white faces, Seen the coming of this bearded People of the wooden vessel From the regions of the morning, From the shining land of Wabun. " Gitche Manito, the Mighty, The Great Spirit, the Creator, Sends them hither on his errand, Sends them to us with his message. Wheresoe er they move, before them Swarms the stinging-fly, the Ahnio, Swarms the bee, the honey -maker; Wheresoe er they tread, beneath them Springs a flower unknown among us, Springs the White Man s Foot in blossom. " Let us welcome, then, the strangers, Hail them as our friends and brothers, And the heart s right hand of friendship Give them when they come to see us. Gitche Manito, the Mighty, Said this to me in my vision. " I beheld, tor>, in that vision All the secrets of the future, Of the distant days that shall be. I beheld the westward marches Of the unknown, crowded nations. All the land was full of people, Eestless, struggling, toiling, striving, Speaking many tongues, yet feeling But one heart beat in their bosoms. In the woodlands rang their axes, Smoked their towns in all the valleys, < )ver all the lakes and rivers Rushed their great canoes of thunder. " Then a darker, drearier vision Passed before me, vague and cloud-like ; I beheld our nations scattered, All forgetful of my counsels, Weakened, warring with each other ; Saw the remnants of our people Sweeping westward, wild and woful, Like the cloud-rack of a tempest, Like the withered leaves of Autumn ! " XXII. HIAWATHA S DEPARTURE. BY the shore of Gitche Guinee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, At the doorway of his wig wan), In the pleasant Summer morning, Hiawatha stood and waited. All the air was full of freshness, All the earth was bright and joyous, And before him through the sunshine, Westward toward the neighbouring forest, Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo, Passed the bees, the honey-makers, Burning, singing in the sunshine. Bright above him shone the heavens, Level spread the lake before him ; From its bosom leaped the sturgeon, Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine ; On its margin the great forest Stood reflected in the water, Every tree-top had its shadow, Motionless beneath the water. From the brow of Hiawatha Gone was every trace of sorrow, As a fog from off the water, As a mist from off the meadow. With a. smile of joy and triumph, With a look of exultation, HIAWATHA S DEPARTURE. 341 As of one who in a vision Sees what is to be, but is not, Stood and waited Hiawatha. Toward the sun his hands were lifted,* Both the palms spread out against it, And between the parted fingers Fell the sunshine on his features, Flecked with light his naked shoulders, As it falls and flecks an oak-tree Through the rifted leaves and branches. O er the water floating, flying, Something in the hazy distance, Something in the mists of morning, Loomed and lifted from the water, Now seemed floating, now seemed flying, Coming nearer, nearer, nearer. Was it Shingebis, the diver 1 Was it the pelican, the Shada ? Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah 1 Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa, With the water dripping, flashing From its glossy neck and feathers ? It was neither goose nor diver, Neither pelican nor heron, O er the water floating, flying, Through the shining mist of morning, But a birch canoe with paddles, .Rising, sinking on the water, Dripping, flashing in the sunshine. And within it came a people From the distant land of Wabun, From the farthest realms of morning Came the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet, He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale-face, With his guides and his companions. And the noble Hiawatha, With his hands aloft extended, Held aloft in sign of welcome, Waited, full of exultation, Till the birch canoe with paddles Grated on the shining pebbles, Stranded on the sandy margin, Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face, With the cross upon his bosom, Landed on the sandy margin. Then the joyous Hiawatha Cried aloud and spake in this wise : "Beautiful is the sun, strangers, When you come so far to see us ! All our town in peace awaits you, All our doors stand open for you ; You shall enter all our wigwams, For the heart s right hand we give you. " Never bloomed the earth so gaily, Never shone the sun so brightly, As to-day they shine and blossom, When you come so far to see us ! Never was our lake so tranquil, Nor so free from rocks and sand-bars ; For your birch canoe in passing- Has removed both rock and sand-bar ! " Never before had our tobacco Such a sweet and pleasant flavor, Never the broad leaves of our corn-fields Were so beautiful to look on, As they seem to us this morning, When you come so far to see us ! " And the Black -Robe chief made answer, Stammered in his speech a little, Speaking words yet unfamiliar : " Peace be with you, Hiawatha, Peace be with you and your people, Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon, Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary ! " Then the generous Hiawatha Led the strangers to his wigwam, Seated them on skins of bison, Seated them on skins of ermine, And the careful, old Nokomis * In this manner, and with such salutations, was Father Marquette received by the Illinois. See hi et Decouvertes, Section V. 342 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Brought them food in bowls of bass- wood, Water brought in birchen dippers, And the calumet, the peace-pipe, Filled and lighted for their smoking. All the old men of the village, All the warriors of the nation, All the Jossakeeds, the prophets, The magicians, the Wabenos, And the medicine-men, the Medas, Came to bid the strangers welcome ; " It is well," they said, " brothers, That you come so far to see us ! " In a circle round the doorway, With their pipes they sat in silence, Waiting to behold the strangers, Waiting to receive their message ; Till the Black-Eobe chief, the Pale-face, From the wigwam came to greet them, Stammering in his speech a little, Speaking words yet unfamiliar ; " It is well," they said, " brother, That you come so far to see us ! " Then the Black-Eobe chief, the pro phet, Told his message to the people, Told the purport of his mission, Told them of the Virgin Mary, And her blessed Son, the Saviour : How in distant lands and ages He had lived on earth as we do ; How he fasted, prayed, and labored ; How the Jews, the tribe accursed, Mocked him, scourged him, crucified him ; How he rose from where they laid him, Walked again with his disciples, And ascended into heaven. And the chiefs made answer, saying : " We have listened to your message, We have heard your words of wisdom, We will think on what you tell us. It is well for us, brothers, That you come so far to see us ! " Then they rose up and departed Each one homeward to his wigwam, To the young men and the women Told the story of the strangers Whom the Master of Life had sent them From the shining land of Wabun. Heavy with the heat and silence Grew the afternoon of Summer ; With a drowsy sound the forest Whispered round the sultry wigwam, With a sound of sleep the water Rippled on the beach below it ; From the corn-fields shrill and ceaseless Sang the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena ; And the guests of Hiawatha, Weary with the heat of Summer, Slumbered in the sultry wigwam. Slowly o er the simmering landscape Fell the evening s dusk and coolness, And the long and level sunbeams Shot their spears into the forest, Breaking through its shields of shadow, Rushed into each secret ambush, Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow ; Still the guests of Hiawatha Slumbered in the silent wigwam. From his place rose Hiawatha, Bade farewell to old Nokomis, Spake in whispers, spake in this wise, Did not wake the guests that slumbered : " I am going, Nokomis, On a long and distant journey, To the portals of the Sunset, To the regions of the home-wind, Of the Northwest wind, Keewaydin. But these guests I leave behind me, In your watch and ward I leave them ; See that never harm comes near them, See that never fear molests them, Never danger nor suspicion Never want of food or shelter, In the lodge of Hiawatha ! " Forth into the village went he, Bade farewell to all the warriors, Bade farewell to all the young men, Spake persuading, spake in this wise "I am going, my people, On a long and distant journey ; Many moons and many winters Will have come, and will have vanished, Ere I come again te see you. But my guests I leave behind me ; Listen to their words of wisdom, Listen to the truth they tell you, For the Master of Life has sent them From the land of light and morning ! " 344 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. On the shore stood Hiawatha, Turned and waved his hand at parting ; On the clear and luminous water Launched his birch canoe for sailing, From the pebbles of the margin Shoved it forth into the water ; Whispered to it, " Westward ! west ward ! " And with speed it darted forward. And the evening sun descending Set the clouds on lire with redness, Burned the broad sky, like a prairie, Left upon the level water One long track and trail of splendor, Down whose stream, as down a river, AVestward, westward Hiawatha Sailed into the fiery sunset, Sailed into the purple vapors, Sailed into the dusk of evening. And the people from the margin Watched him floating, rising, sinking, Till the birch canoe seemed lifted High into that sea of splendor, Till it sank into the vapors, Like the new moon slowly, slowly Sinking in the purple distance. And they said, "Farewell for ever ! " Said, " Farewell, Hiawatha ! " And the forests, dark and lonely, Moved through all their depths of dark ness, Sighed, " Farewell, O Hiawatha ! " And the waves upon the margin Rising, rippling on the pebbles, Sobbed, " Farewell, Hiawatha ! " And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, From her haunts among the fenlands, Screamed, " Farewell, Hiawatha ! " Thus departed Hiawatha, Hiawatha the Beloved, In the glory of the sunset, In the purple mists of evening, To the regions of the home-wind, Of the Northwest wind, Keewaydin, To the Islands of the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the Land of the Hereafter ! NOTES. (1.) On the Mountains of the Prairie. Mr. Catlin, in his Letters and Notes on the Manners, Customs, and Condition of the North American Indians, vol. ii. p. 160, gives an interesting account of the Coteau des Prairies, -and the Red Pipe-stone Quany. lie says : "Here (according to their traditions) happened the mysterious birth of the red pipe, which has blown its fumes of peace and war to the remotest corners of the continent; which has visited every warrior, and passed through its reddened stem the irrevocable oath of war and desolation. And here, also, the peace-breathing calumet was born, and fringed with the eagle s quills, which has shed its thrilling fumes over the land, and soothed the fury of the relentless savage. "The Great Spirit at an ancient period here called the Indian nations together, and standing on the precipice of the red pipe-stone rock, broke from its wall a piece, and made a huge pipe by turning it in his hand, which he smoked over them, and to the North, the South, the East, and the West, and told them that this stone was red, that it was their flesh, that they must use it for their pipes of peace, that it belonged to them all, and that the war-club and scalping-knife must not be raised on its ground. At the last whiff of his pipe his head went into a great cloud, and the whole surface of the rock for several miles was melted and glazed ; two great ovens were opened beneath, and two women (guardian spirits of the place) entered them in a blaze of fire ; and they are heard there yet (Tso-mec-cos-tee and Tso-me-cos-te-won-dee), answering to the invocations of thejiigh-priests or medicine-men, who consult them when they are visitors to this sacred place." (2.) Hark you. Bear. you are a coward. This anecdote is from Hcckewoldcr. In his account of the Indian Nations, he describes an Indian hunter as NOTES. 345 addressing a bear in nearly these words. " I was present," he says, " at the delivery of this curious invective ; when the hunter had despatched the bear, I asked him how he thought that poor animal could understand what he said to it. O, said he in answer, the bear understood me very well ; did you not observe how ashamed he looked while I was upbraiding him ? "Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, vol. i. p. 240. (3.) Hush ! the Naked Bear will get thee ! Heckewelder, in a letter published in the Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, vol. iv. p. 260, speaks of this tradition as prevalent among the Mohicans and Delawares. "Their reports," he says, " run thus : that among all animals that have been formerly in this country, this was the most ferocious ; that it was much larger than the largest of the common bears, and remarkably long-bodied ; all over (except a spot of hair on its back, of a white colour) naked "The history of this animal used to be a subject of conversation among the Indians, especially when in the woods a-hunting. I have also heard them say to their children when crying : Hush ! the naked bear will hear you, be upon you, and devour you." (4.) Sand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo. A description of the Grand Sable, or great sand dunes of Lake Superior, is given in Foster and Whitney s Report on the Geology of the Lake Superior Land District, Part II. p. 131. " The Grand Sable possesses a scenic interest little inferior to that of the Pictured Rocks. The explorer passes abruptly from a coast of consolidated sand to one of loose materials ; and although in the one case the cliffs are less precipitous, yet in the other they attain a higher altitude. He sees before him a long reach of coast, resembling a vast sand-bank, more than three hundred and fifty feet in height, without a trace of vegetation. Ascending to the top, rounded hillocks of blown sand are observed, with occasional clumps of trees, standing out like oases in the desert." (5.) Or the Red Swan floating, flying. The fanciful tradition of the Red Swan may be found in Schoolcraft s Algic Researches, vol. ii. p. 9. Three brothers were hunting on a wager to see who would bring home the first game. "They were to shoot no other animal," so the legend says, "but such as each was in the habit of killing. They set out different ways : Odjibwa, the youngest, had not gone far before he saw a bear, an animal he was not to kill, by the agreement. He followed him close, and drove an arrow through him, which brought him to the ground. Although contrary to the bet, he immediately commenced skinning him, when suddenly something red tinged all the air around him. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he was perhaps deceived ; but without effect, for the red line continued. At length he heard a strange noise at a distance. It first appeared like a human voice, but after following the sound for some distance, he reached the shores of a lake, and soon saw the object he was looking for. At a distance out in the lake sat a most beautiful Red Swan, whose plumage glittered in the sun, and who would now and then make the same noise he had heard. He was within long bow-shot, and, pulling the arrow from the bow-string up to his ear, took deliberate aim and shot. The arrow took no effect ; and he shot and shot again, till his quiver was empty. Still the swan remained, moving round and round, stretching its long neck, and dipping its bill into the water, as if heedless of the arrows shot at it. Odjibwa ran home, and got all his own and his brothers arrows, and shot them all away. He then stood and gazed at the beautiful bird. While standing, he remembered his brothers saving that in their deceased father s medicine-sack were three magic arrows. Off he started, his anxiety to kill the swan overcoming all scruples. At any other time he would have deemed it sacrilege to open his father s medicine-sack ; but now he hastily seized the three arrows and ran back, leaving the other contents of the sack scattered over the lodge. The swan was still there. He shot the first arrow with great precision, and came very near to it. The second came still closer ; as he took the last arrow, he felt his arm firmer, and drawing it up with vigor, saw it pass through the neck of the swan, a little above the breast. Still it did not prevent the bird from flying otf, which it did, however, at first slowly, flapping its wings, and rising gradually into the air, and then flying off towards the setting of the sun." Pp. 10 12. (6.) Sing the mysteries of Mondamin. The Indians hold the maize, or Indian corn, in great veneration. "They esteem it so important and divine a grain," says Schoolcraft, " that their story-tellers invented various tales, in which this idea is symbolized under the form of a special gift from the Great Spirit. The Odjibwa- Algonquins, who call it Mon-da-min, that is, the Spirit s grain or berry, have a pretty story of this kind, in which the stalk in full tassel is represented as descend ing from the sky, under the guise of a handsome youth, in answer to the prayers of a young man at his fast of virility, or coming to manhood. " It is well known that corn-planting, and corn- gathering, at least among all the still uncolonized tribes, are left entirely to the females and children, and a few superannuated old men. It is not generally known, perhaps, Y Y 346 THE SOJS T G OF HIAWATHA. that this labor is not compulsory, and that this is assumed by the females as a just equivalent, in their view, for the onerous and continuous labor of the other sex, in providing meats, and skins for clothing, by the chase, and in defending their villages against their enemies, and keeping the intruders off their territories. A good Indian housewife deems this a part of her prerogative, and prides herself to have a store of corn to exercise her hospi tality, or duly honor her husband s hospitality, in the entertainment of the lodge guests." Oneota, p. 82. (7.) Thus the fields shall be more fruitful. "A singular proof of this belief, in both sexes, of the mysterious influence of the steps of a woman on the vegetable and insect creation, is found in an ancient custom, which was related to me, respecting corn-planting. It was the practice of the hunter s wife, when the field of corn had been planted, to choose the first dark or over clouded evening to perform a secret circuit, sans habilement, around the field. For this purpose she slipped out of the lodge in the evening, unobserved, to some obscure nook, where she completely disrobed. Then, taking her matchecota, or principal garment, in one hand, she dragged it around the field. This was thought to ensure a prolific crop, and to prevent the assaults of insects and worms upon the grain. It was supposed they could not creep over the charmed line." Oneota, p. 83. (8.) Wagemin, the thief of corn-fields, Paimosaid, the skulking robber. " If one of the young female huskers finds a red ear of corn, it is typical of a brave admirer, and is regarded as a fitting present to some young warrior. But if the ear be crooked, and tapering to a point, no matter what color, the whole circle is set in a roar, and wa-ge-min is the word shouted aloud. It is the symbol of a thief in the corn-field. It is considered as the image of an old man stooping as he enters the lot. Had the chisel of Praxiteles been employed to produce this image, it could not more vividly bring to the minds of the merry group the idea of a pilferer of their favorite mondamin " The literal meaning of the term is, a mass, or crooked ear of grain ; but the ear of corn so-called is a conven tional type of a little old man pilfering ears of corn in a corn-field. It is in this manner that a single word or term, in these curious languages, becomes the fruitful parent of many ideas. And we can thus perceive why it is that the word wagemin is alone competent to excite merriment in the husking circle. " This term is taken as the basis of the cereal chorus or corn-song, as sung by the Northern Algonquin tribes. It is coupled with the phrase Paimosaid & permutative form of the Indian substantive, made from the verb pim-o-sa, to walk. Its literal meaning is, lie who walks, or the walker; but the ideas conveyed by it are, he who walks by night to pilfer corn. It offers, therefore, a kind of parallelism in expression to the preceding term." Oneota, p. 254. (9.) Pugasaing with thirteen pieces. This Game of the Bowl is the principal game of hazard among the Northern tribes of Indians. Mr. Schooleraft gives a particular account of it in Oneota, p. 85. " This game," he says, " is very fascinating to some portions of the Indians. They stake at it their ornaments, weapons, clothing, canoes, horses, everything in fact they possess : and have been known, it is said, to set up their wives and children, and even to forfeit their own liberty. Of such desperate stakes I have seen no examples, nor do I think the game itself in common use. It is rather con fined to certain persons who hold the relative rank of gamblers in Indian Society, men who are not noted as hunters, or warriors, or steady providers for their families. Among these are persons who bear the term of lenadizze-wuij, that is, wanderers about the country, braggadocios, or fops. It can hardly be classed with the popular games of amusement by which skill and dexterity are acquired. I have generally found the chiefs and graver men of the tribes, who encouraged the young men to play ball, and are sure to be present at the customary sports, to witness, and sanction, and applaud them, speak lightly and disparagingly of this game of hazard. Yet it cannot be denied that some of the chiefs distinguished in war and the chase, at the West, can be referred to as lending their example to its fascinating power." See also his History, Condition, and Prospects of the Indian Tribes, Part II. p. 72. (1 0. ) To the Pictured Rocks of sandstone. The reader will find a long description of the Pictured Rocks in Foster and Whitney s Report on the Geology of the Lake Superior Land District, Part II. p. 124. From this I make the following extract : " The Pictured Rocks may be described, in general terms, as a series of sandstone bluffs, extending along the shore of Lake Superior for about five miles, and rising, in most places, vertically from the water, without any beach at the base, to a height varying from fifty to nearly two hundred feet. Were they simply a line of cliffs, they might not, so far as relates to height or extent, be worthy of a rank among great natural curiosities, although such an assemblage of rocky strata, washed by the waves of the great lake, would not under any circumstances be destitute of grandeur. To the voyager, coasting along their base in his frail canoe, they would at all times VOCABULARY. 347 be an object of dread ; the recoil of the surf, the rock-bound coast, affording, for miles, no place of refuge, the lowering sky, the rising wind, all these would excite his apprehension, and induce him to ply a vigorous oar ntil the dreaded wall was passed. But in the Pictured Rocks there are two features which communicate to the scenery a wonderful and almost unique character. These are, first, the curious manner in which the clitfs have been excavated and worn away by the action of the lake, which, for centuries, has dashed an ocean-like surf against their base ; and, second, the equally curious manner in which large portions of the surface have been colored by bands of brilliant hues. " It is from the latter circumstance that the name by which these cliffs are known to the American traveller is derived ; while that applied to them by the French voyageurs ( Les Portails ) is derived from the former, and by far the most striking peculiarity. "The term Pictured Rocks has been in use for a great length of time ; but when it was first applied, we have been unable to discover. It would seem that the first travellers were more impressed with the novel and striking distribution of colors on the surface than with the astonishing variety of form into which the cliffs themselves have been worn " Our voyageurs had many legends to relate of the pranks of the Mennibojou in these caverns ; and, in answer to our inquiries, seemed disposed to fabricate stories, without end, of the achievements of this Indian deity." VOCABULARY. Adjidau mo, the red squirrel. Ahdeek , the reindeer. Ahmeek , the leaver. Annemee kee, the thunder. Apuk wa, a bulrush. Baim-wa wa, the sound of the thunder. Bemah gut, the grape-vine. Big-Sea-Water, Lake Superior. Cheemaun , a birch canoe. Chetowaik , the plover. Chibia bos, a musician ; friend of Hiawatha ; ruler in the Land of Spirits. Dahin da, the bull-frog. Dush-kwo-ne -she, or Kwo-ne -she, tJie dragon-Hy. Esa, shame upon you. Ewa-yea , lullaby. Gitche Gu mee, the Big-Sea-Water, Lake Superior. Gitche Man ito, the Great Spirit, the Master of Life. Gushkewau , the darkness. Hiawa tha, the Prophet, the Teacher; son of Mudjekee- wis, the West-Wind, and Wenonah, daughter of Nokomis. la goo, a great boaster and storyteller. Inin ewug., men or pawns in the^Game of the Bowl. Ishkoodah , fire ; a comet. Jee bi, a ghost, a spirit. Joss akeed, a prophet. Kabibonok ka, the North-Wind. Ka go, do not. Kahgahgee , the raven. Kaw, no. Kaween , no indeed. Kayoshk , the sea-gull. Kee go, a fish. Keeway din, the Northwest-wind, the Home-wind. Kena beek, a serpent. Keneu , the great icar-eagle. Keno zha, the pickerel. Ko ko-ko ho, the owl. Kuntasoo , the Game of Plum-stones. Kwa -sind, the Strong Man. Kwo-ne she, or Dush-kwo-ne -she, the dra.gon-fiy. Mahnahbe zee, the swan. Mahng, the. loon. Mahn-go-tay see, loon-hearted, brave. Mahnomo nee, ivild rice. Ma ma, the woodpecker. Maskeno zha, the pike. Me da, a medicine-man. Meenah ga, the blueberry. Megissog won, the Great Pearl-Feather a magician, and the Manito of Wealth. Meshinau wa, a pipe-bearer. Minjekah wun, Hiawatha s mittens. Minneha ha, Laughing Water ; a waterfall on a stream winning into the Mississippi, between Fort Snelling and the Falls of St. Anthony. Minneha ha, Laughing Water ; wife of Hiawatha. Minne-wa wa, a pleasant sound, as of the wind in the trees Mish e-Mo kwa, the Great Bear. Mish e-Nah ma, the Great Sturgeon. Miskodeed , the Spring-Beauty, the, Claytonia Virginica. Monda min, Indian corn. Moon of Bright Nights, April. Moon of Leaves, May. Moon of Strawberries, Ju ne. Moon of the Falling Leaves, September Moon of Snow-shoes, November. Mudjekee wis, the West-Wind; father of Hiawatha. Mudway-aush ka, sound of waves on a shore. Mushkoda sa, the grouse. Nah ma, the sturgeon. Nah -ma-wusk, the spearmint. Na gow Wudjoo , the Sand Dunes of Lake Superior Nee-ba-naw -baigs, water-spirits. Nenemoo sha, sweetheart. 348 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Nepah win, sleep. Noko mis, a grandmother ; mother of Wenonah. No sa, my father. Nush ka, look! look! Odah min, the strawberry. Okahah wis, the fresh-water herrinj. Ome me, the pigeon. Ona gon, a bowl. Onaway , awake. Opechee , the robin. Osse o, Son of the Evening Star. Owais sa, the blue-bird. Oweenee , wife of Osseo. Ozawa beek, a round piece of brass or copper in the Game of the Bowl. Pah-puk-kee na, the grasshopper. Pau guk, death. Pau-Puk-Kee wis, the handsome Yenadizze, the Storm- Fool. Pet>oan, Winter. Pem ican, meat of the deer or buffalo dried and pounded. Pezhekee , the bison. Pishnekuh , the brant. Pone mah, hereafter. Piiggawau gun, a war-club. Puk-Wudj ies, Puk-Wudj-In-in ees, little wild men of the woods; pigmies. Sah-sah-je -wun, rapids. Sah wa, the perch. Segwun , Spring. Sha da, the pelican. Shahbo min, the gooseberry. Shah-shah, long ago. Shaugoda ya, a coward. Shawgashee , the craw-Jish. Shawonda see, the South-Wind. Shaw-shaw, the swallow. Shesh ebwug, ducks ; pieces in the Game of the Bowl. Shin gebis, the diver, or grebe. Showain neme shin, pity me. Shuh-shuh -gah, the blue heron. Soan-ge-ta ha, strong -hearted. Subbeka she, the spider. Sugge ma, the mosquito. To tem, family coat-of-arms. Ugh, yes. Ugudwash , the sun-fish. Unktahee , the God of Water. Wabas so, the rabbit; the North. Wabe no, a magician, a juggler. Wabe no-wusk, yarrow. Wa bun, the East-Wind. Wa bun An nung, the Star of the East, the Morning Star. Wahono min, a cry of lamentation. W ah-wah-tay see, the fire-fly. Waubewy on, a white skin wrapper. Wa wa, the wild-goose. Waw beek, a rock. Waw-be-wa wa, the white goose. Wawonais sa, the whippoorwill. Way-muk-kwa na, the caterpillar. Weno nah, the eldest daughter. Hiawatha s mother; daughter of Nokomis. Yenadiz ze, an idler and gambler ; an Indian dandy. THE GOLDEN LEGEND. THE old Legenda Aurea, or Golden Legend, was originally written in Latin, in the thirteenth century, by Jacobus de Voragine, a Dominican friar, who afterwards became Archbishop of Genoa, and died in 1292. He called his book simply "Legends of the Saints." The epithet of Golden was given it by his admirers ; for, as Wynkin de Worde says, " Like as passeth gold in value all other metals, so this Legend exceedeth all other books." But Edward Leigh, in much distress of mind, calls it "a book written by a man of a leaden heart for the basenesse of the errours, that are without wit or reason, and of a brazen forehead, for his impudent boldnesse in reporting things so fabulous and incredible." This work, the great text-book of the legendary lore of the Middle Ages, was translated into French in the fourteenth century by Jean de Vignay, and in the fifteenth into English by William Caxton. It has lately been made more accessible by a new French translation : La Legende Doree, traduite du Latin, par M. G. B. Paris, 1850. There is a copy of the original, with the Gesta Longobardorum appended, in the Harvard College Library, Cambridge, printed at Strasburg, 1496. The title-page is wanting ; and the volume begins with the Tabula T^egendorum. I have called this poem the Golden Legend, because the story upon which it is founded seems to me to surpass all other legends in beauty and significance. It exhibits, amid the corruptions of the Middle Ages, the virtue of disinterestedness and self-sacrifice, and the power of Faith, Hope, and Charity, sufficient for all the exigencies of life and death. The story is told, and perhaps invented, by Hartmann von der Aue, a Minnesinger of the twelfth century. The original may be found in Mailath s Altdeutsche Gedichte, with a modern German version. There is another in Marbach s Volksbiicher, No. 32. PROLOGUE. The Spire of Strasburg Cathedral. Night and Storm. LUCIFEE, with the Powers of the Air, trying to tear down the Cross. Lucifer. Hasten ! hasten ! O ye spirits ! From its station drag the ponderous Cross of iron, that to mock us Is uplifted high in air ! Voices. Oh, we cannot ! For around it All the saints and guardian angels Throng in legions to protect it ; . They defeat us everywhere ! The Bells. Laudo Deum verum ! Plebem voco ! Congrego clerum ! Lucifer. Lower ! lower ! Hover downward ! Seize the load, vociferous bells, and Clashing, clanging to the pavement, Hurl them from their windy tower ! Voices. All thy thunders Here are harmless ! For these bells have been anointed, 1 And baptized with holy water ! They defy our utmost power. The Bells. Defunctos ploro ! Pestem fugo ! Festa decoro ! Lucifer. Shake the casements ! Break the painted Panes, that flame with gold and crimson Scatter them like leaves of autumn, Swept away before the blast ! Voices. Oh, we cannot ! The Archangel Michael flames from every window, With the sword of fire that drove us Headlong, out of heaven, aghast ! THE GOLDEN LEGEND. The .Bells. Funera plango ! Fulgura frango ! Sabbata pango ! Lucifer. Aim your lightnings At the oaken, Massive, iron-studded portals ! Sack the house of God, and scatter Wide the ashes of the dead ! Voices. Oh, we cannot ! The Apostles And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles, Stand as warders at the entrance, Stand as sentinels o erhead ! The Bells. Excito lentos ! Dissipo ventos ! Paco cruentos ! Lucifer. Baffled ! baffled ! Inefficient, Craven spirits ! leave this labor Unto Time, the great Destroyer ! Come away, ere night is gone ! Voices. Onward ! onward ! With the night-wind, Over field and farm and forest, Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet, Blighting all we breathe upon ! (They sweep away. Organ and Gre gorian Chant) Choir. Nocte surgentes Vigil emus omnes ! I. The Castle of Vautsberg on the Rhine. A chamber in a tower. PRINCE HENRY, sit ting alone, ill and restless. Midnight. Prince Henry. I cannot sleep ! my fervid brain Calls up the vanished past again, And throws its misty splendors deep Into the pallid realms of sleep ! A breath from that far-distant shore Comes freshening ever more and more, And wafts o er intervening seas Sweet odors from the Hesperides ! A wind that through the corridor Just stirs the curtain and 110 more, And, touching the ^Eolian strings, Faints with the burden that it brings ! Come back ! ye friendships long de parted ! That like o erflowing streamlets started, And now are dwindled, one by one, To stony channels in the sun ! Come back ! ye friends, whose lives are ended, Come back, with all that light attended, Which seemed to darken and decay When ye arose and went away ! They come, the shapes of joy and woe, The airy crowds of long ago, The dreams and fancies known of yore, That have been, and shall be no more. They change the cloisters of the night Into a garden of delight ! They make the dark and dreary hours Open and blossom into flowers ! I would not sleep ! I love to be Again in their fair company ; But ere my lips can bid them stay, They pass and vanish quite away ! Alas ! our memories may retrace Each circumstance of time and place, Season and scene come back again, And outward things unchanged remain ; The rest we cannot reinstate ; Ourselves we cannot re-create, Nor set our souls to the same key Of the remembered harmony ! Eest ! rest ! Oh, give me rest and peace ! The thought of life that ne er shall cease Has something in it like despair, THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 351 A weight I am too weak to bear ! Sweeter to this afflicted breast The thought of never-ending rest ! Sweeter the undisturbed and deep Tranquillity of endless sleep ! (A flash of lightning, out of which LUCIFER appears, in the garb of a travelling Phy sician , ) Lucifer. All hail, Prince Henry ! Prince Henry (starting). Who is it speaks ? Who, and what are you 1 Lucifer. One who seeks A moment s audience with the Prince. Prince Henry. When came you in ? Lucifer. A moment since. I found your study door unlocked, And thought you answered when I knocked. Prince Henry. I did not hear you. Lucifer. You heard the thunder ; It was loud enough to waken the dead. And it is not a matter of special wonder That, when God is walking overhead, You should not hear my feeble tread. Prince Henry. What may your wish or purpose be 1 Lucifer. Nothing or everything, as it pleases Your Highness. You behold in me Only a travelling physician ; One of the few who have a mission To cure incurable diseases, Or those that are called so. Prince Henry. Can you bring The dead to life ? Lucifer. Yes ; very nearly. And, what is a wiser and better thing, Can keep the living from ever needing Such an unnatural, strange proceeding, By showing conclusively and clearly That death is a stupid blunder merely, And not a necessity of our lives. My being here is accidental ; The storm, that against your casement drives, In the little village below waylaid me. And there I heard with a secret delight Of your maladies physical and mental, Which neither astonished nor dismayed me. And I hastened hither, though late in the night, to proffer my aid ! Prince Henry (ironically). For this you came ! Ah, how can I ever hope to requite This honor from one so erudite 1 Lucifer. The honor is mine, or will be when I have cured your disease. Prince Henry. But not till then. Lucifer. What is your illness 1 Prince Henry. It has no name. A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame, As in a kiln, burns in my veins, Sending up vapors to the head : My heart has become a dull lagoon, Which a kind of leprosy drinks and drains ; I am accounted as one who is dead, And, indeed, I think that I shall be soon. Lucifer. And has Gordonius the Divine, In his famous Lily of Medicine, I see the book lies open before you, No remedy potent enough to restore you 1 Prince Henry. None whatever ! Lucifer. The dead are dead, And their oracles dumb, when questioned Of the new diseases that human life Evolves in its progress, rank and rife. Consult the dead upon things that were, But the living only on things that are. Have you done this, by the appliance And aid of doctors ? 352 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Prince Henry. Ay, whole schools Of doctors, with their learned rules ; But the case is quite beyond their science. Even the doctors of Salern Send me back word they can discern No cure for a malady like this, Save one which in its nature is Impossible, and cannot be ! Lucifer. That sounds oracular ! Prince Henry. Unendurable ! Lucifer. What is their remedy 1 Prince Henry. You shall see ; "Writ in this scroll is the mystery. Lucifer (reading). " Not to be cured, yet not incurable ! The only remedy that remains Is the blood that flows from a maiden s veins, Who of her own free will shall die, And give her life as the price of yours ! " That is the strangest of all cures, And one, I think, you will never try ; The prescription you may well put by, As something impossible to find Before the world itself shall end ! And yet who knows 1 One cannot say That into some maiden s brain that kind Of madness will not find its way. Meanwhile permit me to recommend, As the matter admits of no delay, My wonderful Catholicon, Of very subtle and magical powers ! Prince Henry. Purge with your nos trums and drugs infernal The spouts and gargoyles of these towers, Not me ! My faith is utterly gone In every power but the Power Supernal ! Pray tell me of what school are you ? Lucifer. Both of the Old and of the New! The school of Hermes Trismegistus, Who uttered his oracles sublime Before the Olympiads, in the dew Of the early dawn and dusk of Time, The reign of dateless old Hephaestus ! As northward, from its Nubian springs, The Nile, for ever new and old, Among the living and the dead, Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled ; So, starting from its fountain-head Under the lotus-leaves of Isis, From the dead demigods of eld, Through long, unbroken lines of kings Its course the sacred art has held, Unchecked, unchanged by man s devices. This art the Arabian Geber taught, And in alembics, finely wrought, Distilling herbs and flowers, discovered The secret that so long had hovered Upon the misty verge of Truth, The Elixir of Perpetual Youth, Called Alcohol, in the Arab speech ! Like him this w r ondrous lore I teach ! Prince Henry. What ! an adept ? Lucifer. Nor less, nor more ! Prince Henry. I am a reader of your books, A lover of that mystic lore ! With such a piercing glance it looks Into great Nature s open eye, And sees within it trembling lie The portrait of the Deity ! And yet, alas ! with all my pains, The secret and the mystery Have baffled and eluded me, Unseen the grand result remains ! Lucifer (showing a flask). Behold it here ! this little flask Contains the wonderful quintessence, The perfect flower and efflorescence, Of all the knowledge man can ask ! Hold it up thus against the light ! Prince Henry, How limpid, pure, and crystalline, How quick, and tremulous, and bright, The little wavelets dance and shine, As were it the Water of Life in sooth ! Lucifer. It is ! It assuages every pain, Cures all disease, and gives again To age the swift delights of youth. Inhale its fragrance. Prince Henry. It is sweet, A thousand different odors meet And mingle in its rare perfume, Such as the winds of summer waft At open windows through a room ! Lucifer. Will you not taste it 1 Prince Henry. Will one draught Suffice ? Lucifer. If not, you can drink more. Prince Henry. Into this crystal gohlet pour So much as safely I may drink. Lucifer (pouring). Let not the quantity alarm you ; You may drink all ; it will not harm you. Prince Henry. I am as one who on the brink Of a dark river stands and sees The waters flow, the landscape dim Around him waver, wheel and swim, And, ere he plunges, stops to think Into what whirlpools he may sink ; One moment pauses, and no more, THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Then madly plunges from the shore ! Headlong into the mysteries Of life and death I boldly leap, Nor fear the fateful current s sweep, Nor what in ambush lurks below ! For death is better than disease ! (An AXOEL with an jfiolian harp hovers in the air. ) A ngel. Woe ! woe ! eternal woe ! Not only the whispered prayer Of love, But the imprecations of hate, Reverberate For ever and ever through the air Above ! This fearful curse Shakes the great universe ! Lucifer (disappearing). Drink ! drink ! And thy soul shall sink Down into the dark abyss, Into the infinite abyss, From which no plummet nor rope Ever drew up the silver sand of hope ! Prince Henry (drinking). It is like a draught of fire ! Through every vein I feel again The fever of youth, the soft desire ; A rapture that is almost pain Throbs in my heart and fills my brain ! O joy ! joy ! I feel The band of steel That so long and heavily has pressed Upon my breast Uplifted, and the malediction Of my affliction Is taken from me, and my weary breast At length finds rest. The Angel. It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air has been taken ! It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken ! It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow ! It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws that blow ! With fiendish laughter, Hereafter, This false physician Will mock thee in thy perdition. Prince Henry. Speak ! speak ! Who says that I am ill ? I am not ill ! I am not weak ! The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o er ! I feel the chill of death no more ! At length I stand renewed in all my strength ! Beneath me I can feel The great earth stagger and reel, As if the feet of a descending God Upon its surface trod, And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel ! This, brave physician ! this Is thy great Palingenesis ! (Drinks again.} The Angel. Touch the goblet no more ! It will make thy heart sore To its very core ! Its perfume is the breath Of the Angel of Death, And the light that within it lies Is the flash of his evil eyes. Beware ! Oh, beware ! For sickness, sorrow, and care All are there ! Prince, Ilenru (sinking back). thou voice within my breast ! Why entreat me, why upbraid me, When the steadfast tongues of truth And the flattering hopes of youth Have all deceived me and betrayed me ? THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 355 Give me, give me rest, rest ! Golden visions wave and hover, Golden vapors, waters streaming, Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming ! I am like a happy lover Who illumines life with dreaming ! Brave physician ! Eare physician ! Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission ! (His head falls on Ms look.) The Angel (receding). Alas ! alas ! Like a vapor the golden vision Shall fade and pass, And thou wilt find in thy heart again Only the blight of pain, And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition ! (Courtyard of the Castle. HUBERT standing by the gateway.) Hubert. How sad the grand old castle looks ! O erhead, the unmolested rooks Upon the turret s windy top Sit, talking of the farmer s crop ; Here in the courtyard springs the grass, So few are now the feet that pass j The stately peacocks, bolder grown, Come hopping down the steps of stone, As if the castle were their own ; And I, the poor old seneschal, Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall. Alas ! the merry guests no more Crowd through the hospitable door ; No eyes with youth and passion shine, No cheeks grow redder than the wine ; No song, no laugh, no jovial din Of drinking wassail to the pin ; But all is silent, sad, and drear, And now the only sounds I hear Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls, And horses stamping in their stalls ! (A horn sounds.) What ho ! that merry, sudden blast Eeminds me of the days long past ! And, as of old resounding, grate The heavy hinges of the gate. And, clattering loud, with iron clank, Down goes the sounding bridge of plank, As if it were in haste to greet The pressure of a traveller s feet ! (Enter WALTER the Minnesinger.} Walter. How now, my friend ! This looks quite lonely ! No banner flying from the walls, No pages and no seneschals, No warders, and one porter only ! Is it you, Hubert ? Hubert. Ah ! Master Walter ! Walter. Alas ! how forms and faces alter ! I did not know you. You look older ! Your hair has grown much grayer and thinner, And you stoop a little in the shoulder ! Hubert. Alack ! I am a poor old sinner, And, like these towers, begin to moulder; And you have been absent many a year ? Walter. How is the Prince ? Hubert. He is not here ; He has been ill : and now has fled. Walter. Speak it out frankly : say he s dead ! Is it not so ? Hubert. No, if you please ; A strange, mysterious disease Fell on him with a sudden blight. Whole hours together he would stand Upon the terrace, in a dream, Besting his head upon his hand, Best pleased when he was most alone, Like Saint John Nepomuck in stone, Looking down into a stream. In the round Tower, night after night, He sat, and bleared his eyes with books Until one morning we found him there 356 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Stretched on the floor, as if in a 3woon He had fallen from his chair. We hardly recognised his sweet looks ! Walter. Poor Prince ! Hubert. I think he might have mended ; And he did mend ; but very soon The priests came flocking in like rooks With all their crosiers and their crooks, And so at last the matter ended. Walter. How did it end ? Hubert. Why, in Saint Eochus They made him stand, and wait his doom; And, as if he were condemned to the tomb, Began to mutter their hocus-pocus. First, the mass for the dead they chanted, Then three times laid upon his head A shovelful of churchyard clay, Saying to him as he stood undaunted, t; This is a sign that thou art dead, So in thy heart be penitent !" A nd forth from the chapel door he went Into disgrace and banishment, Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray, And bearing a wallet and a bell, "Whose sound should be a perpetual knell To keep all travellers away. Walter. Oh, horrible fate ! Outcast, rejected, As one with pestilence infected ! Hubert. Then was the family tomb unsealed, And broken helmet, sword, and shield, Buried together, in common wreck, As is the custom when the last Of any princely house has passed ; And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast, A herald shouted down the stair The words of warning and despair, " Hoheneck ! Hoheneck !" Walter. Still in my soul that cry goes on, For ever gone ! for ever gone ! Ah, what a cruel sense of loss, Like a black shadow, would fall across The hearts of all, if he should die ! His gracious presence upon earth "Was as a fire upon a hearth. As pleasant songs, at morning sung, The words that dropped from his sweet tongue Strengthened our hearts ; or, heard at night, Made all our slumbers soft and light. Where is he ? Hubert. In the Odenwald. Some of his tenants, unappalled By fear of death or priestly word, A holy family, that make Each meal a Supper of the Lord, Have him beneath their watch and ward. For love of him, and Jesus sake ! Pray you come in. For why shoald I With out-door hospitality My prince s friend thus entertain ? Walter. I would a moment here remain. But you, good Hubert, go before, Fill nie a goblet of May-drink, As aromatic as the May From which it steals the breath away, And which he loved so well of yore : It is of him that I would think. You shall attend me when I call, In the ancestral banquet-hall. Unseen companions, guests of air, You cannot wait on, will be there ; They taste not food, they drink not wine, But their soft eyes look into mine, And their lips speak to me, and all The vast and shadowy banquet-hall Is full of looks and words divine ! (Leaning over tJte parapet.) The day is done ; and slowly from the scene THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 357 The stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, And puts them back into his golden quiver ! Below me in the valley, deep and green As goblets are, from which in thirsty draughts We drink its wine, the swift and mant ling river Flows on triumphant through these lovely regions, Etched with the shadows of its sombre niargent, And soft, reflected clouds of gold and argent ! Yes, there it flows, for ever, broad and still, As when the vanguard of the Eoman legions First saw it from the top of yonder hill ! How beautiful it is ! Fresh fields of wheat, Vineyard, and town, and tower with fluttering flag, The consecrated chapel on the crag, And the white hamlet gathered round its base, Like Mary sitting at her Saviour s feet, And looking up at his beloved face ! O friend ! best of friends ! Thy ab sence more Than the impending night darkens the landscape o er ! II. A Farm in tlic Odemvald. A garden; morning; PRINCE HENRY seated, with a book. ELSIE, at a distance, gathering flowers. Prince, Henry (reading}. One morning, all alone, Out of his convent of gray stone, Into the forest older, darker, grayer, His lips moving as if in prayer, His head sunken upon his breast, As in a dream of rest, Walked the Monk Felix. All about The broad, sweet sunshine lay without, Filling the summer air j And within the woodlands as he trod, The twilight was like the Truce of God With worldly woe and care ; Under him lay the golden moss ; And above him the bows of hemlock trees Waved and made the sign of the cross, And whispered their Benedicites ; And from the ground Hose an odor sweet and fragrant Of the wild flowers and the vagrant Vines that wandered, Seeking the sunshine, round and round. These he heeded not, but pondered On the volume in his hand, A volume of Saint Augustine, Wherein he read of the unseen Splendors of God s great town In the unknown land, And, with his eyes cast down In humility, he said : " I believe, God, What herein I have read, But, alas ! I do not understand ! " And lo ! he heard The sudden singing of a bird, A snow-white bird, that from a cloud Dropped down, And among the branches brown Sat singing So sweet, and clear, and loud, It seemed a thousand harp-strings ringing. And the Monk Felix closed his book, And long, long, With rapturous look, He listened to the song, 353 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. And hardly breathed or stirred, Until he saw, as in a vision, The land Elysian, And in the heavenly city heard Angelic feet Fall on the golden flagging of the street. And he would fain Have caught the wondrous bird, But strove in vain ; For it flew away, away, Far over hill and dell, And instead of its sweet singing He heard the convent bell Suddenly in the silence ringing For the service of noonday. And he retraced His pathway homeward sadly and in haste. In the convent there was a change ! He looked for each well-known face, But the faces were new and strange ; New figures sat in the oaken stalls, New voices chanted in the choir ; Yet the place was the same place, The same dusky walls Of cold, gray stone, The same cloisters and belfry and spire. A stranger and alone Among that brotherhood The Monk Felix stood. " Forty years," said a Friar, " Have I been Prior Of this convent in the wood, But for that space Never have I beheld thy face !" The heart of the Monk Felix fell : And he answered, with submissive tone, " This morning, after the hour of Prime, I left my cell, And wandered forth alone, Listening all the time To the melodious singing Of a beautiful white bird, Until I heard The bells of the convent ringing Noon, from their noisy towers. It was as if I dreamed ; For what to me had seemed Moments only, had been hours ! " "Years !" said a voice close by. It was an aged monk who spoke, From a bench of oak Fastened against the wall ; He was the oldest monk of all. For a whole century Had he been there Serving God in prayer. The meekest and humblest of his crea tures. He remembered well the features Of Felix, and he said, Speaking distinct and slow : " One hundred years ago, When I was a novice in this place, There was here a monk, full of God s grace, Who bore the name Of Felix, and this man must be the same." And straightway They brought forth to the light of day A volume old and brown, A huge tome, bound In brass and wild boar s hide, Wherein were written down The names of all who had died In the convent, since it was edified. And there they found, Just as the old monk said, That on a certain day and date, One hundred years before, Had gone forth from the convent gate The Monk Felix, and never more Had entered that sacred door. He had been counted among the dead ! And they knew, at last, That, such had been the power Of that celestial and immortal song, A hundred years had passed, And had not seemed so long As a single hour. (ELSIE comes in with flowers. ) Elsie. Here are flowers for you, But they are not all for you. Some of them are for the Virgin, And for Saint Cecilia. Prince Henry. As thou standest there, Thou seemest to me like the angel That brought the immortal roses To Saint Cecilia s bridal chamber. Elsie. But these will fade. Prince Henry. Themselves will fade, But not their memory, And memory has the power To re-create them from the dust. They remind me, too, Of martyred Dorothea, Who from celestial gardens sent Flowers as her witnesses To him who scoffed and doubted. Elsie. Do you know the story Of Christ and the Sultan s daughter ? That is the prettiest legend of them all. Prince Henry. Then tell it to me. But first come hither, THE GOLDEN LEG EX I). Lay the flowers down beside me, And put botli thy hands in mine. Now tell me the story. Elsie. Early in the morning The Sultan s daughter Walked in her father s garden, Gathering the bright flowers, All full of dew. Prince Henry. Just as thou hast been doing This morning, dearest Elsie. Elsie. And as she gathered them, She wondered more and more Who was the Master of the Flowers, And made them grow Out of the cold, dark earth. " In my heart," she said, " I love him ; and for him Would leave my father s palace, To labour in his garden." Prince Henry. Dear, innocent child ! How sweetly thou recallest The long-forgotten legend, That in my early childhood My mother told me ! Upon my brain It reappears once more, As a birth-mark on the forehead When a hand suddenly Is laid upon it and removed. Elsie. And at midnight, As she lay upon her bed, She heard a voice Call to her from the garden, And, looking forth from her window, She saw a beautiful youth Standing among the flowers. It was the Lord Jesus ; And she went down to him, And opened the door for him ; And he said to her, " maiden ! Thou hast thought of me with love, And for thy sake Out of my Father s kingdom Have I come hither : I am the Master of the Flowers. My garden is in Paradise, And if thou wilt go with me, Thy bridal garland Shall be of bright red flowers." And then he took from his finger A golden ring, And asked the Sultan s daughter If she would be his bride. And w r hen she answered him with lovo, His wounds began to bleed ; And she said to him, " Love ! how red thy heart is, And thy hands are full of roses." " For thy sake," answered he, " For thy sake is my heart so red, For thee I bring these roses. I gathered them at the cross Whereon I died for thee ! Come, for my Father calls. Thou art my elected bride ! " And the Sultan s daughter Followed him to his Father s garden. Prince Henry. Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie ? Elsie. Yes, very gladly. Prince Henry. Then the Celestial Bridegroom Will come for thee also. Upon thy forehead he will place, Not his crown of thorns, But a crown of roses. In thy bridal chamber, Like Saint Cecilia, Thou shalt hear sweet music, And breathe the fragrance Of flowers immortal ! Go now and place these flowers Before her picture. A Room in the Farmhouse. Twilight. URSULA spinning. GOTTLIEB asleep in his chair. Ursula. Darker and darker ! hardly a glimmer Of light comes in at the window-pane ; Or is it my eyes are growing dimmer 1 I cannot disentangle this skein, Nor wind it rightly upon the reel. Elsie ! Gottlieb (starting). The stopping of thy wheel Has wakened me out of a pleasant dream. I thought I was sitting beside a stream, And heard the grinding of a mill, When suddenly the wheels stood still, And a voice cried " Elsie " in my ear ! It startled me, it seemed so near. Ursula. I was calling her : I want a light. I cannot see to spin my flax. Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou hear 1 Elsie (within). In a moment ! Gottlieb. Where are Bertha and Max ? Ursula. They are sitting with Elsie at the door. She is telling them stories of the wood, And the Wolf and Little Red Riding- hood. Gottlieb. And where is the Prince ? Ursula. In his room overhead ; I heard him walking across the floor, As he always does, with a heavy tread. (ELSIE comes in with a lamp. MAX and BERTHA follow her; and they all sing the Evening Song on the lighting of the lamps.) EVENING SONG. gladsome light Of the Father Immortal, And of the celestial Sacred and blessed Jesus our Saviour ! Now to the sunset Again hast thou brought us ; And, seeing the evening Twilight, we bless thee, Praise thee, adore thee ! Father Omnipotent ! Son, the Life-giver ! Spirit, the Comforter ! 3 A 362 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Worthy at all times Of worship and wonder ! Prince Henry (at the door). Amen ! Ursula. "Who was it said Amen r i Elsie. It was the Prince : he stood at the door, And listened a moment, as we chanted The evening song. He is gone again. 1 have often seen him there before. Ursula. Poor Prince ! Gottlieb. I thought the house was haunted ! Poor Prince, alas ! and yet as mild And patient as the gentlest child. Max. I love him because he is so good, And makes me such fine bows and arrows, To shoot at the robins and the sparrows, And the red squirrels in the wood ! Bertha. I love him, too ! Gottlieb. Ah, yes ! we all Love him, from the bottom of our hearts ; He gave us the farm, the house, and the grange, He gave us the horses and the carts, And the great oxen in the stall, The vineyard, and the forest range ! We have nothing to give him but our love ! Bertha. Did he give us the beautiful stork above On the chimney-top, with its largo, round nest ? Gottlieb. No, not the stork ; by God in heaven, As a blessing, the dear white stork was given ; But the Prince has given us all the rest. God bless him, and make him well again ! Elsie. Would I could do something for his sake, Something to cure his sorrow and pain ! Gottlieb. That no one can ; neither thou nor I, Nor any one else. Elsie And must he die ? Ursula. Yes, if the dear God does not take Pity upon him, in his distress, And work a miracle ! Gottlieb. Or unless Some maiden, of her own accord, Offers her life for that of her lord, And is willing to die in his stead. Elsie. I will ! Ursula. Prithee, thou foolish child, be still ! Thou shouldst not say what thou dost not mean ! Elsie. I mean it truly ! Max. father ! this morning, Down by the mill, in the ravine, Hans killed a wolf, the very same That in the night to the sheepfold came, And ate up my lamb, that was left outside. Gottlieb. I am glad he is dead. It will be a warning To the wolves in the forest, far and wide. Max. And I am going to have his hide ! Bertha. I wonder if this is the wolf that ate Little Red Eidinghood ! Ursula. O, no ! That wolf was killed a long while ago. Come, children, it is growing late. Max. Ah, how I wish I were a man, As stout as Hans is, and as strong ! I would do nothing else the whole day But just kill wolves. [long, Gottlieb. Then go to bed, And grow as fast as a little boy can . Bertha is half asleep already. See how she nods her heavy head, k . And her sleepy feet are so unsteady She will hardly be able to creep upstairs. Ursula. Good night, my children. Here s the light. And do not forget to say your prayers Before you sleep. Gottlieb. Good night ! Max and Bertha. Good night ! (They go out with ELSIE. ) Ursula (spinning). She is a strange and wayward child, That Elsie of ours. She looks so old, And thoughts and fancies weird and wild Seem of late to have taken hold Of her heart, that was once so docile and mild ! Gottlieb. She is like all girls. Ursula. Ah, no, forsooth ! Unlike all I have ever seen. For she has visions and strange dreams, And in all her words and ways she seems Much older than she is in truth. Who would think her but fourteen ? And there has been of late such a change ! My heart is heavy with fear and doubt That she may not live till the year is out. She is so strange, so strange, so strange ! Gottlieb. I am not troubled with any such fear ; She will live and thrive for many a year. Elsie s Chamber. Night. ELSIE praying. Elsie. My Eedeemer and my Lord, I beseech thee, I entreat thee, Guide me in each act and word, That hereafter I may meet thee, Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning, With my lamp well -trimmed and burn ing ! Interceding With these bleeding 304 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Wounds upon thy hands and side, For all who have lived and erred Thou hast suffered, thou hast died, Scourged, and mocked, and crucified, And in the grave hast thou been "buried ! If my feeble prayer can reach thee, my Saviour, I beseech thee, Even as thou hast died for me, More sincerely Let me follow where thou leadest, Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest, Die, if dying I may give Life to one who asks to live, And more nearly, Dying thus, resemble thee ! The Chamber of Gottlieb and Ursula. Mid night. ELSIE st,andincj by their bedside, weeping. Gottlieb. The wind is roaring ; the rushing rain Is loud upon roof and window-pane^ As if the Wild Huntsman of Rodenstein, Boding evil to me and mine, Were abroad to-night with his ghostly train. In the brief lulls of the tempest wild, The dogs howl in the yard ; and hark ! Some one is sobbing in the dark, Here in the chamber ! Elsie. It is I. Ursula. Elsie ! what ails thee, my poor child ? Elsie. I am disturbed and much dis tressed, In thinking our dear Prince must die ; 1 cannot close mine eyes, nor rest. Gottlieb. What wouldst thou? In the Power Divine His healing lies, not in our own; It is in the hand of God alone. Elsie. Nay, he has put it into mine, And into my heart ! Gottlieb. Thy words are wild ! Ursula. What dost thou mean ? my child ! my child ! Elsie. That for our dear Prince Henry s sake I will myself the offering make, And give my life to purchase his. Ursula. Am 1 still dreaming, or awake 1 Thou speakest carelessly of death, And yet thou knowest not what it is. Elsie. Tis the cessation of our breath. Silent and motionless we lie ; And no one knoweth more than this. I saw our little Gertrude die ; She left off breathing, and no more. I smoothed the pillow beneath her head. She was more beautiful than before. Like violets faded were her eyes ; By this we knew that she was dead. Through the open window looked the skies Into the chamber where she lay, And the wind was like the sound of wings, As if angels came to bear her away. Ah ! when I saw and felt these things, I found it difficult to stay ; I longed to die as she had died, And go forth with her side by side. The Saints are dead, the Martyrs dead, And Mary, and our Lord ; and I Would follow in humility The way by them illumined ! Ursula. My child ! my child 1 thou must not die ! Elsie. Why should I live ? Do I not know The life of woman is full of woe 1 Toiling on and on and on, With breaking heart, and tearful e} r es, And silent lips, and in the soul THE GOLDEN LEGEND. The secret longings that arise, Which this world never satisfies ! Some more, some less, but of the whole Not one quite happy, no, not one ! Ursula. It is the malediction of Eve ! * Elsie. In place of it, let me receive The benediction of Mary, then. Gottlieb. Ah, woe is me ! Ah, woe is me ! Most wretched am I among men ! Ursula. Alas ! that I should live to see Thy death, beloved, and to stand Above thy grave ! Ah, woe the day ! Elsie. Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie Beneath the flowers of another land ; For at Salerno, far away Over the mountains, over the sea, It is appointed me to die ! And it will seem no more to thee Than if at the village on market-day I should a little longer stay Than I am used. Ursula, Even as thou sayest ! And how my heart beats when thou stay- I cannot rest until my sight [est ! Is satisfied with seeing thee. What, then, if thou wert dead ! Gottlieb. Ah, me ! Of our old eyes thou art the light ! The joy of our old hearts art thou ! And wilt thou die ? Ursula. Not now ! not now ! Elsie. Christ died for me, and shall not I Be willing for my Prince to die 1 You both are silent : you cannot speak. This said I, at our Saviour s feast, After confession, to the Priest,- And even he made 110 reply. Does he not warn us all to seek The happier, better land on high, Where flowers immortal never wither ; And could he forbid me to go thither 1 Gottlieb. In God s own time, my heart s delight ! When he shall call thee, not before ! Ehie. I heard him call. When Christ ascended Triumphantly, from star to star, He left the gates of heaven ajar. I had a vision in the night, And saw him standing at the door Of his Father s mansion, vast and splendid, And beckoning to me from afar. I cannot stay ! Gottlieb. She speaks almost As if it were the Holy Ghost Spake through her lips, and in her stead ! What if this were of God ? Ursula,. Ah, then. Gainsay it we dare not. Gottlieb. Amen ! Elsie ! the words that thou hast said Are strange and new for us to hear, And fill our hearts with doubt and fear. Whether it be a dark temptation Of the Evil One, or God s inspiration. We in our blindness cannot say. We must think upon it, and pray ; For evil and good it both resembles. If it be of God, his will be done ! May he guard us from the Evil One ! How hot thy hand is ! how it trembles ! Go to thy bed and try to sleep. Ursula. Kiss me. Good night ; and do not weep ! (ELSIE goes out.) Ah, what an awful thing is this ! I almost shuddered at her kiss, " Xeo esses plus quam femina, quse mine etiam viros transccndis, et qua 1 raaledictionem Eva 1 in benedic- tionem vertisti Mariae." Epistola Abcelardi 366 THE GOLDEN LEO END. As if a ghost had touched my cheek ! I am so childish and so weak ! As soon as I see the earliest gray Of morning glimmer in the east, I will go over to the priest, And hear what the good man has to say ! A Village Church. A woman kneeling at the confessional. The Parislt Priest (from within). Go, sin no more ! Thy penance o er, A new and better life begin ! God maketh thee for ever free From the dominion of thy sin ! Go, sin no more ! He will restore The peace that filled thy heart before, And pardon thine iniquity ! (The woman goes out. The Priest comes forth, and walks slowly up and down the church.) blessed Lord ! how much I need Thy light to guide me on my way ! So many hands, that, without heed, Still touch thy wounds, and make them bleed ! So many feet, that, day by day, Still wander from thy fold astray ! Unless thou fill me with thy light, 1 cannot lead thy flock aright ! Nor, without thy support, can bear The burden of so great a care, But ani myself a castaway ! (A pause.) The day is drawing to its close ; And what good deeds, since first it rose, Have I presented, Lord, to thee, As offerings of my ministry 1 What wrong repressed, what right main tained, What struggle passed, what victory gained, What good attempted and attained 1 Feeble, at best, is mv endeavor ! I see, but cannot reach the height That lies for ever in the light, And yet for ever and for ever, What seeming just within my grasp, I feel my feeble hands unclasp, And sink discouraged into night ! For thine own purpose, thou hast sent The strife and the discouragement ! (A pause. ) Why stayest thou, Prince of Hoheneck 1 Why keep me pacing to and fro Amid these aisles of sacred gloom, Counting my footsteps as I go, And marking with each step a tomb ? Why should the world for thee make room, And wait thy leisure and thy beck 1 Thou comest in the hope to hear Some word of comfort and of cheer. What can I say ? I cannot give The counsel to do this and live ; But rather, firmly to deny The tempter, though his power is strong And, inaccesible to wrong, Still like a martyr live and die ! (A pause. ) The evening air grows dusk and brown I must go forth into the to\vn, To visit beds of pain and death, Of restless limbs, and quivering breath And sorrowing hearts, and patient eyes That see, through tears, the sun go down. But never more shall see it rise. The poor in body and estate, The sick and the disconsolate, Must not on man s convenience wait. (Goes out.) (Enter LUCIFER, as a Priest.) Lucifer (with a genuflexion, mocking). This is the Black Paternoster, God was my foster, THE GOLDEN LEGEND. He fostered me Under the book of the Palm-tree ! St. Michael was my dame. He was born at Bethlehem, He was made of flesh and blood. God send me my right food, My right food, and shelter too, That I may to yon kirk go, To read upon yon sweet book Which the mighty God of heaven shook. Open, open, hell s gates ! Shut, shut, heaven s gates ! All the devils in the air The stronger be, that hear the Black Prayer ! (Looking round the church.} What a darksome and dismal place ! I wonder that any man has the face To call such a hole the House of the Lord, And the Gate of Heaven, yet such is the word. Ceiling, and walls, and windows old, Covered with cobwebs, blackened with mould ; Dust on the pulpit, dust on the stairs, Dust on the benches, and stalls, and chairs ! The pulpit from which such ponderous sermons Have fallen down on the brains of the Germans, With about as much real edification As if a great Bible, bound in lead, Had fallen and struck them on the head ; And I ought to remember that sensation ! Here stands the holy-water stoup ! Holy -Water it may be to many, But to me, the veriest Liquor Gehenna ! It smells like a filthy fast-day soup ! Near it stands the box for the poor, With its iron padlock, safe and sure. I and the priest of the parish know Whither all these charities go : Therefore, to keep up the institution, I will add my little contribution ! (He puts in money.} Underneath this mouldering tomb, With statue of stone and scutcheon of brass, Slumbers a great Lord of the village. All his life was riot and pillage, But at length, to escape the threatened doom Of the everlasting, penal fire, He died in the dress of a mendicant friar, And bartered his wealth for a daily mass. But all that afterwards came to pass, And whether he finds it dull or pleasant, Is kept a secret for the present, At his own particular desire. And here, in a corner of the wall, Shadowy, silent, apart from all, With its awful portal open wide, And its latticed windows on either side, And its step well worn by the bended knees Of one or two pious centuries, Stands the village confessional ! Within it, as an honored guest, I will sit me down awhile and rest ! (Scats hiriiself in the confessional. ) Here sits the priest ; and faint and low, Like the sighing of an evening breeze, Comes through these painted lattices The ceaseless sound of human woe ; Here, while her bosom aches and throbs With deep and agonizing sobs, 368 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. That half are passion, half contrition, The luckless daughter of perdition Slowly confesses her secret shame ! The time, the place, the lovei s name ! Here the grim murderer, with a groan, From his bruised conscience rolls the stone, Thinking that thus he can atone For ravages of sword and flame ! Indeed I marvel, and marvel greatly, How a priest can sit here so sedately, Iteading, the whole year out and in, Nought but the catalogue of sin, And still keep any faith whatever In human virtue ! Never ! never ! I cannot repeat a thousandth part Of the horrors, and crimes, and sins, and woes That arise, when with palpitating throes The graveyard in the human heart Gives up its dead, at the voice of the priest, As if he were an archangel, at least. It makes a peculiar atmosphere, This odor of earthly passions and crimes, Such as I like to breathe, at times, And such as often brings me here In the hottest and most pestilential season. To-day I come for another reason ; To foster and ripen an evil thought In a heart that is almost to madness wrought, And to make a murderer out of a prince, A sleight of hand I learned long since ! He comes. In the twilight he will not see The difference between his priest and me ! In the same net was the mother caught ! Prince Henry (entering and kneeliny at the confessional). Remorseful, penitent, and lowly, I come to crave, father holy, Thy benediction on my head. Lucifer. The benediction shall be said After confession, not before ! Tis a Godspeed to the parting guest, Who stands already at the door, Sandalled with holiness, and dressed In garments pure from earthly stain. Meanwhile hast thou searched well thy breast ? Does the same madness fill thy brain ? Or have thy passion and unrest Vanished for ever from thy mind ? Prince Henry. By the same madness still made blind, By the same passion still possessed, I come again to the house of prayer, A man afflicted and distressed ! As in a cloudy atmosphere, Through unseen sluices of the air, A sudden and impetuous wind Strikes the great forest white with fear, And every branch, and bough, and spray Points all its quivering leaves one way, And meadows of grass, and fields of grain, And the clouds above, and the slanting rain, And smoke from chimneys of the town, Yield themselves to it and bow down, So does this dreadful purpose press Onward with irresistible stress, And all my thoughts and faculties, Struck level by the strength of this, From their true inclination turn, And all stream forward to Salem ! Lucifer. Alas ! we are but eddies of dust, THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Uplifted by the blast, and whirled Along the highway of the world A moment only, then to fall Rack to a common level all, At the subsiding of the gust ! Prince Henry. holy father ! pardon in me The oscillation of a mind Unsteadfast, and that cannot find Its centre of rest and harmony ! For evermore before mine eyes This ghastly phantom flits and flies, And as a madman through a crowd, With frantic gestures and wild cries It hurries onward, and aloud Eepeats its awful prophecies ! Weakness is wretchedness ! To be strong Is to be happy ! I am weak, And cannot find the good I seek, Because I feel and fear the wrong ! ) Lucifer. Be not alarmed ! The Church is kind, And in her mercy and her meekness She meets half-way her children s weak ness, Writes their transgressions in the dust ! Though in the Decalogue we find The mandate written, " Thou shalt not kill!" Yet there are cases when we must. In war, for instance, or from scathe To guard and keep the one true Faith ! We must look at the Decalogue in the light Of an ancient statute, that was meant For a mild and general application, To be understood with the reservation That, in certain instances, the Eight Must yield to the Expedient ! Thou art a Prince. If thou should wt die, What hearts and hopes would prostrate lie! What noble deeds, what fair renown, Into the grave with thee go down ! What acts of valor and courtesy Remain undone and die with thee ! Thou art the last of all thy race ! With thee a noble name expires, And vanishes from the earth s face The glorious memory of thy sires ! She is a peasant. In her veins Flows common and plebeian blood ; It is such as daily and hourly stains The dust and the turf of battle-plains, By vassals shed, in a crimson flood, Without reserve, and without reward, At the slightest summons of their lord : But thine is precious ; the fore-appointed Blood of kings, of God s anointed ! Moreover, what has the world in store For one like her, but tears and toil ? Daughter of sorrow, serf of the soil, A peasant s child and a peasant s wife, And her soul within her sick and sore With the roughness and barrenness of life! I marvel not at the heart s recoil From a fate like this, in one so tender, ]S"or at its eagerness to surrender All the wretchedness, want and woe That await it in this world below, For the unutterable splendor Of the world of rest beyond the skies. So the Church sanctions the sacrifice ; Therefore inhale this healing balm, And breathe this fresh life into thine ; Accept the comfort and the calm She offers, as a gift divine ; Let her fall down and anoint thy feet With the ointment costly and most sweet Of her young blood, and thou shalt live. 3 B 370 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Prince Henry. And will the righteous Heaven forgive 1 No action, whether foul or fair, Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere A record, written by fingers ghostly, As a blessing or a curse, and mostly In the greater weakness, or greater strength Of the acts which follow it, till at length The wrongs of ages are redressed, And the justice of God made manifest ! Lucifer. In ancient records it is stated That, whenever an evil deed is done, Another devil is created To scourge and torment the offending one ! But evil is only good perverted, And Lucifer, the Bearer of Light, But an angel fallen and deserted, Thrust from his Father s house with a curse Into the black and endless night. Prince Henry. If justice rules the universe, From the good actions of good men Angels of light should be begotten, And thus the balance restored again. Lucifer. Yes ; if the world were not so rotten, And so given over to the Devil ! Prince Henry. But this deed, is it good or evil ? Have I thine absolution free To do it, and without restriction ] Lucifer. Ay ; and from whatsoever sin Lieth around it and within, From all crimes in which it may involve thee, I now release thee and absolve thee ! Prince Henry. Give me thy holy benediction, Lucifer (stretching forth his hand and muttering). Maledictione perpetua Maledicat vos Pater eternus ! The Angel (with the JEolian harp). Take heed ! take heed ! Noble art thou in thy birth, By the good and the great of earth Hast thou been taught ! Be noble in every thought And in every deed ! Let not the illusion of thy senses Betray thee to deadly offences. Be strong ! be good ! be pure ! The right only shall endure, All things else are but false pretences. I entreat thee, I implore, Listen no more To the suggestions of an evil spirit, That even now is there, Making the foul seem fair, And selfishness itself a virtue and a merit ! A Room in the Farmhouse. Gottlieb. It is decided ! For many days, And nights as many, we have had A nameless terror in our breast, Making us timid and afraid Of God, and his mysterious ways ! We have been sorrowful and sad ; Much have we suffered, much have prayed That he would lead us as is best, And show us what his will required. It is decided ; and we give Our child, Prince, that you may live ! Ursula. It is of God. He has inspired This purpose in her ; and through pair, Out of a world of sin and woe, He takes her to himself again. The mother s heart resists no longer : THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 371 With the Angel of the Lord in vain It wrestled, for he was the stronger. Gottlieb. As Abraham offered long ago His son unto the Lord, and even The Everlasting Father in heaven Gave his, as a lamb unto the slaughter, So do I offer up my daughter ! (URSULA hides her face,.) Elsie. My life is little, Only a cup of water, But pure and limpid. Take it, my Prince ! Let it refresh you, Let it restore you. It is given willingly, It is given freely ; May God bless the gift ! Prince Henry. And the giver ! Gottlieb. Amen ! Prince Henry. I accept it ! Gottlieb. Where are the children ? Ursula. They are already asleep. Gottlieb. What if they were dead ? In the Garden. Elsie. I have one thing to ask of you. Prince Henry. What is it ? It is already granted. Elsie. .Promise me, When we are gone from here, and on our way Are journeying to Salerno, you will not, By word or deed, endeavor to dissuade me And turn me from my purpose ; but remember That as a pilgrim to the Holy City Walks unmolested, and with thoughts of pardon Occupied wholly, so would I approach The gates of Heaven, in this great jubilee, With my petition, putting off from me All thoughts of earth, as shoes from oft my feet. Promise me this. Prince Henry. Thy words fall from thy lips Like roses from the lips of Angelo ; and angels Might stoop to pick them up ! Elsie. Will you not promise 1 Prince Henry. If ever we depart upon this journey, So long to one or both of us, I promise. Elsie. Shall we not go, then 1 Have you lifted me Into the air, only to hurl me back Wounded upon the ground ? and offered me The waters of eternal life, to bid me Drink the polluted puddles of this world ? Prince Henry. Elsie ! what a lesson thou dost teach me ! The life which is, and that which is to come, Suspended hang in such nice equipoise A breath disturbs the balance ; and that scale In which we throw our hearts prepon derates, And the other, like an empty one, flies up, And is accounted vanity and air ! To me the thought of death is terrible, Having such hold on life. To thee it is not So much even as the lifting of a latch ; Only a step into the open air Out of a tent already luminous With light that shines through its transparent walls ! pure in heart ! from thy sweet dust shall grow Lilies, upon whose petals will be written " Ave Maria," in characters of gold ! T1IK C N LK<;F.N]>. III. A Street in Strasburg. Night. PRINCE HENRY wandering alone, wrapped in a cloak. Prince Henry. Still is the night. The sound of feet Has died away from the empty street, And like an artisan, "bending down His head on his anvil, the dark town Sleeps, with a slumber deep and sweet. Sleepless and restless, I alone, In the dusk and damp of these walls of stone, Wander and weep in my remorse ! Crier of the Dead (ringing a bell), Wake ! wake ! Ail ye that sleep ! Pray for the Dead ! Pray for the Dead ! Prince Henry. Hark ! with what accents loud and hoarse This warder on the walls of death Sends forth the challenge of his breath ! 1 see the dead that sleep in the grave ! They rise up, and their garments wave Dimly and spectral as they rise, With the light of another world in their eyes ! Crier of th? Dead. Wake ! wake ! All ye that sleep ! Pray for the Dead ! Pray for the Dead ! Prince Henry. Why for the dead, who are at rest "? Pray for the living, in whose breast The struggle between right and wrong Is raging terrible and strong, As when good angels war with devils ! This is the Master of the Revels, Who. at Life s flowing feast, proposes The health of absent friends, and pledges, Not in bright goblets crowned with roses, And tinkling as we touch their edges, But with his dismal, tinkling bell, That mocks and mimics their funeral knell ! Crier of the Dcwl. Wake ! wake ! All ye that sleep ! Pray for the Dead ! Pray for the Dead ! Prince Henry. Wake not, beloved ! be thy sleep Silent as night is, and as deep ! There walks a sentinel at thy gate Whose heart is heavy and desolate, And the hearings of whose bosm number The respirations of thy slumber, As if some strange, mysterious fate Had linked two hearts in one, and mine Went madly wheeling about thine, Only with wider and wilder sweep ! Crier of the Dead (at a distant). Wake ! wake ! All ye that sleep ! Pray for the Dead ! Pray for the Dead ! Prince Henry. Lo ! with what depth of blackness thrown Against the clouds, far up the skies The walls of the cathedral rise, Like a mysterious grove of stone, With fitful lights and shadows blending, As from behind, the moon, ascending. Lights its dim aisles and paths unknown ! The wind is rising ; but the boughs Rise not and fall not with the wind That through their foliage sobs and soughs ; Only the cloudy rack behind, Drifting onward, wild and ragged, Gives to each spire and buttress jagged A seeming motion undefined. Below on the square, an armed knight, Still as a statue, and as white, Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams quiver Upon the points of his armour bright As on the ripples of a river. He lifts the visor from his cheek, And beckons, and makes as he would speak. Walter the Minnesinger. Friend ! ran you tell me where alHit Thuringia s horsemen for the night ? For I have lingered in the rear, And wandered vainly up and down. Prince Henry. I am a stranger in the town, As thou art \ but the voice I hear Is not a stranger to mine ear, Thou art Walter of the Vogelweide ! Walter. Thou hast guessed rightly ; and thy name Is Henry of Hoheneck ! Prince Henry. Ay, the same, Walter (embracing him). Come closer, closer to my side ! [charm AVI i at brings thee hither ? what potent 374 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Has drawn thee from thy German farm Into the old Alsatian city ? Prince Henry. A tale of wonder and of pity ! A wretched man, almost by stealth Dragging my body to. Salern, In the vain hope and search for health, And destined never to return. Already thou hast heard the rest. But what brings thee, thus armed and dight In the equipments of a knight ? Walter. Dost thou not see upon my breast The cross of the Crusaders shine 1 My pathway leads to Palestine. Prince Henry. Ah, would that way were also mine ! noble poet ! thou whose heart Is like a nest of singing birds Rocked on the topmost bough of life, Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart, And in the clangor of the strife Mingle the music of thy words 1 Walter. My hopes are high, my heart is proud, And like a trumpet long and loud, Thither my thoughts all clang and ring ! My life is in my hand, and lo ! 1 grasp and bend it as a bow, And shoot forth from its trembling string An arrow, that shall be, perchance, Like the arrow of the Israelite king, Shot from the window towards the east, That of the Lord s deliverance ! Prince Henry. My life, alas ! is what thou seest ! enviable fate ! to be Strong, beautiful, and armed like thee With lyre and sword, with song and steel ; A hand to smite, a h-cart to feel ! Thy heart, thy hand, thy lyre, thy sword, Thou givest all unto thy Lord ; While I, so mean and abject grown, Am thinking of myself alone. Walter. Be patient ! Time will rein state Thy health and fortunes. Prince Henry. Tis too late ! I cannot strive against my fate ! Walter. Come with me ; for my steed is weary ; Our journey has been long and dreary, And, dreaming of his stall, he dints With his impatient hoofs the flints. Prince Henry (aside). I am ashamed, in my disgrace, To look into that noble face ! To-morrow, Walter, let it be. Walter. To-morrow, at the dawn of day, I shall again be on my way. Come with me to the hostelry, For I have many things to say. Our journey into Italy Perchance together we may make ; Wilt thou not do it for my sake ? Prince Henry. A sick man s pace would but impede Thine eager and impatient speed. Besides, my pathway leads me round To Hirschau, in the forest s bound, Where I assemble man and steed, And all things for my journey s need. (They go out.) Lucifer (frying over the city). Sleep, sleep, city ! till the light Wakes you to sin and crime again, Whilst on your dreams, like dismal rain, I scatter downward through the night My maledictions dark and deep. I have more martyrs in your walls Than God has : and they cannot sleep : They are my bondsmen and my thralls ; Their wretched lives are full of pain, Wild agonies of nerve and brain ; And every heart-beat, every breath, Is a convulsion worse than death ! Sleep, sleep, city ! though within The circuit of your walls there lies ]STo habitation free from sin, And all its nameless miseries ; The aching heart, the aching head, Grief for the living and the dead, And foul corruption of the time, Disease, distress, and want, and woe, And crimes, and passions that may grow Until they ripen into crime ! Square in front of the Cathedral. Easter Sunday. FRIAR CLTTHBERT preaching to the crowd from a pulpit in the open air. PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE crossing the square. Prince Henry. This is the day, when from the dead Our Lord arose, and everywhere, Out of their darkness and despair, Triumphant over fears and foes, The hearts of his disciples rose, When to the women, standing near, The Angel in shining vesture said, " The Lord is risen, he is not here ! " And, mindful that the day is come, On all the hearths in Christendom The fires are quenched, to be again Rekindled fjom the sun, that high Is dancing in the cloudless sky. The churches are all decked with flowers. The salutations among men Are but the Angel s words divine, " Christ is arisen ! " and the bells Catch the glad murmur, as it swells, And chant together in their towers. All hearts are glad ; and free from caro The faces of the people shine. See what a crowd is in the square, Gaily and gallantly arrayed ! Elsie. Let us go back ; I am afraid ! Prince Henry. Nay, let us mount the church-steps here, 371 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Under the doorway s sacred shadow ; We can see all things, and be freer From the crowd that madly heaves and presses ! Elsie. What a gay pageant ! what bright dresses ! It looks like a flower-besprinkled meadow. What is that yonder on the square 1 Prince Henry. A pulpit in the open air, And a friar, who is preaching to the crowd In a voice so deep and clear and loud, That, if we listen and give heed, His lowest words will reach the ear. Friar Cutlibert (gesticulating and crack ing a postilion s whip. What ho ! good people ! do you not hear ? Dashing along at the top of his speed, Booted and spurred, on his jaded steed, A courier comes with words of cheer. Courier ! what is the news, I pray ? "Christ is arisen !" Whence come you? " From court." Then I do not believe it ; you say it in sport. (Cracks his whip again.} Ah ! here comes another, riding this way ; We soon shall know what he has to say. Courier ! what are the tidings to-day ? "Christ is arisen !" Whence come you? " From town." Then I do not believe it ! away with you, clown ! (Cracks his whip more violently.} And here comes a third, who is spurring amain ; What news do you bring, with your loose-hanging rein, Your spurs wet with blood, and your bridle with fo&m ? " Christ is arisen ! " Whence come you 1 " From Rome." Ah, now I believe. He is risen indeed. Kide on with the news, at the top of your speed. (Great applause among the crowd.) To come baek to my text ! 2 When the news was first spread That Christ was arisen indeed from the dead, Very great was the joy of the angels in heaven ; And as great the dispute as to who should carry The tidings thereof to the Virgin Mary, Pierced to the heart with sorrows seven. Old Father Adam was first to propose, As being the author of all our woes ; But he was refused, for fear, said they, He would stop to eat apples on the way ! Abel came next, but petitioned in vain, Because he might meet with his brother Cain ! Noah, too, was refused, lest his weakness for wine Should delay him at every tavern-sign ; And John the Baptist could not get a vote, On account of his old-fashioned camel s - hair coat ; And the penitent thief, who died on the cross, Was reminded that all his bones were broken ! Till at last, when each in turn had spoken, The company being still at a loss, The Angel who rolled away the stone Was sent to the sepulchre, all alone, THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 877 And tilled with glory that gloomy prison, And said to the Virgin, " The Lord is arisen ! ( The Cathedral balls ring. ) IJnt hark ! the bells are beginning to chime ; And I fuel tli.it I am growing hoarse. I will put an end to my discourse, And leave the rest for some other time. For the bells themselves are the best of preachers ; Their brazen lips are learned teachers, From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air, Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, Shriller than trumpets under the Law, Now a sermon and now a prayer. The clangorous hammer is the tongue, This way, that way, beaten and swung, That from mouth of brass, as from Mouth of Gold, May be taught the Testaments, 1ST ew and Old. And above it the great cross-beam of wood Kepresenteth the Holy Eood, Upon which, like the bell, our hopes are hung, And the wheel wherewith it is swayed and rung Is the mind of man, that round and round Sways, and maketh the tongue to sound ! And the rope, with its twisted cordage three, Denoteth the Scriptural Trinity Of Morals, and Symbols, and History And the upward and downward motions show That we touch upon matters high and low ; And the constant change and transmuta tion Of action and of contemplation, Downward, the Scripture brought from on high, Upward, exalted again to the sky, Downward, the literal interpretation, Upward, the Vision and Mystery ! And now, my hearers, to make an end, I have only one more word to say ; In the church in honor of Easter day, Will be represented a Miracle Play ; And I hope you will all have the grace to attend. Christ bring us at last to his felicity ! Pax vobiscum ! et Benedicite ! In the Cathedral. Chant. Kyrie Eleison ! Christe Eleison ! Elsie. I am at home here in my Father s house ! These paintings of the Saints upon the walls Have all familiar and benignant faces. Prince Henry. The portraits of the family of God ! Thine own hereafter shall be placed among them ! Elsie. How very grand it is and won derful ! Kever have I beheld a church so splendid ! Such columns, and such arches, and such windows, So many tombs and statues in the chapels, And under them so many confessionals. They must be for the rich. I should not like To tell my sins in such a church as this. Who built it ? Prince Henry. A great master of his craft, Envin von Steinbach ; but not he alone, 3 c THE GOLDEN LEGEND. For many generations labored with him. Children that came to see these saints in stone, As day by day out of the blocks they rose, Grew old and died, and still the work went on, And on, and on, and is not yet completed. The generation that succeeds our own Perhaps may finish it. The architect Built his great heart into these sculp tured stones, And with him toiled his children, and their lives Were builded, with his own, into the walls, As offerings unto God. You see that statue Fixing its joyous, but deep-wrinkled eyes Upon the pillar of the Angels yonder. That is the image of the master, carved By the fair hand of his own child Sabina. Elsie. How beautiful is the column that he looks at ! Prince Henry. That, too, she sculp tured. At the base of it Stand the Evangelists ; above their heads Four Angels blowing upon marble trum pets, And over them the blessed Christ, sur rounded By his attendant ministers, upholding The instruments of his passion. Elsie. O my Lord ! Would I could leave behind me upon earth Some monument to thy glory, such as this ! Prince Henry. A greater monument than this thou leavest In thine own life, all purity and love ! See, too, the Eose, above the western portal Flamboyant with a thousand gorgeous colors, The perfect flower of Gothic loveliness ! Elsie. And, in the gallery, the long line of statues, Christ with his twelve apostles watching us. (A Bishop in armour, booted and spurred, passes wttk his train.) Prince Henry. But come away ; we have not time to look. The crowd already fills the church, and yonder, Upon a stage, a herald with a trumpet, Clad like the Angel Gabriel, proclaims The Mystery that will now be represented. THE 1ST AT I V IT Y. 3 A MIRACLE-PLAY. IXTROITUS. Prceco. Come, good people, all and each, Come and listen to our speech ! In your presence here I stand, With a trumpet in my hand, To announce the Easter Play, Which we represent to-day ! First of all we shall rehearse, In our action and our verse, The Nativity of our Lord, As written in the old record Of the Protevangelion, So that he who reads may run ! (Blows his trumpet.} I. HEAVEN. Mercy (at the feet of God}. Have pity, Lord ! be not afraid To save mankind, whom thou hast made, Nor let the souls that were betrayed Perish eternally ! THE OOLDEN LEGEND. 37i Justice. It cannot be, it must not be ! When in the garden placed by thee, The fruit of the forbidden tree He ate, and he must die ! Mercy. Have pity, Lord ! let penitence Atone for disobedience, Nor let the fruit of man s offence Be endless misery ! Justice. What penitence proportionate Can e er be felt for sin so great 1 Of the forbidden fruit he ate, And damned must he be ! God. He shall be saved, if that within The bounds of earth one free from sin Be found, who for his kith and kin Will suffer martyrdom. The Four Virtues. Lord ! we have searched the world around, From centre to the utmost bound, But no such mortal can be found ; Despairing back we come. Wisdom. No mortal, but a God-made man, Can ever carry out this plan, Achieving what none other can, Salvation unto all ! God. Go, then, my beloved Son ! It can by thee alone be done ; By thee the victory shall be won O er Satan and the Fall ! (Here the ANGEL GABRIEL shall leave Para dise and fly towards the Earth; the jaws of Hell open below, and the Devils walk about, making a great noise. ) II. MARY AT THE WELL. Mary. Along the garden walk, and thence Through the wicket in the garden fence, I steal with .quiet pace, My pitcher at the well to fill, That lies so deep and cool and still In this sequestered place. These sycamores keep guard around I see no face, I hear no sound, Save bubblings of the spring, And my companions, who within The threads of gold and scarlet spin, And at their labor sing. The Angel Gabriel. Hail, Virgin Mary, full of grace ! (Here MARY looketh around her, trembling, and then saith :} Mary. Who is it speaketh in tin s place, With such a gentle voice ? Gabriel. The Lord of Heaven is with thee now ! Blessed among all women them, Who art his holy choice ! Mary (setting down the jtitcher). What can this mean ? No one is near, And yet, such sacred words I hear, I almost fear to stay. (Here the Angel appearing to her, shall say:} Gabriel. Fear not, Mary ! but be lieve ! For thou, a Virgin, shalt conceive ,A child this very day. Fear not, O Mary ! from the sky The majesty of the Most High Shall overshadow thee ! Mary. Behold the handmaid of tl.o Lord ! According to thy holy word, So be it unto me ! (Here the Devils shall again make a great noise under the stage.} III. THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN* PLANETS BEARING THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. The Angels. The Angels of the Planets Seven, Across the shining fields of heaven The natal star we bring ! 380 THE GOLDEN LKOKNI). Dropping our sevenfold virtues down, As priceless jewels in the crown Of Christ, our new-born King. Raphael. I am the Angel of the Sun, Whose flaming wheels began to run When God s almighty breath Said to the Darkness and the Night, Let there be light ! and there was light ! I bring the gift of Faith. Gabriel I am the Angel of the Moon, Darkened, to be rekindled soon Beneath the azure cope ! Nearest to earth, it is my ray That best illumes the midnight way. I bring the gift of Hope ! Anael. The Angel of the Star of Love, The Evening Star, that shines above The place where lovers be, Above all happy hearths and homes, On roofs of thatch, or golden domes, I give him Charity ! Zobiachel. The Planet Jupiter is mine ! The mightiest star of all that shine, Except the sun alone ! He is the High Priest of the Dove, And sends, from his great throne above, Justice, that shall atone ! Michael. The Planet Mercury, whose place Is nearest to the sun in space, Is my allotted sphere ! And with celestial ardor swift I bear upon my hands the gift Of heavenly Prudence here ! Uriel. I am the Minister of Mars, The strongest star among the stars ! My songs of power prelude The march and battle of man s life, And for the suffering and the strife, I give him Fortitude ! Orifd. The Angel of the uttermost Of all the shining, heavenly host, From the far-off expanse Of the Saturnian, endless space I bring the last, the crowning grace, The gift of Temperance ! (A sudden light shines from the windows of the stable in the village below.) IV. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST. The Stable of the Inn. The VIRGIN and CHILD. Three Gipsy Kings, CASPAR, MELCHIOR, and BKLSHAZZAR, shall come in. Gaspar. Hail to th.ee, Jesus of Naza reth ! Though in a manger thou drawest thy breath, Thou art greater than Life and Death, Greater than Joy or Woe ! This cross upon the line of life Porteiideth struggle, toil, and strife, And through a region with dangers rife In darkness shalt thou go ! Melchior. Hail to thee, King of Jeru salem ! Though humbly born in Bethlehem, A sceptre and a diadem Await thy brow and hand ! The sceptre is a simple reed, The crown will make thy temples bleed, And in thy hour of greatest need, Abashed thy subjects stand ! Bekhazzar. Hail to thee, Christ of Christendom ! O er the earth thy kingdom come ! From distant Trebizond to Eome Thy name shall men adore ! Peace and good-will among all men, The Yirgin has returned again, Returned the old Saturnian reign And Golden Acre once more. THE OOLDEN LEGEND. 581 The Child Chtist. Jesus, the Son of God, am I, Born here to suffer and to die According to the prophecy, That other men may live ! The Virgin. And now these clothes, that wrapped him, take, And keep them precious, for his sake ; Our benediction thus we make, Nought else have we to give. (She gives them swaddling clothes, and the)/ depart.} V. THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. (Here shall JOSEPH come in, leading an ass, on which are seated MARY and the CHILD.) Here will we rest us, under these O erhanging branches of the trees, Where robins chant their Litanies And canticles of joy. Joseph, My saddle-girths have given way With trudging through the heat to-day ; To you I think it is but play To ride and hold the boy. Mary. Hark ! how the robins shout and sing, As if to hail their infant King ! I will alight at yonder spring To wash his little coat. Joseph. And I willliobble well the ass, Lest, being loose upon the grass, He should escape ; for by the mass, He is nimble as a goat. (Here MAHY shall alight and go to the spring. ) Mary. Joseph ! I am much afraid, For men are sleeping in the shade ; I fear that we shall be waylaid, And robbed and beaten sore. (Here a band of rollers shall be seen sleeping, two of whom shall rise and come forward.) Dumachus. Cock s soul ! deliver up your gold ! Joseph. I pray you, Sirs, let go your hold ! Of wealth I have no store. Dumachus. Give up your money ! Titus. Prythee cease. Let these good people go in peace. Dumachus. First let them pay for their release, And then go on their way. Titus. These forty groats I give in fee, If th on wilt only silent be. Mary. May God be merciful to thee Upon the Judgment day ! Jesus. When thirty years shall have gone by, I at Jerusalem shall die, By Jewish hands exalted high On the accursed tree. Then on my right and my left side, These thieves shall both be crucified, And Titus thenceforth shall abide In Paradise with me. (Here a great rumor of trumpets and horses, like the noise of a, king with his army, and the robbers shall take flight. ) VI. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS. King Herod. Potz-tausend ! Himmel- sacraineiit ! Filled am I with great wonderment At this unwelcome news ! Am I not Herod 1 Who shall dare My crown to take, my sceptre bear, As king among the Jews 1 (Here lie shall stride up and down and flourish his sword.) What ho ! I fain would drink a can Of the strong wine of Canaan ! The wine of Helbon bring, I purchased at the Fair of Tyre, 382 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. As red as blood, as hot as fire, And fit for any king ! (He quaffs great goblets of wine. ) Now at the window will I stand, While in the street the armed band The little children slay ! The babe just born in Bethlehem Will surely slaughtered be with them, 2s r or live another day ! (Here a voice of lamentation shall be licard in the street.) fiachel. wicked king ! cruel speed ! To do this most unrighteous deed ! My children all are slain ! Herod. Ho seneschal ! another cup ! With wine of Sorak fill it up ! I would a bumper drain ! Ralicib. May maledictions fall and blast Thyself and lineage to the last Of all thy kith and kin ! Herod. Another goblet ! quick ! and stir Pomegranate juice and drops of myrrh And calamus therein ! Soldiers (in the street). Give up thy child into our hands ! It is King Herod who commands That he should thus be slain ! The Nurse Medusa. monstrous men ! What have ye done ! It is King Herod s only son That ye have cleft in twain ! Herod. Ah, luckless day ! What words of fear Are these that smite upon my ear With such a doleful sound ! What torments rack my heart and head ! Would I were dead ! would I were dead, And buried in the ground ! (He falls down and writhes, as though eaten by worms. Hell opens, and SATAN and ASTAROTH come forth and drag him down.} VII. JESUS AT PLAY WITH HIS SCHOOLMATES. Jesus. The shower is over. Let us And make some sparrows out of clay, Down by the river s side. Judas. See, how the stream has over flowed Its banks, and o er the meadow road Is spreading far and wide ! (They draw ivater out of the river by channels, and form Little pools. JESUS makes twelve sparrows of clay, and the other boys do the same.) Jesus. Look ! look ! how prettily I make These little sparrows by the lake Bend down their necks and drink ! Kow will I make them sing and soar So far, they shall return no more Unto this river s brink. Judas. That canst thou not ! They are but clay, They cannot sing, nor fly away Above the meadow lands ! Jesus. Fly, fly, ye sparrows ! you are free! And while you live, remember me, Who made you with my hands. (Here JESUS shall clap his hands, and the sparrows shall jly away chirruping.} Judas. Thou art a sorcerer, I know ; Oft has my mother told me so. I will not play with thee ! (He strikes JESUS on the right side.} Jesus. Ah, Judas ! thou hast smote my side, And when I shall be crucified, There shall I pierced be ! (Here JOSEPH shall come in and say ;) Joseph. Ye wicked boys ! why do ye play, And break the holy Sabbath-day ? What, think ye, will your mothers say To see you in such plight, In such a sweat and such a heat, "With all that mud upon your feet ? There s not a beggar in, the street Makes such a sorry sight ! VIII. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. The RABBI BEX ISRAEL, with a long beard, sitting on a high stool, with a rod in his hand. Rabbi. I am the Eabbi Een Israel, Throughout this village known full well, And, as my scholars all will tell, Learned in things divine ; The Kabala and Talmud hoar Than all the prophets prize I more, For water is all Bible lore, But Mishna is strong wine. My fame extends from West to East, And always, at the Purim feast, I am as drunk as any beast That wallows in his sty ; The wine it so elateth me, That I no difference can see Between " Accursed Haman be ! " And " Blessed be Mordecai ! " Come hither, Judas Iscariot. Say, if thy lesson thou hast got From the Eabbinical Book or not. Why howl the dogs at night ? Judas. In the Kabbinical Book, it saith The dogs howl, when, with icy breath, Great Sammael, the Angel of Death, Takes through the town his flight ! Rabbi. Well, boy ! now say, if thou art wise, THE GULDEN LEGEND. When the Angel of Death, who is full of eyes, Comes where a sick man dying lies, What doth he to the wight ? Judas. He stands beside him, dark and tall, Holding a sword, from which doth Ml Into his month a drop of gall, And so he tnrneth white. Rabbi. And now, my Judas, say to me What the great Voices Four may be, That quite across the world do flee, And are not heard by men ? Judas. The Voice of the Sun in heaven s dome, The Voice of the Murmuring of Rome, The Voice of a Sonl that goeth home, And the Angel of the Rain ! Rabbi. Well have ye answered every one ! Now, little Jesus, the carpenter s son, Let us see how thy task is done. Canst tliou thy letters say 1 Jesus. Aleph. Rabbi. What next? Do not stop yet! Go on with all the alphabet. Come, Aleph, Beth ; dost thou forget ? Cock s soul ! thou dst rather play ! Jesus. What Aleph means I faiii would know, Before I any farther go ! Rabbi. Oh, by Saint Peter ! wouldst thou so 1 Come hither, boy, to me. As surely as the letter Jod Once cried aloud and spake to God, So surely shalt thou feel this rod, And punished shalt thou be ! (Here RABBI BEN ISRAEL shall lift up Us rod to strike JESUS, and Ms right arm shall be paralysed. ) IX. CROWNED WITH FLOWERS. (JESUS sitting among his Playmates, crowned with flowers, as their King. ) Boys. We spread our garments 011 the ground ! With fragrant flowers thy head is crowned ! While, like a guard we stand around, And hail thee as our King ! Thou art the new King of the Jews ! Nor let the passers-by refuse To bring that homage which men use To majesty to bring. (Here a traveller shall go by, and the boys shall lay hold of his garments, and say :) Boys. Come hither ! and all reverence pay Unto our monarch, crowned to-day ! Then go rejoicing 011 your way, In all prosperity ! Traveller. Hail to the King of Beth lehem, Who weareth in his diadem The yellow crocus for the gem Of his authority ! {He passes by ; and others come in, bcm iiiy uii a litter a sick child. ) Boys. Set down the litter and draw near ! The King of Bethlehem is here ! What ails the child, who seems to fear That we should do him harm ? The Bearers. He climbed up to the robin s nest, And out there darted, from his rest, A serpent with a crimson crest, And stung him in the arm. Jesus. Bring him to me, and let me feel The wounded place ; my touch can heal The sting of serpents, and can steal The poison from the bite ! (He touches the wound, and the boy begins to cry.) Cease to lament ! I can foresee That thou hereafter known shalt be, Among the men who follow me, As Simon the Canaanite ! EPILOGUE. In the after part of the day Will be represented another play, Of the Passion of our Blessed Lord, Beginning directly after Nones ! At the close of which we shall accord, By way of benison and reward, The sight of a holy Martyr s bones ! IV. The Road to Hirscliau. PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE, with their attendants, on horseback. Elsie. Onward and onward the highway runs to the distant city, impatiently bearing Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of hate, of doing and daring ! Prince Henry. This life of ours is a wild ^Eolian harp of many a joyous strain, But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, as of souls in pain. Elsie. Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart that aches and bleeds with the stigma Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can comprehend its dark enigma. Prince Henry. Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure with little care of what may betide ; Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon that rides by an angel s side 1 Elsie. All the hedges are white with dust, and the great dog under the creaking wain Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the horses toil and strain. 3 D 38<5 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Prince Henry. Now they stop at the wayside inn, and the waggoner laughs with the landlord s daughter, While out of the dripping trough the horses distend their leathern sides with water. Elsie. All through life there are wayside inns, where man may refresh his soul with love ; Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed by springs from above. Prince Henry. Yonder, where rises the cross of stone, our journey along the. highway ends, And over the fields, by a bridle-path, down into the broad green valley descends. Elsie. I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten road with its dust and heat ; The air vail be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer under our horses feet. (They turn down a green lane.) Elsie. Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the valley stretching for miles below Is white with blossoming cherry-trees, as if just covered with lightest snow. Prince Henri/. Over our heads a white cascade is gleaming against the distant hill; We cannot hear it, nor see it move, but it hangs like a banner when winds are still. Elsie. Damp and cool is this deep ravine, and cool the sound of the brook by our side ! What is this castle that rises above us, and lords it over a land so wide 1 Prince Henry. It is the home of the Counts of Calva; well have I known these scenes of old, Well I remember each tower and turret, remember the brooklet, the wood, and the wold. Elsie. Hark ! from the little village below us the bells of the church are ringing for rain ; Priest and peasants in long procession come forth and kneel on the arid plain. Prince Henry. They have not long to wait, for I see in the south uprising a little cloud, That before the sun shall be set will cover the sky above us with a shroud. (They pass on.) The Convent of Hirschau in the Black Forest. To breathe an ejaculatory prayer, The Convent-cellar. FRIAR GLAUS comes in And a benediction on the vines with a light and a basket of empty flagons. That produce these various sorts of wines! Friar Claus. I always enter this sacred pj ace For my part, I am well content With a thoughtful, solemn, and reve- That we have got through with the rent pace, tedious Lent ! long enough on each stair Fasting is all very well for those THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 387 Who have to contend with invisible foes; But I am quite sure it does not agree With a quiet, peaceable man like me, Who am not of that nervous and meagre kind That are always distressed in body and mind ! And at times it really does me good To come down among this brotherhood, Dwelling for ever under ground, Silent, contemplative, round, and sound ; Each one old, and brown with mould, But filled to the lips with the ardor of youth, With the latent power and love of truth, And with virtues fervent and manifold. I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide, When buds are swelling on every side, And the sap begins to move in the vine, Then in all the cellars, far and wide, The oldest, as well as the newest, wine Begins to stir itself, and ferment, With a kind of revolt and discontent At being so long in darkness pent, And fain would burst from its sombre tun To bask on the hill-side in the sun ; As in the bosom of us poor friars, The tumult of half-subdued desires For the world that we k have left behind Disturbs at times all peace of mind ! And now that we have lived through Lent, .My duty it is, as often before, To open awhile the prison- door, And give these restless spirits vent. Now here is a cask that stands alone, And has stood a hundred years or more, Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar, Trailing and sweeping along the floor, Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave, Taciturn, sombre, sedate, and grave, Till his beard has grown through the. table of stone ! It is of the quick, and not of the dead, In its veins the blood is hot and red, And a heart still beats in those ribs of oak That time may have tamed, but has not broke ! It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine, Is one of the three best kinds of wine, And costs some hundred florins the ohm ; But that I do not consider dear, When I remember that every year Four butts are sent to the Pope of Homo, And whenever a goblet thereof 1 drain, The old rhyme keeps running in my brain : At Bacharach on the Rhine, At Hochlieim on the Main, And at Wurzburg on the Stein, Grow the three best kinds of wine ! They are all good wines, and better far Than those of the Neckar, or those of the Ahr. In particular, Wurzburg well may boast Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost, Which of all wines I like the most. This I shall draw for the Abbot s drinking, Who seems to be much of my way of thinking. (Fills a flay mi.} All ! how the streamlet laughs and sings ! What a delicious fragrance springs From the deep flagon, while it rills, As of hyacinths and daffodils ! Between this cask and tU# Abbot s lips Many have been the sips and slips ; Many have been the draughts of wine, On their way to his, that have stopped at mine ; And many a time my soul has hankered For a deep draught out uf his silver tankard, When it should have been busy with other affairs, Less with its longings and more with its prayers. But now there is no such awkward condition, No danger of death and eternal perdition ; So here s to the Abbot and Brothers all, Who dwell in this convent of Peter and Paul ! (He drinks. ) cordial delicious ! soother of pain ! It flashes like sunshine into my brain ! A benison rest on the Bishop who sends Suchafudder of wine as this to his friends ! And now a flagon for such as may ask A draught from the noble Bacharach cask, And I will be gone, though I know full well The cellar s a cheerfuller place than the cell. Behold where he stands, all sound and good, Brown and old in his oaken hood ; Silent he seems externally As any Carthusian monk may be ; But within, what a spirit of deep unrest ! What a seething and simmering in his breast ! As if the heaving of his great heart Would burst his belt of oak apart ! Let me unloose this button of wood, THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 389 And quiet a little his turbulent mood. (Sets it running.} See ! how its currents gleam and shine, As if they had caught the purple hues Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine, Descending and mingling with the dews ; Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood Of the innocent boy, who some years back Was taken and crucified by the Jews, In that ancient town of Bacharach. Perdition upon those infidel Jews, In that ancient town of Bacharach ! The beautiful town that gives us wine With the fragrant odor of Muscadine ! I should deem it wrong to let this pass Without first touching my lips to the glass, For here in the midst of the current I stand, Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of the river, Taking toll upon either hand, And much more grateful to the giver. (He drinks.} Here, now, is a very inferior kind, Such as in any town you may find, Such as one might imagine would suit The rascal who drank wine out of a boot. And, after all, it was not a crime, For he won thereby Dorf Hiiffelsheim. A jolly old toper ! who at a pull Could drink a postilion s jack-boot full, And ask with a laugh, when that was done, If the fellow had left the other one ! This wine is as good as we can afford To the friars, who sit at the lower board, And cannot distinguish bad from good, And are far better off than if they could, Being rather the rude disciples of beer, Than of anything more refined and dear ! (Fills the other flagon and departs.) The Scriptorium.* FRIAR PACIFICUS tran scribing and illuminating. Friar Pacijicm. It is growing dark ! Yet one line more, And then my work for to-day is o er. I come again to the name of the Lord ! Ere I that awful name record, That is spoken so lightly among men, Let me pause awhile, and wash my pen ; Pure from blemish and blot must it be, When it writes that word of mystery ! Thus have I labored on and on, Nearly through the Gospel of John. Can it be that from the lips Of this same gentle Evangelist, That Christ himself perhaps has kissed, Came the dread Apocalypse ! It has a very awful look, As it stands there at the end of the book, Like the sun in an eclipse. Ah me ! when I think of that vision divine, Think of writing it, line by line, I stand in awe of the terrible curse, Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse. God forgive me ! if ever I Take aught from the book of that Prophecy, Lest my part too should be taken away From the Book of Life on the Judgment Day. This is well written, though I say it ! I should not be afraid to display it, In open day, on the selfsame shelf With the writings of St. Thecla herself, Or of Theodosius, who of old Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold ! That goodly folio standing yonder, Without a single blot or blunder, Would not bear away the palin from mine If we should compare them line for line. There, now, is an initial letter ! King Rene himself never made a better ! Finished down to the leaf and the snail, Down to the eyes on the peacock s tail ! And now, as I turn the volume over, And see what lies between cover and cover, What treasures of art these pages hold, All ablaze with crimson and gold, God forgive me ! I seem to feel A certain satisfaction steal Into my heart, and into my brain, As if my talent had not lain Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain. Yes, I might almost say to the Lord, Here is a copy of thy Word, Written out with much toil and pain ; Take it, O Lord, and let it be As something I have done for thee ! (He looks from the window.) How sweet the air is ! How fair the scene ! I wish I had as lovely a green To paint my landscapes and my leaves ! How the swallows twitter under the eaves ! There, now, there is one in her nest : THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 301 1 can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast, And will sketch her thus, in her quiet nook, For the margin of my Gospel book. (He makes a sketch. ) I can see no more. Through the valley yonder A shower is passing ; I hear the thunder Muttering its curses in the air, The Devil s own and only prayer ! The dusty road is brown with rain, And, speeding on with might and main, Hitherward rides a, gallant train. They do not parley, they cannot wait, But hurry in at the convent gate. What a fair lady ! and beside her What a handsome, graceful, noble rider! ]S T ow she gives him her hand to alight ; They will beg a shelter for the night. I will go down to the corridor, And try and see that face once more ; It will do for the face of some beautiful Saint, Or for one of the Maries I shall paint. (Goes out.) The Cloisters. The ABBOT EKNESTUS pacing to and fro. Abbot. Slowly, slowly, up the wall Steals the sunshine, steals the shade : Evening damps begin to fall, Evening shadows are displayed. Round me, o er me, everywhere, All the sky is grand with clouds, And athwart the evening air Wheel the swallows home in crowds. Shafts of sunshine from the west Paint the dusky windows red ; Darker shadows, deeper rest, Underneath and overhead. Darker, darker, and more wan, In my breast the shadows fall ; Upward steals the life of man, As the sunshine from the wall, From the wall into the sky, From the roof along the spire : Ah, the souls of those that die Are but sunbeams lifted higher. (Enter PEINCE HENRY.) Prince Henry. Christ is arisen ! Abbot. Amen ! he is arisen ! His peace be with you ! Prince Henry. Here it reigns for ever ! The peace of God, that passeth under standing, Reigns in these cloisters and these corridors. Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the convent 1 Abbot. I am. Prince Henry. And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck, Who crave your hospitality to-night. Abbot. You are thrice welcome to our humble walls. You do us honour; and we shall re quite it, I fear, but poorly, entertaining you With Paschal eggs, and our poor con vent wine, The remnants of our Easter holidays. Prince Henry. How fares it with the holy monks of Hirschau 1 Are all things well with them ? Abbot. All things are well. Prince Henry. A noble convent ! I have known it long By the report of travellers. I now see Their commendations lag behind the truth. You lie here in the valley of the ISTagold As in a nest ; and the still river, gliding Along its bed, is like an admonition 392 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. How all things pass. Your lands are rich and ample, And your revenues large. God s bene diction Rests on your convent. Abbot. By our charities We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master, When he departed, left us in his will, As our best legacy on earth, the poor ! These we have always with us ; had we not, Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones. Prince Henry. If I remember right, the Counts of Calva Founded your convent. Abbot. Even as you say. Prince Henry. And if I err not, it is very old. Abbot. Within these cloisters lie already buried Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath the flags On which we stand, the Abbot William lies, Of blessed memory. Prince Henry. And whose tomb is that Which bears the brass escutcheon 1 Abbot. A benefactor s, Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood Godfather to our bells. Prince Henry. Your monks are learned And holy men, I trust. Abbot. There are among them Learned and holy men. Yet in this age We need another Hildebrand, to shake And purify us like a mighty wind. The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder God does not lose his patience with it wholly, And shatter it like glass ! Even here, at times, Within these walls, where all should be at peace, I have my trials. Time has laid his hand Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, But as a harper lays his open palm Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations. Ashes are on my head, and on my lips Sackcloth, and in my breast a heaviness And weariness of life, that makes me ready To say to the dead Abbots under us, " Make room for me ! " Only I see the dusk Of evening twilight coming, and have not Completed half my task ; and so at times The thought of my shortcomings in this life Falls like a shadow on the life to come. Prince Henry. We must all die, and not the old alone ; The young have no exemption from that doom. Abbot. Ah, yes ! the young may die, but the old must ! That is the difference. Prince Henry. I have heard much laud Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium Is famous among all ; your manuscripts Praised for their beauty and their excel lence. Abbot. That is indeed our boast. If you desire it, You shall behold these treasures. And meanwhile Shall the Eefectorarius bestow Your horses and attendants for the night. (They go in. The Vesper-bell rings.) The Chapel. Vespers; after ivhich the monies retire, a chorister leading an old monk ivho is blind. gone, Prince Henry. They are all save one who lingers, Absorbed in deep and silent prayer. As if his heart could find no rest, At times he beats his heaving breast With clenched and convulsive fingers, Then lifts them trembling in the air. A chorister with golden hair Guides hitherward his heavy pace. Can it bo so ? Or does my sight Deceive me in the uncertain light ? Ah, no ! I recognise that face, Though Time has touched it in his flight, And changed the auburn hair to white. It is Count Hugo of the Rhine, The deadliest foe of all our race, And hateful unto me and mine ! The Blind Monk. Who is it that dotli stand so near, His whispered words I almost hear ? Prince Henry. I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine ! I know you, and I see the scar, The brand upon your forehead, shine And redden like a baleful star ! 3 r THE GOLDEN LEGEND. The Blind Monk. Count Hugo once, but now the wreck Of what I was. Hoheneck ! The passionate will, the pride, the wrath That bore me headlong on my path, Stumbled and staggered into fear, And failed me in my mad career, As a tired steed some evildoer, Alone upon a desolate moor, Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind, And hearing loud and close behind The o ertaking steps of his pursuer. Then suddenly from the dark there came A voice that called me by my name, And said to me, "Kneel down and pray !" And so my terror passed away, Passed utterly away for ever. Contrition, penitence, remorse, Came on me, with o erwhelming force ; A hope, a longing, an endeavor, By days of penance and nights of prayer, To frustrate and defeat despair ! Calm, deep, and still is now my heart, With tranquil waters overflowed ; A lake whose unseen fountains start, Where once the hot volcano glowed. And you, Prince of Hoheneck ! Have known me in that earlier time, A man of violence and crime, Whose passions brooked no curb nor check. B-ihold me now, in gentler niood, One of this holy brotherhood, Give me your hand ; here let me kneel ; Make your reproaches sharp as steel ; Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek ; No violence can harm the meek, There is no wound Christ cannot heal ! Yes ; lift your princely hand, and take Revenge, if tis revenge you seek ! Then pardon me, for Jesus sake ! Prince Htnry. Arise, Count Hugo ! let there be No farther strife nor enmity Between us twain ; we both have erred ! Too rash in act, too wroth in word, From the beginning have we stood In fierce, defiant attitude, Each thoughtless of the other s right, And each reliant on his might. But now our souls are more subdued ; The hand of God, and not in vain, Has touched us with the fire of pain. Let us kneel down, and side by side Pray, till our souls are purified, And pardon will not be denied ! (They kneel.} The Refectory. Gaudiolum of Monks at mid night. LUCIFER disguised as a Friar. Friar Paul (sings). Ave ! color vini clari, Dulcis potus, non amari, Tua nos inebriari Digneris potentia ! Friar Cuthbert. Not so much noise, my worthy freres, You 11 disturb the Abbot at his prayers. Friar Paul (sings). O ! quam placens in colore ! O ! quam fragrans in odore ! ! quam sapidum in ore ! Dulce linguae vinculum ! Friar Cuthbert. I should think your tongue had broken its chain. Friar Paul (sings). Felix venter quern intrabis ! Felix guttur quod rigabis ! Felix os quod tu lavabis ! Et beata labia ! Friar Cuthbert. Peace ! I say, peace ! Will you never cease ? You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell you again. Friar John. No danger ! to-night he will let us alone, As I happen to know he has guests of his own. Friar Cuthbert. Who are they 1 Friar John. A German Prince and his train, Who arrived here just before the rain. There is with him a damsel fair to see, As slender and graceful as a reed ! When she alighted from her steed, It seemed like ablossom blown from a tree. Friar Cuthbert. None of your pale- faced girls for me ! None of your damsels of high degree ! Friar John. Come, old fellow, drink down to your peg ! 5 But do not drink any farther, I Friar Paul (sings). In the days of gold, The days of old, Crosier of wood And bishop of gold ! Friar Cuthbert. What an infernal racket and riot ! Can you not drink your wine in quiet I Why fill the convent with such scandals, As if Ave were so many drunken Vandals ! Friar Paul (continues). Now we have changed That laAV so good, To crosier of gold And bishop of wood ! Friar Cuthbert. Well, then, since you are in the mood To give your noisy humors vent, Sing and howl to your hearts content ! (Chorus of Monks.} Funde vinum, funde ! Tanquam sint fluminis undae, Nee quaeras unde, Sed fundas semper abunde ! 396 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Friar John. What is the name of yonder friar, With an eye that glows like a coal of fire, And such a black mass of tangled hair 1 Friar Paul. He who is sitting there, With a rollicking, Devil-may-care, Free and easy look and air, As if he were used to such feasting and frolicking ? Friar John. The same. Friar Paul. He s a stranger. You had better ask his name, And where he is going, and whence he came. Friar John. Hallo ! Sir Friar ! Friar Paul. You must raise your voice a little higher ; He does not seem to hear what you say. Now, try again ! He is looking this way. Friar John. Hallo ! Sir Friar, We wish to inquire Whence you came, and where you are going, And anything else that is worth the knowing. So be so good as to open your head. Lucifer. I ani a Frenchman born and bred, Going on a pilgrimage to Eome. My home Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys, 6 Of which, very like, you never have heard. Monks. Never a word. Lucifer. You must know, then, it is in the diocese Called the diocese of Vannes, In the province of Brittany. From the gray rocks of Morbihan It overlooks the angry sea ; The very seashore where, In his great despair, Abbot Abelard walked to and fro, Filling the night with woe, And wailing aloud to the merciless seas The name of his sweet Heloise ! Whilst overhead The convent windows gleamed as red As the fiery eyes of the monks within, Who with jovial din Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin ! Ha ! that is a convent ! that is an abbey ! Over the doors None of your death-heads carved in wood, None of your Saints looking pious and good, None of your Patriarchs old and shabby ! But the heads and tusks of boars, And the cells Hung all round with the fells Of the fallow deer. And then what cheer ! What jolly, fat friars, Sitting round the great, roaring fires, Roaring louder than they, With their strong wines, And their concubines ; And never a bell, With its swagger and swell, Calling you up with a start of affright In the dead of night, To send you grumbling down dark stairs, To mumble your prayers. But the cheery crow Of cocks in the yard below, After daybreak an hour or so, And the barking of deep-mouthed hounds, These are the sounds That, instead of bells, salute the ear. And then all day Up and away Through the forest, hunting the deer ! Ah, my friends ! I m afraid that here You are a little too pious, a little too tame, And the more is the shame. Tis the greatest folly Not to be jolly ; That s what I think ! k Come, drink, drink, Drink, and die game. Monies. And your Abbot What s-his- name 1 Lucifer. Abelard ! Monks. Did he drink hard 1 Lucifer. Oh, no ! Not he ! He was a dry old fellow, Without juice enough to get thoroughly mellow. There he stood, Lowering at us in sullen mood, As if he had come into Brittany Just to reform our brotherhood ! (A roar of laughter.) But you see It never would do ! For some of us knew a thing or two, In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Ehuys ! Eor instance, the great ado With old Fulbert s niece, The young and lovely Heloise. Friar John. Stop there, if you please, Till we drink to the fair Heloise. A II (drinking and shouting.) Heloise ! Heloise ! (The Chapel-bell tolls.) Lucifer (starting). What is that bell for ? Are you such asses As to keep up the fashion of midnight masses 1 Friar Cuthbert. It is only a poor, unfortunate brother, 398 THK COMDEX LEGEND. Who is gifted with most miraculous powers Of getting up at all sorts of hours, And, by way of penance and Christian meekness, Of creeping silently out of his cell To take a pull at that hideous bell ; So that all the monks who are lying awake May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake, And adapted to his peculiar weakness ! Friar John. From frailty and fall A II Good Lord, deliver us all ! Friar Cuthbert. And before the bell for matins sounds, He takes his lantern, and goes the rounds, Flashing it into our sleepy eyes, Merely to say it is time to arise. But enough of that. Go on, if you please, With your story about St. Gildas de Ehuys. Lucifer. Well, it finally came to pass That, half in fun and half in malice, One Sunday at Mass We put some poison into the chalice. But, either by accident or design, Peter Abelard kept away From the chapel that day, And a poor young friar, who in his stead Drank the sacramental wine, Fell on the steps of the altar, dead ! But look ! do you see at the window there That face, with a look of grief and despair, That ghastly face, as of one in pain ? Monks. Who? where 1 Lucifer. As I spoke, it vanished away again. Friar Cuthbert. It is that nefarious Siebald the Eefectorarius. That fellow is always playing the scout, Creeping and peeping and prowling about ; And then he regales The Abbot with scandalous tales. Lucifer. A spy in the convent ? One of the brothers Telling scandalous tales of the others 1 Out upon him, the lazy loon ! I would put a stop to that pretty soon, In a way he should rue it. Monks. How shall we do it 1 Lucifer. Do you, Brother Paul, Creep under the window, close to the wall, And open it suddenly when I call. Then seize the villain by the hair, And hold him there, And punish him soundly, once for all. Friar Cuthbert. As St. Dunstan of old, We are told, Once caught the Devil by the nose ! Lucifer. Ha ! ha ! that story is very clever, But has no foundation whatsoever. Quick ! for I see his face again Glaring in at the window-pane : Now ! now ! and do not spare your blows. (FRIAR PAUL opeiis the windoio suddenly, and seizes SIEBALD. They beat him.) Friar Siebald. Help ! help ! are you going to slay me 1 Friar Paul. That will teach you again to betray me ! Friar Siebald. Mercy ! mercy ! Friar Paul (shouting and beating). Rumpas bellorum lorum, Vim confer amorum THE GOLDEN LEGEND. SOU Morum verorum ronini Tu plena polorum ! Lucifer. Who stands in the doorway yonder, Stretching out his trembling hand. Just as Abelard used to stand, The flash of his keen black eyes Forerunning the thunder ? The Honks (in confusion). The Abbot ! the Abbot ! Friar Cuthbert. And what is the wonder ? He seems to have taken you by surprise. Friar Francis. Hide the great flagon From the eyes of the dragon ! Friar Cuthbert. Pull the brown hood over your face ! This will bring us into disgrace ! Abbot. What means this revel and carouse 1 Is this a tavern and driiiking-house 1 Are you Christian monks, or heathen- devils, To pollute this convent with your revels? Were Peter Damian still upon earth, To be shocked by such ungodly mirth, He would write your names, with pen of gall, In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all ! Away, you drunkards ! to your cells, And pray till you hear the matin-bells ; You, Brother Francis, and you, Brother Paul! And as a penance mark each prayer With the scourge upon your shoulders bare : Nothing atones for such a sin But the blood that follows the discipline. And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with me Alone into the sacristy ; Yon, who should be a guide to your brothers, And are ten times worse than all the others, For you I ve a draught that has long been brewing, You shall do a penance worth the doing. Away to your prayers, then, one and all ! I wonder the very convent wall Does not crumble and crush you in its fall! The neighbouring Nunnery. The ABBESS IKMINGARD sitting with ELSIE in the moon light. Irmingard. The night is silent, the wind is still, The moon is looking from yonder hill Down upon convent, and grove, and garden ; The clouds have passed away from her face, Leaving behind them no sorrowful trace, Only the tender and quiet grace Of one, whose heart has been healed with pardon ! And such am I. My soul within Was dark with passion and soiled with sin, But now its wounds are healed again ; Gone are the anguish, the terror, and pain ; For across that desolate land of woe, O er whose burning sands I was forced to go, A wind from heaven began to blow ; And all my being trembled and shook, As the leaves of the tree, or the grass of the field, And I was healed, as the sick are healed, When fanned by the leaves of the Holy Book! 400 THE GULDEN LEGEND. As thou sittest in the moonlight there, Its glory flooding thy golden hair, And the only darkness that which lies In the haunted chambers of thine eyes, I feel my soul drawn unto thee, Strangely, and strongly, and more and more, As to one I have known and loved before ; For every soul is akin to me That dwells in the land of mystery ! I am the Lady Irmingard, Born of a noble race and name ! Many a wandering Suabian bard, Whose life was dreary, and bleak, and hard, Has found through me the way to fame. Brief and bright were those days, and the night "Which followed was full of a lurid light. Love, that of every woman s heart Will have the whole, and not a part, That is to her, in Nature s plan, More than ambition is to man. Her light, her life, her very breath, With no alternative but death, Found me a maiden soft and young, Just from the convent s cloistered school, And seated on my lowly stool, Attentive while the minstrels sung. Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall, Fairest, noblest, best of all, Was Walter of the Yogelweide ; And, whatsoever may betide, Still I think of him with pride ! His song was of the summer-time, The very birds sang in his rhyme ; The sunshine, the delicious air, The fragrance of the flowers, were there ; And I grew restless as I heard, Eestless and buoyant as a bird, Down soft aerial current? sailing, O er blossomed orchards, and fields in bloom, And through the momentary gloom Of shadows o er the landscape trailing, Yielding and borne I knew not where, But feeling resistance unavailing. And thus, unnoticed and apart, And more by accident than choice, I listened to that single voice Until the chambers of my heart Were filled with it by night and day. One night, it was a night in May, Within the garden unawares, Under the blossoms in the gloom, I heard it utter my own name With protestations and wild prayers ; And it rang through me, and became Like the archangel s trump of doom, Which the soul hears, and must obey ; And mine arose as from a tomb. My former life now seemed to me Such as hereafter death may be, When in the great Eternity We shall awake and find it day. It was a dream, and would not stay ; A dream, that in a single night Faded and vanished out of sight. My father s anger followed fast. This passion, as a freshening blast Seeks out and fans the lire, whose rage It may increase, but not assuage. And he exclaimed : " No wandering bard Shall win thy hand, Irmingard ! For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck By messenger and letter sues." Gently, but firmly, I replied : " Henry of Hoheneck I discard ! Never the hand of Irmingard Shall lie in his as the hand of a bride !" This said I, Walter, for thy sake ; This said I, for I could not choose. After a pause, my father spake In that cold and deliberate tone Which turns the hearer into stone, And seems itself the act to be That follows with such dread certainty ; "This, or the cloister and the veil !" No other words than these he said. But they were like a funeral wail ; My life was ended, my heart was dead. That night from the castle-gate went down, With silent, slow, and stealthy pace, Two shadows,, mounted on shadowy steeds, Taking the narrow path that leads Into the forest dense and brown. In the leafy darkness of the place, One could not distinguish form nor face, Only a bulk without a shape, A darker shadow in the shade ; Once scarce could say it moved or stayed. Thus it was we made our escape ! A foaming brook, with many a bound, Followed us like a playful hound ; Then leaped before us, and in the hollow, Paused, and waited for us to follow, And seemed impatient, and afraid, That our tardy flight should be betrayed By the sound our horses hoof-beats made. And when we reached the plain below, We paused a moment and drew rein To look back at the castle again ; And we saw the windows all aglow With lights, that were passing to and fro ; Our hearts with terror ceased to beat ; The brook crept silent to our feet ; We knew what most we feared to know. Then suddenly horns began to blow ; And we heard a shout and a heavy tramp, 3 F 402 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. And our horses snorted in the damp Night- air of the meadows green and wide, And in a moment, side by side, So close, they must have seemed but one, The shadows across the moonlight run, And another came and swept behind, Like the shadow of clouds before the wind ! How I remember that breathless flight Across the moors, in the summer night ! How under our feet the long white road Backward like a river flowed, Sweeping with it fences and hedges ! Whilst farther away, and overhead, Paler than I, with fear and dread, The moon fled with us, as we fled Along the forest s jagged edges ! All this I can remember well ; But of what afterwards befell I nothing further can recall Than a blind, desperate, headlong fall ; The rest is a blank and darkness all. When I awoke out of this swoon, The sun was shining, not the moon, Making a cross upon the wall With the bars of my windows narrow and tall ; And I prayed to it, as I had been wont to pray From early childhood, day by day, Each morning, as in bed I lay ! I was lying again in my own room ! And I thanked God, in my fever and pain, That those shadows on the midnight plain Were gone, and could not come again ! I struggled no longer with my doom ! This happened many years ago. I left my father s home to come- Like Catherine to her martyrdom, For blindly I esteemed it so. And when I heard the convent-door Behind me close, to ope no more, I felt it smite me like a blow. Through all my limbs a shudder ran, And on my bruised spirit fell The dampness of my narrow cell As night-air on a wounded man, Giving intolerable pain. But now a better life began. I felt the agony decrease By slow degrees, then wholly cease, Ending in perfect rest and peace ! It was not apathy, nor dulness, That weighed and pressed upon my brain, But the same passion I had given To earth before, now turned to heaven With all its overflowing fulness. Alas ! the world is full of peril ! The path that runs through the fairest meads, On the sunniest side of the valley, leads Into a region bleak and sterile ! Alike in the high-born and the lowly, The will is feeble and passion strong. We cannot sever right from wrong ; Some falsehood mingles with all truth ; Nor is it strange the heart of youth Should waver and comprehend but slowly The things that are holy and unholy ! But in this sacred and calm retreat, We are all well and safely shielded From winds that blow, and waves that beat, From the cold, and rain, and blighting heat, To which the strongest hearts have yielded. Here we stand as the Virgins Seven, For our celestial Bridegroom yearning : THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 403 Our hearts are lamps for ever burning, With a steady and unwavering flame, Pointing upward, for ever the same, Steadily upward toward the Heaven ! The moon is hidden behind a cloud ; A sudden darkness fills the room, And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom, Shine like jewels in a shroud. On the leaves is a sound of falling rain ; A bird, awakened in its nest, Gives a faint twitter of unrest, Then smooths its plumes and sleeps again. No other sounds than these I hear ; The hour of midnight must be near. Thou art o erspent with the day s fatigue Of riding many a dusty league \ Sink, then, gently to thy slumber ; Me so many cares encumber, So many ghosts, and forms of fright, Have started from their graves to-night, They have driven sleep from mine eyes away : I will go down to the chapel and pray. Y. A covered Bridge at Lucerne. Prince Henry. God s blessing on the architects who build The bridges o er swift rivers and abysses Before impassable to human feet, No less than on the builders of cathedrals, Whose massive walls are bridges thrown across The dark and terrible abyss of Death. Well has the name of Pontifex been given Unto the Church s head, as the chief builder And architect of the invisible bridge That leads from earth to heaven. Elsie. How dark it grows ! What are these paintings on the walls around us ? Prince Henry. The Dance Macaber ! Elsie. What? Prince Henry. The Dance of Death ! All that go to and fro must look upon it, Mindful of what they shall be, while beneath, Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river Rushes, impetuous as the river of life, With dimpling eddies, ever green and bright, Save where the shadow of this bridge falls on it. Elsie. yes ! I see it now ! Prince Henry. The grim musician Leads all men through the mazes of that dance, To different sounds in different measures moving ; Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a To tempt or terrify. [drum, Elsie. What is this picture ? Prince Henry. It is a young man singing to a nun, Who kneels at her devotions, but in kneeling Turns round to look at him ; and Death, meanwhile, Is putting out the candles on the altar 1 Elsie. Ah ! what a pity tis that she should listen Unto such songs, when in her orisons She might have heard in heaven the angels singing. Prince Henry. Here he lias stolen a jester s cap and bells, And dances with the Queen. Elsie. A foolish jest ! Prince Henry. And here the heart of the neAV-wedded wife, [lord, Coming from church with her beloved He startles with the rattle of his drum. 404 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Elsie. Ah, that is sad ! And yet perhaps tis best That she should die, with all the sun shine on her, And all the benedictions of the morning, Before this affluence of golden light Shall fade into a cold and clouded gray, Then into darkness ! Prince Henry. Under it is written, " Nothing but death shall separate thee and me ! " Elsie. And what is this, that follows close upon it 1 Prince Henry. Death playing on a dulcimer. Behind him, A poor old woman, with a rosary, Follows the sound, and seems to wish her feet Were swifter to overtake him. Under neath, The inscription reads, " Better is Death than Life." Elsie. Better is Death than Life ! Ah, yes ! to thousands Death plays upon a dulcimer, and sings That song of consolation, till the air Kings with it, and they cannot choose but follow Whither he leads. And nottheold alone, But the young also hear it, and are still. Prince Henri/. Yes, in their sadder moments. Tis the sound Of their own hearts they hear, half full of tears, Which are like crystal cups, half filled with water, Responding to the pressure of a finger With music sweet, and low, and melan choly. Let us go forward, and no longer stay In this great picture-gallery of Death ! I hate it ! ay, the very thought of it ! Elsie. Why is it hateful to you 1 Prince Henry. For the reason That life, and all that speaks of life, is lovely, And death, and all that speaks of death^ is hateful. Elsie. The grave itself is but a covered bridge, Leading from light to light, through a brief darkness ! Prince Henry (emerging from the bridge). I breathe again more freely ! Ah, how pleasant To come once more into the light of day, Out of that shadow of death ! to hear again The hoof-beats of our horses on firm ground, And not upon those hollow planks, resounding With a sepulchral echo, like the clods On coffins in a churchyard ! Yonder lies The Lake of the Four Forest Towns, apparelled In light, and lingering, like a village maiden, Hid in the bosom of her native mountains, Then pouring all her life into another s, Changing her name and being ! Over head, Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in air, Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines. (They pass on.) The Devil s Bridge. PHINCE HENRY and ELSIE crossing, ivith attendants. Guide. This bridge is called the Devil s Bridge. With a single arch, from ridge to ridge, It leaps across the terrible chasni Yawning beneath us, black and deep, As if, in some convulsive spasm, THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 405 The summits of the hills had cracked, And made a road for the cataract, That raves and rages down the steep ! Lucifer (under the bridge). Ha ! ha ! Guide. Never any bridge but this Could stand across the wild abyss ; All the rest, of wood or stone, By the Devil s hand were overthrown. He toppled crags from the precipice, And whatsoe er was built by day, Tn the night ;vvas swept away ; None could stand but this alone. Lucifer (under the bridge). Ha ! ha ! Guide. I showed you in the valley a boulder Marked with the imprint of his shoulder; As he was bearing it up this way, A peasant, passing, cried, " Herr Je ! " And the devil dropped it in his fright, And vanished suddenly out of sight ! Lucifer (under the bridge}. Ha ! ha ! Guide. Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel, For pilgrims on their way to Rome, Built this at last, with a single arch, Under which, on its endless march, Runs the river, white with foam, Like a thread through the eye of a needle. And the Devil promised to let it stand, Under compact and condition That the first living thing which crossed Should be surrendered into his hand, And be beyond redemption lost. Lucifer (under the bridge), Ha ! ha ! perdition ! Guide. At length, the bridge being all completed, The Abbot, standing at its head, Threw across it a loaf of bread, Which a hungry dog sprang after, And the rocks re-echoed with peals of laughter To see the Devil thus defeated ! (They pass on.) Lucifer (under the bridge). Ha ! ha ! defeated ! For journeys and for crimes like this, I let the bridge stand o er the abyss ! The St. Gotliard Pass. Prince Henry. This is the highest point. Two ways the rivers Leap down to different seas, and as they roll Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence Becomes a benefaction to the towns They visit, wandering silently among them, Like patriarchs old among their shining tents. Elsie, How bleak and bare it is ! Nothing but mosses Grow on these rocks. Prince Henry. Yet are they not forgotten ; Beneficent Nature sends the mists to feed them. Elsie. See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away Over the snowy peaks ! It seems to me The body of St. Catherine, borne by angels ! Prince Henry. Thou art St. Cathe rine, and invisible angels Bear thee across these chasms and precipices Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet against a stone. Elsie. Would I were borne unto my grave, as she was, Upon angelic shoulders ! Even now I seem uplifted by them, light as air ! AVhat sound is that ? 406 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Prince Henry. The tumbling avalanches ! Elsie. How awful, yet how beautiful ! Prince Henry. These are The voices of the mountains ! Thus they ope Their snowy lips, and speak unto each other, In the primeval language, lost to man. Elsie. What land is this that spreads itself beneath us 1 Prince Henry. Italy! Italy! Elsie, Land of the Madonna ! How beautiful it is ! It seems a garden Of Paradise ! Prince Henry. Kay, of Gethsemane To thee and me, of passion and of prayer ! Yet once of Paradise. Long years ago I wandered as a youth among its bowers, And never from my heart has faded quite Its memory, that, like a summer sunset, Encircles with a ring of purple light All the horizon of my youth ! Guide. friends ! The days are short, the way before us long; We must not linger, if we think to reach The inn at Belinzona before vespers ! (They pass on.) At the foot of the Alps. A halt under the trees at noon. Prince Henry. Here let us pause a moment in the trembling Shadow and sunshine of the road-side trees, And, our tired horses in a group assem bling, Inhale long draughts of this delicious breeze. Our fleeter steeds have distanced our attendants ; They lag behind us with a slower pace ; We will await them under the green pendants Of the great willows in this shady place. Ho, Barbarossa ! how thy mottled haunches Sweat with this canter over hill and glade ! Stand still, and let these overhanging branches Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee with shade ! Elsie. What a delightful landscape spreads before us, Marked with a whitewashed cottage here and there ! And, in luxuriant garlands drooping o er us, Blossoms of grape-vines scent the sunny air. Prince Henry. Hark ! what sweet sounds are those, whose accents holy Fill the warm noon with music sad and sweet *? Elsie. It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly On their long journey, with uncovered feet. Pilgrims (chanting the Hymn of St. Hildebert.) Me receptet Sion ilia, Sion David, urbs tranquil la, Cujus faber auctor lucis, Cujus porta3 lignum crucis, Cujus claves lingua Petri, Cujus cives semper Iseti, Cujus muri lapis vivus, Cnjus custos Eex festivus ! Lucifer (as a Friar in the procession). Here am I, too, in the pious band, In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite dressed ! THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 407 The soles of my feet are as hard and tanned As the conscience of old Pope Hilde- brand, The Holy Satan, who made the wives Of the bishops lead such shameful lives. All day long I beat my breast, And chant with a most particular zest The Latin hymns, which I understand Quite as well, I think, as the rest. And at night such lodgings in barns and sheds, Such a hurly-burly in country inns, Such a clatter of tongues in empty heads, Such a helter- skelter of prayers and sins ! Of all the contrivances of the time For sowing broadcast the seeds of crime, There is none so pleasing to me and mine Asa pilgrimage to some far-olf shrine ! Prince Henry. If from the outward man we judge the inner, And cleanliness is godliness, I fear A hopeless reprobate, a hardened sinner, Must be that Carmelite now passing near. Lucifer. There is my German Prince again, Thus far on his journey to Salern, And the lovesick girl, whose heated brain Is sowing the cloud to reap the rain ; But it s a long road that has no turn ! Let them quietly hold their way, I have also a part in the play. But first I must act to my heart s content This mummery and this merriment, And drive this motley flock of sheep Into the fold where drink and sleep The jolly old friars of Benevent. Of a truth, it often provokes me to laugh To see these beggars hobble along, Lamed and maimed, and fed upon chaff, Chanting their wonderful piff and paff, And, to make up for not understanding the song, Singing it fiercely, and wild, and strong ! Were it not for my magic garters and staff, 7 And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff, And the mischief I make in the idle throng, I should not continue the business long. Pilgrims (chanting). In hac urbe, lux solennis, Ver aeternum, pax perennis ; In hac odor implens cselos, In hac semper festum melos ! Prince Henry. Do you observe that monk among the train, Who pours from his great throat the roaring bass, As a cathedral spout pours out the rain, And this way turns his rubicund round face ? Elsie. It is the same who, on the Strasburg square, Preached to the people in the open air. Prince Henry. And he has crossed o er mountain, field, and fell, On that good steed, that seems to bear him well, The hackney of the Friars of Orders Gray, His own stout legs ! He, too, was in the play, Both as King Herod and Ben Israel. Good morrow, Friar ! Friar Cuthbert. Good morrow, noble Sir! Prince Henry. I speak in German ; for, unless I err, You are a German. Friar CutJibert. I cannot gainsay you. 408 THE (iOLDEX I, EG EN I). But by what instinct, or what secret sign, Meeting me here, do you straightway divine That northward of the Alps my country lies 1 Prince Henry. Your accent, like St. Peter s, would betray you, Did not your yellow beard and your blue eyes. Moreover, we have seen your face before, And heard you preach at the Cathedral- door On Easter Sunday, in the Strasburg square. We were among the crowd that gathered there, And saw you play the Kabbi with great skill, As if by leaning o er, so many years > To walk with little children, your own will Had caught a childish attitude from theirs, A kind of stooping in its form and gait, And could no longer stand erect and straight. Whence come you now "? Friar Cuthbert. From the old monastery Of Hirschau, in the forest ; being sent Upon a pilgrimage to Benevent, To see the image of the Virgin Mary, That moves its holy eyes, and sometimes speaks, And lets the piteous tears run down its cheeks, To touch the heart of the impenitent. Prince Henry. 0, had I faith, as in the days gone by That knew no doubt, and feared no mystery ! Lucifer (at a distance). Ho, Cutlibert ! Friar Cutlibert ! Friar Cuthbert. Farewell, Prince ! I cannot stay to argue and convince. Prince Henry. This is indeed the blessed Mary s land, Virgin and Mother of our dear Re deemer ! All hearts are touched and softened at her name ; Alike the bandit with the bloody hand, The priest, the prince, the scholar, and the peasant, The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer, Pay homage to her as one ever present ! And even as children, who have much offended A too indulgent father, in great shame, Penitent, and yet not daring unattended To go into his presence, at the gate Speak with their sister, and coniiding wait Till she goes in before and intercedes ; So men, repenting of their evil deeds, And yet not venturing rashly to draw near With their requests an angry Father s ear, Offer to her their prayers and their confession, And she for them in heaven makes intercession. And if our faith had given us nothing more Than this example of all womanhood, So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good, So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure, This were enough to prove it high<>r and truer Than all the creeds the world had known before. Pilgrims (chanting afar o/). Urbs ccelestis, urbs beata, Supra petram collocata, THK GOLDEN LEGEND. 409 Urbs in portu satis tuto De longinquo te saluto, Te saluto, te suspiro, Te affecto, te require ! The Inn at Genoa. A terrace overlooking the sea. Night. Prince Henry, It is the sea, it is the sea, In all its vague immensity, Fading and darkening in the distance ! Silent, majestical, and slow, The white ships haunt it to and fro, With all their ghostly sails unfurled, As phantoms from another world Haunt the dim confines of existence ! But ah ! how few can comprehend Their signals, or to what good end Prom land to land they come and go ! Upon a sea more vast and dark The spirits of the dead embark, All voyaging to unknown coasts. We wave our farewells from the shore, And they depart and come no more, Or come as phantoms and as ghosts. Above the darksome sea of death Looms the great life that is to be, A land of cloud and mystery, A dim mirage, with shapes of men Long dead, and passed ^beyond our ken. Awestruck we gaze, and bold our breath Till the fair pageant vanisheth, Leaving us in perplexity, And doubtful whether it has been A vision of the world unseen, Or a bright image of our own Against the sky in vapors thrown. Lucifer (singing from the sea). Thou didst not make it, thou canst not mend it, But thou hast the power to end it ! The sea is silent, the sea is discreet Deep it lies at thy very feet ! There is no confessor like unto Death ! Thou canst not see him, but he is near ; Thou needest not whisper above thy breath, And he will hear ! He will answer the questions, The vague surmises and suggestions, That fill thy soul with doubt and fear ! Prince Henry. The fisherman, who lies afloat, With shadowy sail, in yonder boat, Is singing softly to the night ! But do I comprehend aright The meaning of the words he sung So sweetly in his native tongue 1 Ah, yes ! the sea is still and deep ; All things within its bosom sleep ! A single step and all is o er ; A plunge, a bubble, and no more ; And thou, dear Elsie, wilt be free From martyrdom and agony. Elsie (coming from her chamber upon the terrace). The night is calm and cloudless, And still as still -can be, And the stars come forth to listen To the music of the sea. They gather, and gather, and gather, Until they crowd the sky, And listen in breathless silence To the solemn litany. It begins in rocky caverns, As a voice that chants alone To the pedals of the organ In monotonous undertone ; And anon from shelving beaches And shallow sands beyond, In snow-white robes uprising The ghostly choirs respond. And sadly and unceasing The mournful voice sings on, * 3 o 410 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. And the snow-white choirs still answer Christe eleison ! Prince Henry. Angel of God ! thy finer sense perceives Celestial and perpetual harmonies ! Thy purer soul, that trembles and be lieves, Hears the archangel s trumpet in the breeze, And where the forest rolls, or ocean heaves, Cecilia s organ sounding in the seas, And tongues of prophets speaking in the leaves. But I heard discord only and despair, And whispers as of demons in the air ! At Sea. II Padrone. The wind upon our quarter lies, And on before the freshening gale, That fills the snow-white lateen sail, Swiftly our light felucca flies. Around, the billows burst and foam ; They lift her o er the sunken rock, They beat her sides with many a shock, And then upon their flowing dome They poise her, like a weathercock ! Between us and the western skies The hills of Corsica arise ; Eastward, in yonder long blue line, The summits of the Apennine, And southward, and still far away, Salerno, on its sunny bay. You cannot see it, where it lies. Prince Henry. Ah, would that never more mine eyes Might see its towers by night or day ! Elsie. Behind us, dark and awfully, There comes a cloud out of the sea, That bears the form of a hunted deer, With hide of brown, and hoofs of black, And antlers laid upon its back, And fleeting fast and wild with fear, As if the hounds were on its track ! Prince Henry. Lo ! while we gaze, it breaks and falls In shapeless masses, like the walls Of a burnt city. Broad and red The fires of the descending sun Glare through the windows, and o erhead, Athwart the vapors, dense and dun, Long shafts of silvery light arise, Like rafters that support the skies ! Elsie. See ! from its summit the lurid levin Flashes downward without warning, As Lucifer, son of the morning, Fell from the battlements of heaven ! 11 Padrone. I must entreat you, friends, below ! The angry storm begins to blow, For the weather changes with the moon. All this morning, until noon, We had baffling winds, and sudden flaws Struck the sea with their cat s-paws. Only a little hour ago I was whistling to Saint Antonio For a capful of wind to fill our sail, And instead of a breeze he has sent a gale. Last night I saw Saint Elmo s stars,* With their glimmering lanterns, all at play On the tops of the masts and the tips of the spars, And I knew we should have foul weather to-day. Cheerly, my hearties ! yo heave ho ! Brail up the mainsail and let her go As the winds will and Saint Antonio ! * So the Italian sailors call the phosphorescent gleams that sometimes play about the masts and rigging of ships. THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 411 Do you see that Livoruese felucca, That vessel to the windward yonder, Kunning with her gunwale under 1 I was looking when the wind o ertook her. She had all sail set, and the only wonder Is, that at once the strength of the blast Did not carry away her mast. She is a galley of the Gran Duca, That, through the fear of the Algerines, Convoys those lazy brigantines, Laden with wine and oil from Lucca. Now all is ready, high and low ; Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio ! Ha ! that is the first dash of the rain, With a sprinkle of spray above the rails, Just enough to moisten our sails, And make them ready for the strain. See how she leaps, as the blasts o ertake her, And speeds away with a bone in her mouth ! Now keep her head towards the south, And there is no danger of bank or breaker. With the breeze behind us, on we go , Not too much, good Saint Antonio ! VI. The School of Salerno.* A travelling Scholastic affixing Ms Theses to the gate of the College. Scholastic. There, that is my gauntlet, my banner, my shield, Hung up as a challenge to all the field ! One hundred and twenty-five proposi tions, Which I will maintain with the sword of the tongue Against all disputants, old and young. Let us see if doctors or dialecticians Will dare to dispute my definitions, Or attack any one of my learned theses. Here stand I ; the end shall be as God pleases. I think I have proved, by profound researches, The error of all those doctrines so vicious Of the old A.reopagite Dionysius, That are making such terrible work in the churches, By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East, And done into Latin by that Scottish beast Erigena Johannes, who dares to main tain, In the face of the truth, the error in fernal, That the universe is and must be eter nal ; At first laying down, as a fact funda mental, That nothing with God can be accidental ; Then asserting that God before the crea tion Could not have existed, because it is plain That, had he existed, he would have created ; Which is begging the question that should be debated, And moveth me less to anger than laughter. All nature, he holds, is a respiration Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing- hereafter, Will inhale it into his bosom again, * For a history of the celebrated schools of Salerno and Monte-Cassino, the reader is referred to Sir Alexander Croke s Introduction to the Regimen Sanitatis Salertiitanum ; and to Karl Sprengel s GescJiichte der Arzeneikunde, i. 463, or Jourdan s French translation of it, Histoire de la Medecine, ii. 354. So that nothing but God alone will remain. And therein he contradicteth himself; JFor he opens the whole discussion by stating, That God can only exist in creating. That question, I think, I have laid on the shelf ! (He goes out. Two Doctors come in disputing, and followed by pupils. ) Doctor Seraf.no. I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain, That a word which is only conceived in the brain Is a type of eternal Generation ; The spoken word is the Incarnation. Doctor Cherubino. What do I care for the Doctor Seraphic, AVith all his wordy chaffer and traffic 1 Doctor Serafino. You make but a paltry show of resistance ; Universals have no real existence ! Doctor Cherubino. Your words are but idle and empty chatter ; Ideas are eternally joined to matter ! Doctor Serafino. May the Lord have mercy on your position, You wretched, wrangling culler of herbs ! Doctor Cherubino. May he send your soul to eternal perdition, For your Treatise on the Irregular Verbs ! ( They rusk out fighting. Two Scholars come in. ) First Scholar. Monte Cassino, then, is your College. What think you of ours here at Salern ? Second Scholar. To tell the truth, I arrived so lately, I hardly yet have had time to discern. So much, at least, I am bound to ac knowledge, The air seems healthy, the buildings stately, And on the whole I like it greatly. First Scholar. Yes, the air is sweet ; the Calabrian hills Send us down puffs of mountain air ; And in summer-time the sea-breeze fills With its coolness cloister, and court, and square. THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 413 Then at every season of the year There are crowds of guests and travellers here ; Pilgrims, and mendicant friars, and traders From the Levant, with figs and wine, .And bands of wounded and sick Cru saders, Coming back from Palestine. Second Scholar. And what are the studies you pursue ? What is the course you here go through? First Scholar. The first three years of the college course Are given to logic alone, as the source Of all that is noble, and wise, and true. Second Scholar. That seems rather strange, I must confess, In a Medical School : yet, nevertheless, You doubtless have reasons for that. First Scholar. yes ! For none but a clever dialectician Can hope to become a great physician : That has been settled long ago. Logic makes an important part Of the mystery of the healing art ; For without it how could you hope to show That nobody knows so much as you know ? After this there are five years more Devoted wholly to medicine, With lectures on chirurgical lore, And dissections of the bodies of swine, As likest the human form divine. Second Scholar. What are the books now most in vogue ? First Scholar. Quite an extensive catalogue ; Mostly, however, books of our own : As Gariopontus Passionarius, And the writings of Matthew Platearius ; And a volume universally known As the Kegimen of the School of Salern, For Robert of Normandy written in terse And very elegant Latin verse. Each of these writings has its turn. And when at length we have finished these, Then comes the struggle for degrees, With all the oldest and ablest critics ; The public thesis and disputation, Question and answer, and explanation Of a passage out of Hippocrates, Or Aristotle s Analytics. There the triumphant Magister stands ! A book is solemnly placed in his hands, On which he swears to follow the rule And ancient forms of the good old School ; To report if any confectionarius Mingles his drugs with matters various, And to visit his patients twice a day, And once in the night, if they live in town, And if they are poor, to take no pay. Having faithfully promised these, His head is crowned with a laurel crown ; A kiss on his cheek, a ring on his hand, The Magister Artium et Physices Goes forth from the school like a lord of the land. And now, as we have the whole morning before us, Let us go in, if you make no objection, And listen awhile to a learned prelection On Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus. (They go in. Enter LUCIFER as a doctor.) Lucifer. This is the great School of Salern ! A land of wrangling and of quarrels, Of brains that seethe and hearts that burn, Where every emulous scholar hears, 414 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. In every breath that comes to his ears, The rustling of another s laurels ! The air of the place is called salubrious ; The neighborhood of Vesuvius lends it An odor volcanic, that rather mends it, And the buildings have an aspect lugu brious, That inspires a feeling of awe and terror Into the heart of the beholder, And befits such an ancient homestead of error, Where the old falsehoods moulder and smoulder, And yearly by many hundred hands Are carried away in the zeal of youth, And sown like tares in the field of truth, To blossom and ripen in other lands. What have we here, affixed to the gate 1 ? The challenge of some scholastic wight, Who wishes to hold a public debate On sundry questions wrong or right ! Ah, now this is my great delight ! For I have often observed of late That such discussions end in a fight. Let us see what the learned wag main tains With such a prodigal waste of brains. (Reads.) " Whether angels in moving from place to place Pass through the intermediate space. Whether God himself is the author of evil, Or whether that is the work of the Devil. When, where, and wherefore Lucifer fell, And whether he now is chained in hell." I think I can answer that question well ! So long as the boastful human mind Consents in such mills as this to grind, I sit very firmly upon my throne ! Of a truth, it almost makes me laugh, To see men leaving the golden grain To gather in piles the pitiful chaff That old Peter Lombard thrashed with his brain, To have it caught up and tossed again On the horns of the Dumb Ox of Cologne ! But my guests approach ! there is in the air A fragrance, like that of the Beautiful Garden Of Paradise, in the days that were ! An odor of innocence, and of prayer, And of love, and faith that never fails, Such as the fresh young heart exhales Before it begins to wither and harden ! I cannot breathe such an atmosphere ! My soul is filled with a nameless fear, That, after all my trouble and pain, After all my restless endeavor, The youngest, fairest soul of the twain, The most ethereal, most divine, Will escape from my hands for ever and ever. But the other is already mine ! Let him live to corrupt his race, Breathing among them, with every breath, Weakness, selfishness, and the base And pusillanimous fear of death. I know his nature, and I know That of all who in my ministry Wander the great earth to and fro, And on my errands come and go, The safest and subtlest are such as he. (Enter PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE, with attendants.) Prince Henry. Can you direct us to Friar Angelo 1 Lucifer. He stands before you. THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 415 Prince Henry. Then you know our purpose. lam Prince Henry of Hoheneck, and this The maiden that I spake of in my letters. Lucifer. It is a very grave and solemn business ! We must not be precipitate. Does she Without compulsion, of her own free will, Consent to this 1 Prince Henry. Against all opposition, Against all prayers, entreaties, protesta tions, She will not be persuaded. Lucifer. That is strange ! Have you thought well of it ? Elsie. I come not here To argue, but to die. Your business is not To question, but to kill me. I am ready. I am impatient to be gone from here Ere any thoughts of earth disturb again The spirit of tranquillity within me. Prince Henry. Would I had nob come here ! Would I were dead, And thou wert in thy cottage in the forest, And hadst not known me ! Why have I done this ? Let me go back and die. Elsie. It cannot be : Not if these cold flat stones on which we tread Were coulters heated white, and yonder gateway Flamed like a furnace with a sevenfold heat. I must fulfil my purpose. Prince Henry. I forbid it ! Not one step farther. For I only meant To put thus far thy courage to the proof. It is enough. I, too, have courage to die, For thou hast taught me ! Elsie. my Prince ! remember Your promises. Let me fulfil my errand. You do not look on life and death as I do. There are two angels, that attend unseen Each one of us, and in great books record Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down The good ones, after every action closes His volume, and ascends with it to God. The other keeps his dreadful day-book open Till sunset, that we may repent ; which doing, The record of the action fades away, And leaves aline of white across the page. Now if my act be good, as I believe, It cannot be recalled. It is already Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed accomplished. The rest is yours. Why wait you? I am ready. (To her attendants.} Weep not, my friends ! rather rejoice with me. I shall not feel the pain, but shall be gone, And you will have another friend in heaven. Then start not at the creaking of the door Through which I pass. I see what lies beyond it. (To PHINCE HENRY.) And you, Prince ! bear back my benison Unto my father s house, and all within it. This morning in the church I prayed for them, After confession, after absolution, When my whole soul was white I prayed for them. God will take care of them, they need me not. And in your life let my remembrance linger, 410 THE (JOU)KX LKUENI). As something not to trouble and dis turb it, But to complete it, adding life to life. And if at times beside the evening fire You see my face among the other faces, Let it not be regarded as a ghost That haunts your house, but as a guest that loves you ; Nay, even as one of your own family, Without whose presence there were something wanting. I have no more to say. Let us go in. Prince Henry. Friar Angelo ! I charge you on your life, Believe not what she says, for she is mad, And comes here not to die, but to be healed. ; Elsie. Alas ! Prince Henry ! Lucifer. Come with me ; this way. (ELSIE goes in with LUCIFER, who thrusts PRINCE HENRY back and closes the door. ) Prince Henry. Gone ! and the light of all my life gone with her. A sudden darkness falls upon the world ! Oh, what a vile and abject thing am I, That purchase length of days at such a cost! Not by her death alone, but by the death Of all that s good, and true, and noble in me ! All manhood, excellence, and self-respect, All love, and faith, and hope, and heart, are dead ! All my divine nobility of nature By this one act is forfeited for ever. I am a Prince in nothing but in name ! (To the attendants.) Why did you let this horrible deed be done 1 Why did you not lay hold on her, and keep her From self-destruction ? Angelo ! mur derer ! (Struggles at the door, but cannot open it. ) Elsie (within). Farewell, dear Prince ! farewell ! Prince Henry. Unbar the door ! Lucifer. It is too late ! Prince Henry. It shall not be too late ! (They burst the door open and rush in.) The Cottage in the Odenwald. URSULA spinning. Summer afternoon. A table spread. Ursula. I have marked it well, it must be true, Death never takes one alone, but two ! Whenever he enters in at a door, L T nder roof of gold or roof of thatch, He always leaves it upon the latch, And conies again ere the year is o er. Never one of a household only ! Perhaps it is a mercy of God, Lest the dead there under the sod, In the land of strangers should be lonely ! Ah me ! I think I am lonelier here ! It is harder to go, but harder to stay ! Were it not for the children, I should pray That Death would take me within the year ! And Gottlieb ! he is at work all day, In the sunny field, or the forest murk, But I know that his thoughts are far away, I know that his heart is not in his work ! And when he comes home to me at night He is not cheery, but sits and sighs, And I see the great tears in his eyes, And try to be cheerful for his sake. Only the children s hearts are light, Mine is weary and ready to break. God help us ! I hope we have done right ; We thought we were acting for the best. (Looking through the open door.} Who is it coming under the trees ? A man, in the Prince s livery dressed ! He looks about him with doubtful face, As if uncertain of the 1 place. He stops at the beehives !- now he sees The garden-gate ; he is going past. Can he be afraid of the bees 1 Xo ; he is coming in at last ! He fills my heart with strange alarm ! (Enter a Forester.) Forester. Is this the tenant Gottlieb s farm ? Ursula. This is his farm, and I his wife. Pray sit. What may your business be ? Forester. 2s r ews from the Prince ! Ursula. Of death or life ? Forester. You put your questions eagerly ! Ursula. Answer me, then ! How is the Prince? Forester. I left him only two hours since, Homeward returning down the river, As strong and well as if God, the Giver, Had given him back his youth again. Ursula (despairing). Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead ! Forester. That, my good woman, I have not said. Don t cross the bridge till you come to it, Is a proverb old, and of excellent wit. 418 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Ursula. Keep me no longer in this pain ! Forester. It is true your daughter is no more ; That is, the peasant she was before. Ursula. Alas, I am simple and lowly bred, I am poor, distracted, and forlorn, And it is not well that you of the court Should mock me thus, and make a sport Of a joyless mother, whose child is dead; For you, too, were of mother born ! Forester. Your daughter lives, and the Prince is well ! You will learn ere long how it all befell. Her heart for a moment never failed ; But when they reached Salerno s gate, The Prince s nobler self prevailed, And saved her for a nobler fate. And he was healed in his despair, By the touch of St. Matthew s sacred bones ; Though I think the long ride in the open air, That pilgrimage over stocks and stones, In the miracle must come in for a share ! Ursula. Virgin ! who lovest the poor and lowly, If the loud cry of a mother s heart Can ever ascend to where thou art, Into thy blessed hands and holy Receive my prayer of praise and thanks giving. Let the hands that bore our Saviour bear it Into the awful presence of God ; For thy feet with holiness are shod, And if thou bearest it he will hear it. Our child who was dead again is living ! Forester. I did not tell you she was dead ; If you thought so twas no fault of mine ; At this very moment, while I speak, They are sailing homeward down the Rhine, In a splendid barge with golden prow, And decked with banners white and red As the colours on your daughter s cheek. They call her Lady Alicia now ; For the Prince in Salerno made a vow That Elsie only would he wed. Ursula. Jesu Maria \ what a change ! All seems to me so weird and strange ! Forester. I saw her standing on the deck, Beneath an awning cool and shady. Her cap of velvet could not hold The tresses of her hair of gold, That flowed and floated like the stream, And fell in masses down her neck. As fair and lovely did she seem As in a story or a dream Some beautiful and foreign lady. And the Prince looked so grand and proud, And waved his hand thus to the crowd That gazed and shouted from the shore, All down the river, long and loud. Ursula. We shall behold our child once more ; She is not dead ! She is not dead ! God, listening, must have overheard The prayers, that, without sound or word, Our hearts in secrecy have said ! Oh, bring me to her ; for mine eyes Are hungry to behold her face : My very soul within me cries : My very hands seem to caress her, To see her, gaze at her, and bless her ; Dear Elsie, child of God and grace ! (Goes out toward the garden.) THE GOLDEN LEGEND, 419 Forester. There goes the good woman out of her head ; And Gottlieb s supper is waiting here j A very capacious flagon of beer, And a very portentous loaf of bread. One would say his grief did not much oppress him. Here s to the health of the Prince, God bless him ! (He drinks.} Ha ! it buzzes and stings like a hornet ! And what a scene there, through the door ! The forest behind and the garden before, And midway an old man of threescore, With a wife and children that caress him. Let me try still further to cheer and adorn it With a merry, echoing blast of my cornet ! (Goes out blowing his horn ) The Castle of Vautsberg on the Rhine. PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE standing on the terrace at evening. The sound of bells heard from a distance. Prince Henry. We are alone. The wedding guests Ride down the hill, with plumes and cloaks, And the descending dark invests The Mederwald, and all the nests Among its hoar and haunted oaks. Msie. What bells are those, that ring so slow, So mellow, musical, and low ? Prince Henry. They are the bells of Geisenheim, That with their melancholy chime Eing out the curfew of the sun. Elsie. Listen, beloved. Prince Henry. They are clone ! Dear Elsie! many years ago Those same soft bells at eventide Rang in the ears of Charlemagne, As, seated by Fastrada s side At Ingelheim, in all his pride, He heard their sound with secret pain. Elsie. Their voices only speak to me Of peace and deep tranquillity, And endless confidence in thee ! Prince Henry. Thou knowest the story of her ring : How, when the Court went back to Aix, Fastrada died ; and how the King Sat watching by her night and day, Till into one of the blue lakes, Which water that delicious land, They cast the ring, drawn from her hand ; And the great monarch sat serene, And sat beside the fated shore, Nor left the land for evermore. Elsie. That was true love. Prince Henry. For him the queen JSTe er did what thou hast done for me. Elsie. Wilt thou as fond and faithful be? Wilt thou so love me after death ? Prince Henry. In life s delight, in death s dismay, In storm and sunshine, night and day, In health, in sickness, in decay, Here and hereafter, I am thine ! Thou hast Fastrada s ring. Beneath The calm blue waters of thine eyes, Deep in thy steadfast soul it lies, And, undisturbed by this world s breath, With magic light its jewels shine ! This golden ring, which thou hast worn Upon thy finger since the morn, Is but a symbol and a semblance, An outward fashion, a remembrance Of what thou wearest within unseen, O my Fastrada ! O my queen ! Behold ! the hill-tops all aglow 420 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. With purple and with amethyst ; While the old valley deep below Is filled, and seems to overflow, With a fast- rising tide of mist. The evening air grows damp and chill ; Let us go in. Elsie. Ah, not so soon. See yonder fire ! It is the moon Slow rising o er the eastern hill. It glimmers on the forest tips, And through the dewy foliage drips In little rivulets of light, And makes the heart in love with night. Prince Henry. Oft on this terrace, when the day Was closing, have I stood and gazed, And seen the landscape fade away, And the white vapors rise and drown Hamlet and vineyard, tower and town, While far above the hill-tops blazed. But then another hand than thine Was gently held and clasped in mine ; Another head upon my breast Was laid, as thine is now, at rest. Why dost thou lift those tender eyes With so much sorrow and surprise ? A minstrel s, not a maiden s hand, Was that which in my own was pressed ; A manly form usurped thy place, A beautiful, but bearded face That now is in the Holy Land, Yet in my memory from afar Is shining on us like a star. But linger not. For while I speak, A sheeted spectre, white and tall, The cold mist climbs the castle wall, And lays his hand upon thy cheek ! (They CJQ in.) EPILOGUE. THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS ASCENDING. The Angel of Good Deeds (with closed book). God sent his messenger the rain, And said unto the mountain brook, " Rise up, and from thy caverns look, And leap, with naked, snow-white feet, From the cool hills into the heat, Of the broad, arid plain." God sent his messenger of faith, And whispered in the maiden s heart, " Rise up, and look from where thou art, And scatter with unselfish hands Thy freshness on the barren sands And solitudes of Death/ beauty of holiness, Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness ! O power of meekness, Whose very gentleness and weakness Are like the yielding, but irresistible air ! Upon the pages Of the sealed volume that I bear, The deed divine Is written in characters of gold That never shall grow old, Bat through all ages Burn and shine With soft effulgence ! O God ! it is thy indulgence That fills the world with the bliss Of a good deed like this. The Angel of Evil Deeds (with open book). Not yet, not yet Is the red sun wholly set, But evermore recedes, While open still I bear The Book of Evil Deeds, To let the breathings of the upper air NOTES. 421 Visit its pages and erase The records from its face ! Fainter and fainter as I gaze In the broad blaze The glimmering landscape shines, And below me the black river Is hidden by wreaths of vapor ! Fainter and fainter the black lines Begin to quiver Along the whitening surface of the paper ; Shade after shade The terrible words grow faint and fade, And in their place Runs a white space ! Down goes the sun ! But the soul of one, Who by repentance lias escaped the dreadful sentence, Shines bright below me as I look. It is the end ! With closed Book To God do I ascend. Lo ! over the mountain steeps A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps Beneath niy feet ; A blackness inwardly brightening With sullen heat, As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning, And a cry of lamentation, Repeated and again repeated, Deep and loud As the reverberation Of cloud answering unto cloud, Swells and rolls away in the distance, As if the sheeted Lightning retreated, Baffled and thwarted by the wind s re sistance. It is Lucifer, The son of mystery ; And since God suffers him to be, lie, too, is God s minister, And labors for some good By us not understood ! NOTES. (1.) For these bells have been anointed, And baptized with holy water! The Consecration and Baptism of Bells is one of the most curious ceremonies of the Church in the Middle Ages. The Council of Cologne ordained as follows : "Let the bells be blessed* as the trumpets of the Church militant, by which the people are assembled to hear the word of God ; the clergy to announce his mercy by day, and his truth in their nocturnal vigils : that by their sound the faithful may be invited to prayers, and that the spirit of devotion in them may be increased. The fathers have also maintained that demons affrighted by the sound of bells calling Christians to prayers, would flee away ; and when they fled, the persons of the faithful would be secure ; that the destruction of lightnings and whirlwinds would be averted, and the spirits of the storm defeated." Edinburgh Encyclopaedia Art. Bells See also Scheible s Kloster, vi. 776. (2.) To come back to my text ! In giving this sermon of Friar Cuthbert as a specimen of the Risus Pascliales, or street-preaching of the monks at Easter, I have exaggerated nothing. This very anecdote, offensive as it is, comes from a discourse of Father Barletta, a Dominican friar of the fifteenth century, whose fame as a popular preacher was so great, that it gave rise to the proverb, Nescit predicare Qui nescit Barlettare. "Among the abuses introduced in this century," says Tiraboschi, "was that of exciting from the pulpit the laughter of the hearers ; as if that were the same thing as converting them. We have examples of this/not only in Italy, but also in France, where the sermons of Menot and Maillard, and of others, who would make a better appearance on the stage than in the pulpit, are still celebrated for such follies." If the reader is curious to see how far the freedom of speech was carried in these popular sermons, he is 422 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. referred to Scheible s Kloster, vol. i. where he will find extracts from Abraham a Sancta Clara, Sebastian Frank, and others, and in particular an anonymous discourse called Der Grduel der Verwiistung, the Abomination of Deso lation, preached at Ottakring, a village west of Vienna, November 25, 1782, in which the licence of language is carried to its utmost limit. See also Predicatoriana, ou Revelations singulieres et amusantes sur Us Predicateurs ; par G. P. Philomneste. (Menin.) This work contains extracts from the popular sermons of St. Vincent Ferrier, Barletta, Menot, Maillard, Marini, Raulin, Valladier, De Bease, Camus, Pere Andre, Bening, and the most eloquent of all, Jaques Brydaine. My authority for the spiritual interpretation of bell-ringing, which follows, is Durandus, Ration. Divin. Offic. lib. i. cap. 4. (3.) The Nativity : a Miracle-Play, A singular chapter in the history of the Middle Ages is that which gives account of the early Christian Drama, the Mysteries, Moralities, and Miracle-Plays, which were at first performed in churches, and afterwards in the streets, on fixed or moveable stages. For the most part, the Mysteries were founded on the historic portions of the Old and New Testaments, and the Miracle-Plays on the lives of Saints ; a distinction not always observed, however, for in Mr. Wright s Early Mysteries and other Latin Poems of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, the Resurrection of Lazarus is called a Miracle and not a Mystery. The Moralities were plays in which the Virtues and Vices were personified. The earliest religious play which has been preserved, is the Christos Paschon of Gregory Nazianzen, written in Greek, in the fourth century. Next to this come the remarkable Latin plays of Roswitha, the Nun of Ganders - heim, in the tenth century, which, though crude and wanting in artistic construction, are marked by a good deal of dramatic power and interest. A handsome edition of these plays, with a French translation, has been lately published, entitled Theatre de Rotsvitha, Religieuse allemande du Xe. Siecle. Par Charles Magnin. Paris, 1845. The most important collections of English Mysteries and Miracle-Plays are those known as the Townley, the Chester, and the Coventry Plays. The first of these collections has been published by the Surtees Society, and the other two by the Shakespeare Society. In his Introduction to the Coventry Mysteries, the editor, Mr. Halli- well, quotes the following passage from Dugdale s Antiquities of Warwickshire: "Before the suppression of the monasteries, this city was very famous for the pageants, that were played therein, upon Corpus-Christi day ; which, occasioning very great confluence of people thither, from far and near, was of no small benefit thereto ; which pageants being acted with mighty state and reverence by the friars of this house, had theaters for the severall scenes, very large and high, placed upon wheels, and drawn to all the eminent parts of the city, for the better advantage of spectators ; and contain d the story of the New Testament, composed into old English Rithme, as appeareth by an ancient MS. intituled Ludus Corporis Christi, or Ludus Conventrice. I have been told by some old people, who in their younger years were eye-witnesses of these pageants so acted, that the yearly confluence of people to see that show was extraordinarily great, and yielded no small advantage to the city." The representation of religious plays has not yet been wholly discontinued by the Roman Church. At Ober- Ammergau, in the Tyrol, a grand spectacle of this kind is exhibited once in ten years. A very graphic description of that which took place in the year 1850 is given by Miss Anna Mary Howitt, in her Art Student at Munich, vol. i. chap. iv. She says " We had come expecting to feel our souls revolt at so material a representation of Christ, as any representa tion of him we naturally imagined must be in a peasant s Miracle-Play. Yet so far, strange to confess, neither horror, disgust, nor contempt was excited in our minds. Such an earnest solemnity and simplicity breathed throughout the whole of the performance, that to me, at least, anything like anger, or a perception of the ludicrous, would have seemed more irreverent on my part than was this simple, childlike rendering of the sublime Christian tragedy. We felt at times as though the figures of Cimabue s, Giotto s, and Perugino s pictures had become animated, and were moving before us ; there was the same simple arrangement and brilliant culor of drapery the same earnest, quiet dignity about the heads, whilst the entire absence of all theatrical effect wonder fully increased the illusion. There were scenes and groups so extraordinarily like the early Italian pictures, that you could have declared they were the works of Giotto and Perugino. and not living men and women, had not the figures moved and spoken, and the breeze stirred their richly-colored drapery, and the sun cast long, moving shadows behind them on the stage. These effects of sunshine and shadow, and of drapery fluttered by the wind, were very striking and beautiful ; one could imagine how the Greeks must have availed themselves of such striking effects in their theatres open to the sky." Mr. Bayard Taylor, in his Eldorado, gives a description of a Mystery he saw performed at San Lionel, in Mexico. See vol. ii. chap. xi. " Against the wing-wall of the Hacienda del Mayo, which occupied one end of the plaza, was raised a platform, on which stood a table covered with scarlet cloth. A rude bower of cane leaves, on one end of the platform, re presented the manger of Bethlehem ; while a cord, stretched from its top across the plaza to a hole in the front of the church, bore a large tinsel star, suspended by a hole in its centre. There was quite a crowd in the plaza, and very soon a procession appeared, coming up from the lower part of the village. The three kings took the lead ; the Virgin, mounted on an ass that gloried in a gilded saddle and rose-besprinkled mane and tail, followed them, led by the angel ; and several women, with curious masks of paper, brought up the rear. Two characters NOTES. 423 of the harlequin sort one with a dog s head on his shoulders, and the other a bald-headed friar, with a huge hat hanging on his back played all sorts of antics for the diversion of the crowd. After making the circuit of the plaza, the Virgin was taken to the platform, and entered the manger. King Herod took his seat at the scarlet table, with an attendant in blue coat and red sash, whom I took to be his Prime Minister. The three kings remained on their horses in front of the church, but between them arid the platform, under the string on which the star was to slide, walked two men in long, white robes and blue hoods, with parchment folios in their hands. These were the Wise Men of the East, as one might readily know from their solemn air, and the mysterious glances which they cast towards all quarters of the heavens. " In a little while, a company of women on the platform, concealed behind a curtain, sang an angelic chorus to the tune of O pescator del onda. At the proper moment, the Magi turned towards the platform, followed by the star, to which a string was conveniently attached, that it might be slid along the line. The three kings followed the star till it reached the manger, when they dismounted, and inquired for the sovereign whom it had led them to visit. They were invited upon the platform, and introduced to Herod as the only king ; this did not seem to satisfy them, and after some conversation they retired. By this time the star had receded to the other end of the line, and commenced moving forward again, they following. The angel called them into the manger, where, upon their knees, they were shown a small wooden box, supposed to contain the sacred infant ; they then retired, and the star brought them back no more. After this departure, King Herod declared himself greatly confused by what he had witnessed, and was very much afraid this newly-found king would weaken his power. Upon consultation with his Prime Minister, the Massacre of the Innocents was decided upon, as the only means of security. "The angel, on hearing this, gave warning to the Virgin, who quickly got down from the platform, mounted her bespangled donkey, and hurried off. Herod s Prime Minister directed all the children to be handed up for execution. A boy, in a ragged sarape, was caught and thrust forward ; the Minister took him by the heels in spite of his kicking, and held his head on the table. The little brother and sister of the boy, thinking he was really to be decapitated, yelled at the top of their voices in an agony of terror, which threw the crowd into a roar of laughter. King Herod brought down his sword with a whack on the table, and the Prime Minister, dipping his brush into a pot of white paint which stood before him, made a flaring cross on the boy s face. Several other boys were caught and served likewise ; and, finally, the two harlequins, whose kicks and struggles nearly shook down the platform. The procession then went oft up the hill, followed by the whole population of the village. All the evening there were fandangos in the meson, bonfires and rockets on the plaza, ringing of bells, and high mass in the church, with the accompaniment of two guitars, tinkling to lively polkas. 1 In 1852 there was a representation of this kind by Germans in Boston ; and I have now before me the copy of a play-bill, announcing the performance on June 10, 1852, in Cincinnati,[of the " Great Biblico-Historical Drama, the life of Jesus Christ," with the characters and the names of the performers. (4.) The Scriptorium. A most interesting volume might be written on the Caligraphers and Chrysographers, the transcribers and illuminators of manuscripts in the Middle Ages. These men were for the most part monks, who labored, some times for pleasure and sometimes for penance, in multiplying copies of the classics and the Scriptures. "Of all bodily labors, which are proper for us," says Cassiodorus, the old Calabrian monk, "that of copying books has always been more to my taste than any other : the more so, as in this exercise the mind is instructed by the reading of the Holy Scriptures, and it is a kind of homily to the others, whom these books may reach. It is preaching with the hand, by converting the fingers into tongues ; it is publishing to men in silence the words of salvation ; in fine, it is fighting against the demon with pen and ink. As many words as a transcriber writes, so many wounds the demon receives. In a word, a recluse, seated in his chair to copy books, travels into dif ferent provinces without moving from the spot, and the labor of his hands is felt even where he is not." Nearly every monastery was provided with its Scriptorium. Nicholas de Clairvaux, St. Bernard s secretary, in one of his letters describes his cell, which he calls Scriptoriolum, where he copied books. And Mabillon in his Etudes Monastiques, says that in his time were still to be seen at Citeaux " many of those little cells where the transcribers and bookbinders werked." Silvestre s PaUographie Universelle contains a vast number of fac-similes of the most beautiful illuminated manuscripts of all ages and all countries ; and Montfaucon, in his Palceographia Grceca, gives the names of over three hundred caligraphers. He also gives an account of the books they copied, and the colophons with which, as with a satisfactory flourish of the pen, they closed their long-continued labors. Many of these are very curious ; expressing joy, humility, remorse ; entreating the reader s prayers and pardon for the writer s sins ; and sometimes pronouncing a malediction on any one who should steal the book. A few of these I subjoin : " As pilgrims rejoice, beholding their native land, so are transcribers made glad, beholding the end of a book " Sweet is it to write the end of any book." ^ Ye who read, pray for me who have written this book, the humble and sinful Theodulus." " As many therefore as shall read this book, pardon me, I beseech you, if aught I have erred in accent acute and grave, in apostrophe, in breathing soft or aspirate ; and may God save you all ! Amen." " If any thing is well, praise the transcriber ; if ill, pardon his unskilfulness." " Ye who read, pray for me, the most sinful of all men, for the Lord s sake." " The hand that has written this book shall decay, alas ! and become dust, and go down to the grave the 424 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. eomiptor of all bodies. But all ye who are of the portion of Christ, ptay that I may obtain the pardon of my sins. Again and again I beseech you, with tears, brothers and fathers, accept my miserable supplication, O holy choir ! I am called John, woe is me ! I am called Hiereus, or Sacerdos, in name only, not in unction." " Whoever shall carry away this book, without permission of the Pope, may he incur the malediction of the Holy Trinity, of the Holy Mother of God, of Saint John the Baptist, of the one hundred and eighteen holy Nicene Fathers, and of all the saints ; the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah ; and the halter of Judas ! Anathema, amen." " Keep safe, O Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, my three fingers, with which I have written this book." " Mathusalas Machir transcribed this divinest book in toil, infirmity, and dangers many." " Bacchius Barbardorius and Michael Sophianus wrote this book in sport and laughter, being the guests of their noble and common friend Vincentius Pinellus, and Petrus Nunnius, a most learned man." This last colophon Montfaucon does not suffer to pass without reproof. " Other caligraphers," he remarks, " demand only the prayers of their readers, and the pardon of their sins ; but these glory in their wantonness." (5.) Drink down to your peg ! One of the canons of Archbishop Anselin, promulgated at the beginning of the twelfth century, ordains "that priests go not to drinking-bouts nor drink to pegs." In the times of the hard-drinking Danes, King Edgar ordered that " pins or nails should be fastened into the drinking-cups or horns at stated distances, and whosoever should drink beyond those marks at one draught should be obnoxious to a severe punishment." Sharpe, in his History of the Kings of England, says : " Our ancestors were formerly famous for compotation ; their liquor was ale, and one method of amusing themselves in this way was with the peg-tankard. I had lately one of them in my hand. It had on the inside a row of eight pins, one above another, from top to bottom. It held two quarts ; and was a noble piece of plate, so that there was a gill of ale, half a pint Winchester measure, between each peg. The law was, that every person that drank was to empty the space between pin and pin, so that the pins were so many measures to make the company all drink alike, and to swallow the same quantity of liquor. This was a pretty sure method of making all the company drunk, especially if it be considered that the rule was, that whoever drank short of his pin, or beyond it, was obliged to drink again, and <>ven as deep as to the next pin." (6.) The convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys. Abelard, in a letter to his friend Philintus, gives a sad picture of this monastery. " I live," he sfiys, "in a barbarous country, the, language of which I do not understand ; I have no conversation but with the rudest people, my walks are on the inaccessible shore of a sea, which is perpetually stormy, my monks are only known by their dissohiteness, and living without any rule or order, could you see the abby, Philintus, you would not call it one. the doors and walls are without any ornament, except the heads of wild boars and hinds feet, which are nailed up against them, and the hides of frightful animals, the cells are hung with the skins of deer, the monks have not so much as a bell to wake them, the cocks and dogs supply that defect, in short, they pass their whole days in hunting ; would to heaven that were their greatest fault, or that their pleasures terminated here ! I endeavor in vain to recall them to their duty ; they all combine against me, and I only expose myself to continual vexations and dangers. I imagine I see every moment a naked sword hang over my head, some times they surround me, and load me with infinite abuses ; sometimes they abandon me, and I am left alone to my own tormenting thoughts. I make it my endeavor to merit by my sufferings, and to appease an angry God. sometimes I grieve for the loss of the house of the Paraclete, and wish to see it again, ah Philintus, does not the love of Heloise still burn in my heart? I have not yet triumphed over that unhappy passion ; in the midst of my retirement I sigh, I weep, I pine, I speak the dear name Heloise, and am pleased to hear the sound." Letters of the celebrated Abelard and Heloise. Translated by Mr. John Hughes. Glasgow, 1751. (7.) Were it not for my magic garters and staff. The method of making the Magic Garters and the Magic Staff is thus laid down in Les Secrets Merveilteux di< petit Albert, a French translation of Alberti Parvi Libellus de Mirabilibus Naturce Arcanis : " Gather some of the herb called motherwort, when the sun is entering the first degree of the sign of Capricorn I let it dry a little in the shade, and make some garters of the skin of a young hare ; that is to say, having cut the skin of the hare into strips two inches wide, double them, sew the before-mentioned herb between, and wear them on your legs. No horse can long keep up with a man on foot who is furnished with these garters." P. 128. "Gather, on the morrow of All-Saints, a strong branch of willow, of which you will make a staff, fashioned to your liking. Hollow it out, by removing the pith from within, after having furnished the lower end with an iron ferule. Put into the bottom of the staff the two eyes of a young wolf, the tongue and heart of a dog, three green lizards, and the hearts of three swallows. These must all be dried in the sun, between two papers, having been first sprinkled with finely pulverized saltpetre. Besides all these, put into the staff seven leaves of vervain, gathered on the eve of St. John the Baptist, with a stone of divers colors, which you will find in the nest of the lapwing, and stop the end of the staff with a pom el of box, or of any other material you please ; and be assured, that this staff will guarantee you from the perils and mishaps which too often befall travellers, either from robbers, wild beasts, mad dogs, or venomous animals. It will also procure you the good-will of those with whom you lodge." P. 130. THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. MILES STANDISH. IN 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 Cordovan leather, Strode with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain. 423 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 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, Cutlass and corslet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus, Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical 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 sometimes 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 came in the May Flower. Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting, Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth. " Look at these arms, " he said, " the warlike weapons that hang here Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection ! This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders ; this breastplate, Well I remember the day ! once saved my life in a skirmish ; Here in front you can see the very dent 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 Standish Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses.- Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his 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 the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling : " See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging ! 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 inkhorn. Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army, Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock, Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage, And, like Crcsar, 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 Captain 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 irresistible logic, Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of the heathen. 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, Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Scjuanto, or Tokamahamon ! " Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on the landscape,. Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath of the east wincl^ 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 with emotion, Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he proceeded : "Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Rose Standish ; 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 ! 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 see how many already have perished! Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and was thoughtful. Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and among them Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for binding; Bariffe s Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries 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 v of the Hebrews, the famous campaigns of the Komans, Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent Christians. Finally down from its shelf he dragged the ponderous Eoman, 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 hurrying 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 ! 430 THE COURTSHIP OF .MILES STANDISII. II. LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. NOTHING was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the Captain, Heading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius Qesar. After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand, palm downwards, Heavily on 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 I have 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 Caesar ! Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village, Than be second in Home, and I think he was right when he said it. Twice was he married before he 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 has recorded ; Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator Brutus ! Now, do you know what he did on a certain occasion in Flanders, When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front 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, Pat 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 hurrying pen of the stripling Writing epistles important to go next day by the May Flower, THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 431 Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priseilla; Every sentence began or closed with the name of Priseilla, Till the treacherous pen, to Avhich he confided the secret, Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of Priseilla ! 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 respectful 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 : " Tis 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 rny lonely hours have I thought of the maiden Priseilla, 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 Priseilla Holds in my desolate life the place which the other abandoned. Long have I cherished the thought, but never have dared to reveal it, Being a coward ill this, though valiant enough for the most part. Go to the damsel Priseilla, 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 subject 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, Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered 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, THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 43 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. Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of phrases. T can march up to a fortress and summon the place to surrender, But march up to a woman with such a proposal, 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 ! 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 1 " 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. 111. 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, Into the tranquil woods, where blue-birds 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 commotion 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 I 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 I Was it for this L have followed the flying feet and the shadow Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of New England? Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its depths of corruption Kise, like an exhalation, the misty phantoms of passion : Angels of light they seem, but are only delusions of Satan. All is clear to me now : I feel it : I see it distinctly ! This is the hand of the Lord ; it is laid upon me in anger, For I have followed too much the heart s desires 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 their slumber. "Puritan flowers," he said, "and the type of Puritan maidens, Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla ! 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, lie beheld the form of the maiden Seated beside hor wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift 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 Ainsworth, 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 tb verses. Such was the book from whose pages she sang the old Puritan anthem, THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAN DISH. 407 She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the forest, Making the humble house and the modest apparel of home-spun 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 that had faded, and all the hopes that had vanished, All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless mansion, 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 flowers 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 endure th for ever!" 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, Hose 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 singing 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, Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for an answer, Finding no words for his thought. He remembered that day in the winter, After the first great snow, when he broke a path from the village, Peeling 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 him a seat by the fire-side, 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 late ; 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 arc in blossom now, and the country is all like a garden ; 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 !" Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous 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 schoolboy ; Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it more bluntly. Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan maiden Looked into Aldcn s -face, her eyes dilated with wonder, Feeling 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 1 If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning!" Then John Alden began explaining and smoothing the matter, Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain was busy, Had no time for such things ; such things ! the words grating harshly Fell on the ear of Priscilla ; and swift as a flash she made answer : "Has he no time for such things, as you rail it, before ho is married, 440 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH, Would he 1)0 likely to lind it, or make it, after the wedding 1 That is the way with you men; you don t understand 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 perhaps, 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 woman 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, Even this Captain of yours who knows 1 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, persuading, 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 pedigree 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. 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 gentle as woman s ; Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and headstrong, Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and placable always. Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was little of stature ; For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, courageous ; Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in England, Might be happy 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 overrunning with laughter, Said, in a tremulous voice, "Why don t you speak for yourself, John V" THE COUKTSinr OF MILES STANDISH. 441 IV, JOHN ALDEN. INTO the open air John Aldeii, 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 apocalyptical splendors, Sank tlie 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, and over its turrets uplifted Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who measured the city. " Welcome, wind of the East ! " he exclaimed in his wild exultation, "Welcome, wind of the East, from the caves of the misty Atlantic!; Blowing o er fields of dulse, and measureless meadows of sea-grass, Blowing o er rocky wastes, and the grottoes and gardens of ocean ! Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning forehead, 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 ! (l Is it my fault,"vhe said, "that the maiden has chosen between us? Is it my fault that he failed, my fault that 1 am the victor 1 " 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 ! 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 temptation of Satan ! " Then, uplifting his head, he looked at the sea, and beheld there Dimly the shadowy form of the May Flower riding at anchor, Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on the morrow ; 3 L Heard tlie 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 dripping 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 Leadino- me out of the land of darkness, the bondage of error, 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 ! " THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 443 Thus as lie spake, lie turned, in 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, 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 redoubtable Captain Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pages of Caesar, Fighting some great campaign in Hainault or 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 demolished a city. Come, sit down, and in order relate to me all that has happened." Then John Alden 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, 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 speak 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, Even as a hand-grenade, that scatters destruction around it. Wildly he shouted, and loud : " John Alden ! you have betrayed me ! Me, Miles Standish, your friend ! have supplanted, 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 I Yours is the greater treason, for yours is a treason to friendship ! You, who lived under my roof, whom I cherished and loved as a brother ; You, who have fed at my board, and drunk at my cup, to whose keeping I have entrusted my honor, my thoughts the most sacred and secret, You too, Brutus ! ah woe to the name of friendship hereafter ! Brutus was Cesar 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, Burners of danger and war and hostile incursions of Indians ! Straightway the Captain paused, and, without further 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. Then he 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 wrathful away to the council, Found it already assembled, impatiently waiting 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. THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAND1SH. 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 ! ]S T ear them was standing an Indian, in attitude stern and defiant, Naked down to the waist, and grim and ferocious in aspect ; A\ r hile on the table before them was lying unopened a Bible, Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, printed in Holland, And beside it outstretched the skin of a rattlesnake 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 message and menace, Talking of this and of that, contriving, suggesting, 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 outspake 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 1 Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer 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 answered and said the excellent Elder of Plymouth, Somewhat amazed and alarmed at this irreverent 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 ! " Bat unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the Captain, Who had advanced to the table, and thus continued 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 answer the challenge!" Then from the rattlesnake s skin, with a sudden, contemptuous gesture, Jerking the Indian arrows, he 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 glistening savage, Bearing the serpent s skin, and seeming himself like a serpent, Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of the forest. T. THE SAILING OF THE MAY FLOWER. JUST in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose 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 army, Led by their Indian guide, by Hobouiok, 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 Midianites and Philistines. Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of morning ; Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, advancing, Fired along the line, and in regular order retreated. THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 447 Many a mile had they marched, when at length the village of Plymouth Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its manifold labors. Sweet was the air and soft ; slowly the smoke from the chimneys Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily eastward ; Men came forth from the doors, and paused and talked of the weather, Said that the wind had changed, and was blowing fair for the May Flower ; 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 household. Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows rejoiced at his coming ; Beautiful were his feet on 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 ! Ah ! but with louder echoes replied the hearts of the people ! Meekly, in 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 unrest 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 had turned away, and said : " I will not awake him ; Let him sleep on, it is best; for what is the use of more talking!" Then he extinguished the light, and threw himself 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 lie arose ; in the twilight Alden beheld him Put on his corslet of steel, and all the rest of his armor, Buckle about his waist his trusty blade of Damascus, 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 tender 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. So he beheld Ms 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 Eichard and Gilbert, Joined in the morning prayer, and in the reading of Scripture, And, with the others, in haste went hurrying do\vn to the sea-shore, THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 449 Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to their feet as a door-step 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 cramming letters and parcels Into his pockets capacious, and messages mingled together Into his narrow brain, till at last he was wholly bewildered. Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot 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. Pie 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 crowd, 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 sad, so reproachful, imploring, and patient, That w r ith a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled from its purpose, As from a 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 moments, Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the wall adamantine ! "Here I remain!" he exclaimed, as he looked at the heavens above him, Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the mist, and the madness, Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was staggering headlong. " Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether above me, Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning over the ocean. There is another hand, that is not so spectral and ghost-like, I Folding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for protection, Float, 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 sacred, 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 Hover around her for ever, protecting, supporting her weakness ; Yes ! as my foot was the first that stepped on this rock at the landing, So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the leaving ! " 3 M Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified 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 was grasping a tiller, 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 sickness and sorrow, Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing but Gospel ! Lost in the sound of the oars was the last farewell of the Pilgrims. O strong hearts and true ! not one went back in the May Flower ! No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to this ploughing ! Soon was heard on board the shouts and songs of the sailors Heaving the 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 Flower sailed from the harbor, Bounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far to the southward THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. j.ol Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the First Encounter, Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open Atlantic, Borne on the sand 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 Said, " Let us pray !" and they prayed, and thanked the Lord and took courage. Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rock, and above them Bowed and whispered the wheat on the hill of death, and their kindred Seemed to wake in their graves, and to join in the prayer that they uttered. Sun-illumined and white, on the eastern verge of the ocean Gleamed the departing sail, like a marble slab in a graveyard ; Buried beneath it lay for ever all hope of escaping. 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 ! " he had vanished. So they returned to their homes ; but Alden lingered a little, Musing alone on the shore, and watching the wash of the billows Eound the base of the rock, and the sparkle and flash of the sunshine, Like the Spirit of God, moving visibly over the waters. VI. PEISCILLA. THUS for a while he stood, and mused by the shore of the ocean, Thinking of many things, and most of all of Priscilk ; 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 standing beside him. "Are you so much offended, you will not speak to me 1 ?" said she. " Am I so much to blame, that yesterday, when you were pleading Warmly the cause of another, my heart, impulsive and w r ayward, Pleaded your own, and spake out, forgetful perhaps of decorum 1 Certainly you can forgive me for speaking so frankly, for saying What I ought not to have said, yet now I can never unsay it : For there are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion, That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, 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 in 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 sa;red to be so easily broken ! " Thereupon answered John Alden, the scholar, the friend of Miles Standish : 1 was not angry with you, with myself alone I was angry, THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 45:3 Seeing how badly I managed the matter I had in my keeping." "No!" interrupted the maiden, with answer prompt and decisive; "No; 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 ! " "Ah, by these words, I can see," again interrupted the maiden, " How very little you prize me, or care for what I am saying. AVhen 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 in earnest, Tarn them away from their meaning, and answer with nattering 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 perhaps the more keenly If you say aught that implies I am only as one among many, If you make use of those common and those complimentary phrases Most men think so fine, in dealing and speaking with women, But which women reject as insipid, if not as insulting." Mute 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 had pleaded so glibly the cause of another, Stood there embarrassed and silent, and seeking 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 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. 454 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 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 Stand isli. 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." Then she extended her hand, and Aldeii, 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 j and of all who offer you friendship Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest 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 Priscilla said very archly : "Now that our terrible Captain has gone in pursuit of the Indians, Where he is happier far than he would be commanding a household, You may speak boldly, and tell me of all that happened between you, When you returned last night, and said how ungrateful you found me." Thereupon answered John Alden, and told her the whole of the story, Told her his own despair, and the direful wrath of Miles Standish. 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 much he had suffered, How he had even determined to sail that day in the May Flower, 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 Jerusalem journeys, Taking three steps in advance, and one reluctantly backward, Urged by importunate zeal, and withheld by pangs of contrition ; Slowly but steadily onward, receding but ever advancing, 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 sulphurous odor of powder Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the scents of the forest. Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his discomfort ; 450 THE COUKTSHIP OF TITLES STANDISIT. He wlio was used to success, and to easy victories 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 ! twas too much to be borne, and he fretted and chafed in his armor ! " 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 ? Twas 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 away, 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 head 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 ; 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, from among them advancing, Came to parley with 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. Pcound 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 cunning 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 parley with Standish, Through his guide and interpreter, Hobomok, friend of the white man, Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for muskets and powder, Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the plague, in his cellars, Eeady to be let loose, and destroy his brother the red man ! But when Standish refused, and said he would give them the Bible, THE COUKTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 457 Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and to bluster. Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of the other, And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spake to the Captain : " ]S T ow 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 weapons about him, Shouting, < Who is there here to fight with the brave Wattawamat] " Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his left hand, Held it aloft, and displayed a woman s face on the handle, Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister 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 Standish : 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, ah ! 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, Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on their bow-strings, 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 Thurston de Standish, Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins of his temples. Headlong he leapt on the boaster, and snatching his knife from its scabbard, Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, 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 wind 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, Out of the lightning thunder ; and death unseen ran before it. Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp and in thicket, 458 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. Hotly pursued and beset ; but their sachem, the brave Wattawamat, Fled not ; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a bullet Passed through 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 warriors 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 speechless before you ! ; Thus the first battle was fought and won by the stalwart Miles Standish. 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 Standish ; 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 Autumn 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, 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 Miles 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 remorse and contrition, Which in all noble natures succeed the passionate outbreak, THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 459 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 covered with rushes ; 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 steer, that had fallen to Alden 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 allusions romantic and subtile deceptions 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 ; Ever of her he thought, when he read in his Bible on Sunday Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is described 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 1 So as she sat at her wheel one afternoon in the Autumn, Alden, who opposite sat, and was watching her dexterous lingers, 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 spinning and spinning, Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others, 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 in her fingers ; While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the mischief, continued : 4oU THE COURTSHIP OF MlLES STAN DISK. " You are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, the queen of Helvetia ; She whose story I read at a stall 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 spinning-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 ! " 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 nattering phrases of Alden : " Come, you must not be idle ; if I am a pattern 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 extended 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 disentangled expertly Twist or knot in the yarn, unawares for how 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, Slam 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 Still at the face of the speaker, her arms uplifted 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 for ever the bonds that held him bound as a captive, Wild with excess of sensation, the awful delight 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 for ever his own, and exclaiming : lt 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 leaped 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 COURTSHIP OK MILES STAN DISH. IX. THE WEDDING-DAY. FORTH from tlie 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 Rath and of Boaz. Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of betrothal, Taking each other for husband and wife in the Magistrate s presence, After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom 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 appeared on the threshold, Clad in armor of steel, a sombre and sorrowful figure ! Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange apparition 1 Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on his shoulder 1 Is it a phantom of air, a bodiless, spectral illusion"? Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the betrothal 1 Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, unwelcomed ; Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an expression Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden beneath them, 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 intention. 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 Standish, 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 atoning for error. Xever so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John Alden." 464 THE COUUTSlIll OF MILES STANDISH. - Thereupon answered the bridegroom : " Let all be forgotten between us, All save the dear, old friendship, and that shall grow older and dearer ! " Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted 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 the season of Christmas ! " Great Avas 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, 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 impatient of longer delaying, Each with his plan for the day, and the work that was left uncompleted. Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder, Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla, Brought out his snow-white steer, 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 ; tfay, 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, Gaily, 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 ! " 3 o 46(j THE COURTSHIP OF TITLES STANDISH. Onward the bridal procession now moved to their new habitation, Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together. 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 Eshcol. Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages, Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca and Isaac,, Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers. So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal procession. TALES OF A WAYSIDE 1NX, I ll ELUDE. T H V AV A Y 8 1 D K I K N. ONE Autumn night, in Sudbury town, Across the meadows bare and brown, The windows of the wayside inn Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves Their crimson curtains rent and thin. As ancient is this hostelry As any in the land may be, Built in the old Colonial day, When men lived in a grander way, With ampler hospitality ; A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall, Now somewhat fallen to decay, With weather-stains upon the Avail, And stairways worn, and crazy doors, And creaking and uneven floors, And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall. A region of repose it seems, A place of slumber and of dreams, Remote among the Avooded hills ! For there 110 noisy railway speeds, Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds But noon and night, the panting teams Stop under the great oaks, that throw Tangles of light and shade beloAy, On roofs and doors and window-sills. Across the road the barns display Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay. Through the Avidc doors the breezes blow, 468 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. The wattled cocks strut to and fro, And, half effaced by rain and shine, The Red Horse prances on the sign. Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode Deep silence reigned, save when a gust Went rushing down the county road, And skeletons of leaves, and dust, A moment quickened by its breath, Shuddered and danced their dance of death, And through the ancient oaks o erhead Mysterious voices moaned and fled. But from the parlor of the inn A pleasant murmur smote the ear, Like water rushing through a weir ; Oft interrupted by the din Of laughter and of loud applause, And, in each intervening pause, The music of a violin. The fire-light, shedding over all The splendor of its ruddy glow, Filled the whole parlor large and low ; It gleamed on wainscot and on wall, It touched with more than wonted grace Fair Princess Mary s pictured face ; It bronzed the rafters overhead, On the old spinet s ivory keys It played inaudible melodies, It crowned the sombre clock with flame, The hands, the hours, the maker s name, And painted with a livelier red The Landlord s coat-of-arms again ; And, flashing on the window-pane, Emblazoned with its light and shade The jovial rhymes, that still remain, Writ near a century ago, By the great Major Molineaux, Whom Hawthorne has immortal made. Before the blazing fire of wood Erect the rapt musician stood ; And ever and anon he bent His head upon his instrument, And seemed to listen, till he caught Confessions of its secret thought, The joy, the triumph, the lament, The exultation and the pain ; Then, by the magic of his art, He soothed the throbbings of its heart, And lulled it into peace again. Around the fireside at their ease There sat a group of friends, entranced With the delicious melodies ; Who from the far-off" noisy town Had to the wayside inn come down, To rest beneath its old oak-trees. The fire-light on their faces glanced, Their shadows on the wainscot danced, And, though of different lands and speech, Each had his tale to tell, and each Was anxious to be pleased and please. And while the sweet musician plays, Let me in outline sketch them all, Perchance uncouthly as the blaze With its uncertain touch portrays Their shadowy semblance on the wall. But first the Landlord will I trace ; Grave in his aspect and attire ; A man of ancient pedigree, A Justice of the Peace was he, Known in all Sudbury as "The Squire." Proud was he of his name and race, Of old Sir William and Sir Hugh, And in the parlor, full in view, His coat-of-arms, well framed and glazed, Upon the wall in colors blazed ; He beareth gules upon his shield, A chevron argent in the field, With three wolves heads, and for the crest A Wyvern part-pcr-pale addressed THE WAYSIDE INN. 469 Upon a helmet barred ; below . The scroll reads, "By the name of Howe." And over this, no longer bright, Though glimmering with a latent light, Was hung the sword his grandsire bore, In the rebellious days of yore, Down there at Concord in the fight. A youth was there, of quiet ways, A Student of old books and days, To whom all tongues and lands were known, And yet a lover of his own ; With many a social virtue graced, And yet a friend of solitude ; A man of such a genial mood, The heart of all things he embraced, And yet of such fastidious taste, He never found the best too good. Books were his passion and delight, And in his upper room at home Stood many a rare and sumptuous tome, In vellum bound, with gold bedight, Great volumes garmented in white, Ilecalling Florence, Pisa, Eome. He loved the twilight that surrounds The border land of old romance ; Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance, And banner waves, and trumpet sounds, And ladies ride with hawk on wrist, And mighty warriors sweep along, Magnified by the purple mist, The dusk of centuries and of song. The chronicles of Charlemagne, Of Merlin and the Mort d Arthure, Mingled together in his brain With tales of Flores and Blanchefleur, Sir Ferumbras, Sir Eglamour, Sir Launcelot, Sir Morgadour, Sir Guy, Sir Bevis, Sir Gawain. A young Sicilian, too, was there ; In sight of Etna born and bred, Some breath of its volcanic air Was glowing in his heart and brain, And, being rebellious to his liege, After Palermo s fatal siege, Across the western seas he fled, In good King Bomba s happy reign. His face was like a summer night, All flooded with a dusky light ; His hands were small ; his teeth shone white As sea-shells, when he smiled or spoke ; His sinews supple and strong as oak ; Clean shaven was he as a priest, Who at the mass on Sunday sings, Save that upon his upper lip His beard, a good palm s length at least, Level and pointed at the tip, Shot sideways, like a swallow s wings. The poets read he o er and o er, And most of all the Immortal Four Of Italy ; and next to those, The story-telling bard of prose, Who wrote the joyous Tuscan tales Of the Decameron, that make Fiesole s green hills and vales Eemembered for Boccaccio s sake. Much too of music was his thought ; The melodies and measures fraught With sunshine and the open air, Of vineyards and the singing sea Of his beloved Sicily ; And much it pleased him to peruse The songs of the Sicilian muse, Bucolic songs by Meli sung In the familiar peasant tongue, That made men say, "Behold ! once more The pitying gods to earth restore Theocritus of Syracuse ! " A Spanish Jew from Alicant, With aspect grand and grave, was there ; Vendor of silks and fabrics rare, And attar of rose from the Levant. Like an old Patriarch he appeared, Abraham or Isaac, or at least Some later Prophet or High-Priest ; With lustrous eyes, and olive skin, And, wildly tossed from cheeks and chin, The tumbling cataract of his beard. His garments breathed a spicy scent Of cinnamon and sandal blent, Like the soft aromatic gales That meet the mariner, who sails Through the Moluccas, and the seas That wash the shores of Celebes. All stories that recorded are By Pierre Alphonse he knew by heart, And it was rumored he could say The Parables of Sandabar, And all the Fables of Pilpay, Or, if not all, the greater part. Well versed was he in Hebrew books, Talmud and Targum, and the lore Of Kabala : and evermore There was a mystery in his looks ; His eyes seemed gazing far away, As if in vision or in trance He heard the solemn sackbut play, And saw the Jewish maidens dance. THE WAYSIDE INK 471 A Theologian, from the school Of Cambridge on the Charles, was there ; Skilful alike with tongue and pen, lie preached to all men everywhere The Gospel of the Golden Eule, The New Commandment given to men, Thinking the deed, and not the creed, Would help us in our utmost need. With reverent feet the earth he trod, Nor banished nature from his plan, But studied still with deep research To build the Universal Church, Lofty as is the love of God, And ample as jthe wants of man. A Poet, too, was there, whose verse Was tender, musical, and terse ; The inspiration, the delight, The gleam, the glory, the swift flight, Of thoughts so sudden, that they seem The revelations of a dream, All these were his ; but with them came No envy of another s fame ; He did not find his sleep less sweet For music in some neighboring street, Nor rustling hear in every breeze The laurels of Miltiades. Honor and blessings on his head While living, good report when dead, Who, not too eager for renown, Accepts, but does not clutch, the crown ! Last the Musician, as he stood Illumined by that fire of wood ; Fair-haired, blue-eyed, his aspect blithe, His figure tall and straight and lithe, And every feature of his face Revealing his Norwegian race ; A radiance, streaming from within, Around his eyes and forehead beamed, The Angel with the violin, Painted by Raphael, he seemed. He lived in that ideal world Whose language is not speech, but song ; Around him evermore the throng Of elves and sprites their dances whirled ; The Stromkarl sang, the cataract hurled Its headlong waters from the height ; And mingled in the wild delight The scream of sea-birds in their flight, The rumor of the forest trees, The plunge of the implacable seas, The tumult of the wind at night, Voices of eld, like trumpets blowing, Old ballads, and wild melodies Through mist and darkness pouring forth, Like Elivagar s river flowing Out of the glaciers of the North. The instrument on which he played Was in Cremona s workshops made, By a great master of the past, Ere yet was lost the art divine ; Fashioned of maple and of pine, That in Tyrolian forests vast Had rocked and wrestled with the blast ; Exquisite was it in design, A marvel of the lutist s art, Perfect in each minutest part \ And in its hollow chamber, thus, The maker from whose hands it came Had written his unrivalled name, "Antonius Stradivarius." And when he played, the atmosphere Was filled with magic, and the ear Caught echoes of that Harp of Gold, Whose music had so weird a sound, The hunted stag forgot to bound, The leaping rivulet backward rolled, The, birds came down from bush and tree, The dead came from beneath the sea, The maiden to the harper s knee ! The music censed ; the applause was loud, 472 TALES OF A WAYSIDE The pleased musician smiled and bowed ; The wood-fire clapped its hands of flame, The shadows on the wainscot stirred, And from the harpsichord there came A ghostly murmur of acclaim, A sound like that sent down at night By birds of passage in their flight, From the remotest distance heard. Then silence followed ; then began A clamor for the Landlord s tale, The story promised them of old, They said, but always left untold ; And he, although a bashful man, And all his courage seemed to fail, Finding excuse of no avail, Yielded; and thus the story ran. THE LANDLORD S TALE. PAUL REVERE S RIDE. LISTEN, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy- five ; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, "If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light- One, if by land, and two, if by sea ; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country-folk to be up and to arm." Then he said, " Good night ! " and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war ; A phantom-ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison-bar, And a huge black hulk, that was mag nified By its own reflection in the tide. Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, Wanders and watches with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack-door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, And the measured tread of the grenadiers, Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he climbed to the tower of the church, Up the wooden stairs, with steal thy tread, To the belfry- chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch On the sombre rafters, that round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade, Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town, And the moonlight flowing over all. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, In their night-encampment on the hill, Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he could hear, like a sentinel s tread, The watchful night-wind, as it went, Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming to whisper, " All is well ! " A moment only he feels the spell Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; For suddenly all his. thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away, Where the river widens to meet the bay, A line of black that bends and floats On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse s side, Now gazed at the landscape far and near, Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, And turned and tightened his saddle- girth ; But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry-tower of the OldJSTorth Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. 3 P 474 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry s height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, [sight But lingers and gazes, till full on his A second lamp in the belfry burns ! A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in pass ing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet ; That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night ; And the spark struck out by that steed in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat. He has left the village and mounted the steep, And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ; And under the alders, that skirt its edge, Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. It was twelve by the village clock, When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the cock, And the barking of the farmer s dog, And felt the damp of the river fog, That rises after the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket-ball. You know the rest. In the books you have read, How the British Regulars fired and fled, How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farmyard wall, Chasing the red-coats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Eevere ; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm, A cry of defiance and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo for evermore ! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and LNTEKLU1)E. need, The people will waken and listen to hear THE Landlord ended thus his tale, The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, Then rising took down from its nail And the midnight message of Paul The sword that hung there, dim with dust, Kevere. And cleaving to its sheath with rust, 476 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. And said, " This swovd was in the fight." The Poet seized it, and exclaimed, " It is the sword of a good knight, Though homespun was his coat-of-mail ; What matter if it be not named Joyeuse, Colada, Durindale r Excalibar, or Aroundight, Or other name the books record 1 Your ancestor, who bore this sword As Colonel of the Volunteers, Mounted upon his old gray mare, Seen here and there and everywhere, To me a grander shape appears Than old Sir William, or what not, Clinking about in foreign lands With iron gauntlets on his hands, And on his head an iron pot ! " Alllaughed ; the Landlord s face grew red As his escutcheon on the wall \ He could not comprehend at all The drift of what the Poet said ; For those who had been longest dead Were always greatest in his eyes ; And he was speechless with surprise To see Sir William s plumed head Brought to a level with the rest, And made the subject of a jest. And this perceiving, to appease The Landlord s wrath, the others fears, The Student said, with careless ease, " The ladies and the cavaliers, The arms, the loves, the courtesies, The deeds of high emprise, I sing ! Thus Ariosto says, in words That have the stately stride and ring Of armed knights and clashing swords. Now listen to the tale I bring ; Listen ! though not to me belong The flowing draperies of his song, The words that rouse, the voice that charms. The Landlord s tale was one of arms, Only a tale of love is mine, Blending the human and divine, A tale of the Decameron, told In Palmieri s garden old, By Fiametta, laurel- crowned, While her companions lay around, And heard.the intermingled sound Of airs that on their errands sped, And wildjDirds gossiping overhead, And lisp of leaves and fountain s fall, And her own voice more sweet than all, Telling the tale, which, wanting these, Perchance may lose its power_to please." THE STUDENT S TALE. THE FALCON OF SER FEDEBIGO. ONE summer morning, when the sun was hot, Weary with labor in his garden plot, On a rude bench beneath his cottage eaves, Ser Federigo sat among the leaves Of a huge vine, that, with its arms outspread, Hung its delicious clusters overhead. THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO. 477 Below him, through the lovely valley, flowed The river Arno, like a winding road, And from its banks were lifted high in air The spires and roofs of Florence called the Fair ; To him a marble tomb, that rose above His wasted fortunes and his buried love. For there, in banquet and in tournament, His wealth had lavished been, his substance spent, To woo and lose, since ill his wooing sped, Moniia Giovanna, who his rival wed, Yet ever in his fancy reigned supreme, The ideal woman of a young man s dream. Then he withdrew, in poverty and pain, To this small farm, the last of his domain, His only comfort and his only care To prune his vines, and plant the fig and pear ; His only forester and only guest His falcon, faithful to him, when the rest, Whose willing hands had found so light of yore The brazen knocker of his palace door, Had now no strength to lift the wooden latch, That entrance gave beneath a roof of thatch. Companion of his solitary ways, Purveyor of his feasts on holidays, On him this melancholy man bestowed The love with which his nature overflowed. And so the empty-handed years went round, Vacant, though voiceful with prophetic sound ; And so, that summer morn, he sat and mused With folded, patient hands, as he was used, And dreamily before his half-closed sight Floated the vision of his lost delight. Beside him, motionless, the drowsy bird Dreamed of the chase, and in his slumber heard The sudden, scythe-like sweep of wings, that dare The headlong plunge through eddying gulfs of air, Then, starting broad awake upon his perch, Tinkled his bells, like mass-bells in a church, And, looking at his master, seemed to say, " Ser Fcdcrigo, shall we hunt to-day ?" 478 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. Ser Federigo thought not of the chase ; The tender vision of her lovely face, I will not say he seems to see, he sees In the leaf-shadows of the trellises, Herself, yet not herself ; a lovely child With flowing tresses, and eyes wide and wild, Coming undaunted up the garden walk, And looking not at him, but at the hawk. " Beautiful falcon ! " said he, " would that I Might hold thee on my wrist, or see thee fly !" The voice was hers, and made strange echoes start Through all the haunted chambers of his heart, As an ^Eolian harp through gusty doors Of some old ruin its wild music pours. " Who is thy mother, my fair boy ? " he said, His hand laid softly on that shining head. " Monna Giovanna. Will you let me stay A little while, and with your falcon play 1 We live there, just beyond your garden wall, In the great house behind the poplars tall." So he spake on ; and Federigo heard As from afar each softly uttered word, And drifted onward through the golden gleams And shadows of the misty sea of dreams, As mariners becalmed through vapors drift, And feel the sea beneath them sink and lift, And hear far off the mournful breakers roar, And voices calling faintly from the shore ! Then, waking from his painful reveries, He took the little boy upon his knees, And told him stories of his gallant bird, Till in their friendship he became a third. Monna Giovanna, widowed in her prime, Had come with friends to pass the summer time In her grand villa, half-way up the hill, O erlooking Florence, but retired and still ; With iron gates, that opened through long lines Of sacred ilex and centennial pines, THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO. 479 And terraced gardens, and broad steps of stone, And sylvan deities, with moss o ergrown, And fountains palpitating in the heat, And all Yal d Arno stretched beneath its feet. Here in seclusion, as a widow may, The lovely lady whiled the hours away, Pacing in sable robes the statued hall, Herself the stateliest statue among all, And seeing more and more, with secret joy, Her husband risen and living in her boy, Till the lost sense of life returned again, Not as delight, but as relief from pain. Meanwhile the boy, rejoicing in his strength, Stormed down the terraces from length to length ; The screaming peacock chased in hot pursuit, And climbed the garden trellises for fruit. But his chief pastime was to watch the flight Of a gerfalcon, soaring into sight, Beyond the trees that fringed the garden wall, Then downward stooping at some distant call ; And as he gazed full often wondered he Who might the master of the falcon be, Until that happy morning, when he found Master and falcon in the cottage ground. And now a shadow and a terror fell On the great house, as if a passing-bell Tolled from the tower, and filled each spacious room With secret awe, and preternatural gloom ; The petted boy grew ill, and day by day Pined with mysterious malady away. The mother s heart would not be comforted ; Her darling seemed to her already dead, And often, sitting by the sufferer s side, " What can I do to comfort thee ? " she cried. At first the silent lips made no reply, But, moved at length by her importunate cry, " Give me," he answered, with imploring tone, " Ser Federigo s falcon for my own ! " 480 TALES OF A WAYSIDE No answer could the astonished mother make ; How could she ask, e en for her darling s sake, Such favor at a luckless lover s hand, Well knowing that to ask was to command ? Well knowing, what all falconers confessed, In all the land that falcon was the best, The master s pride and passion and delight, And the sole pursuivant of this poor knight. But yet, for her child s sake, she could no less Than give assent, to soothe his restlessness, So promised, and then promising to keep Her promise sacred, saw him fall asleep. The morrow was a bright September morn ; The earth was beautiful as if new-born ; There was that nameless splendor everywhere, That wild exhilaration in the air, Which makes the passers in the city street Congratulate each other as they meet. Two lovely ladies, clothed in cloak and hood, Passed through the garden gate into the wood, Under the lustrous leaves, and through the sheen Of dewy sunshine showering down between. The one, close-hooded, had the attractive grace Which sorrow sometimes lends a woman s face ; Her dark eyes moistened with the mists that roll From the gulf-stream of passion in the soul ; The other with her hood thrown back, her hair Making a golden glory in the air, Her cheeks suffused with an auroral blush, Her young heart singing louder than the thrush. So walked, that morn, through mingled light and shade-, Each by the other s presence lovelier made, Monna Giovanna and her bosom friend, Intent upon their errand and its end. They found Ser Federigo at his toil, Like banished Adam, delving in the soil ; And when he looked and these fair women spied, The garden suddenly was glorified ; THE FALCON OF SER FEDER1GO. 481 His long-lost Eden was restored again, And the strange river winding through the plain No longer was the Arno to his eyes, But the Euphrates watering Paradise ! Monna Giovanna raised her stately head, And with fair words of salutation said : " Ser Federigo, we come here as friends, Hoping in this to make some poor amends For past unkindness. I who ne er before Would even cross the threshold of your door. I who in happier days such pride maintained, Refused your banquets, and your gifts disdained, This morning come, a self-invited guest, To put your generous nature to the test, And breakfast with you under your own vine. " To which he answered : " Poor desert of mine, Not your unkindness call it, for if aught Is good in me of feeling or of thought, From you it comes, and this last grace outweighs All sorrows, all regrets of other days." And after further compliment and talk, Among the dahlias in the garden walk He left his guests ; and to his cottage turned, And as he entered for a moment yearned For the lost splendors of the days of old, The ruby glass, the silver, and the gold, And felt how piercing is the sting of pride, By want embittered and intensified. He looked about him for some means or way To keep this unexpected holiday ; Searched every cupboard, and then searched again, Summoned the maid, who came, but came in vain ; " The Signer did not hunt to-day," she said, " There s nothing in the house but wine and bread." Then suddenly the drowsy falcon shook His little bells with that sagacious look, Which said, as plain as language to the ear, " If anything is wanting, I am here ! " 3 * 482 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. Yes, everything is wanting, gallant "bird ! The master seized thee without further word, Like thine own lure, he whirled thee round ; ah me ! The pomp and flutter of brave falconry, The bells, the jesses, the bright scarlet hood, The night and the pursuit o er field and wood, All these for evermore are ended now ; No longer victor, but the victim thou ! Then on the board a snow-white cloth he spread, Laid on its wooden dish the loaf of bread, Brought purple grapes with autumn sunshine hot, The fragrant peach, the juicy bergamot ; Then in the midst a flask of wine he placed, And with autumnal flowers the banquet graced. Ser Federigo, would not these suffice Without thy falcon stuffed with cloves and spice ? When all was ready, and the courtly dame With her companion to the cottage came, Upon Ser Federigo s brain there fell The wild enchantment of a magic spell ; The room they entered, mean and low and small , Was changed into a sumptuous banquet-hall, With fanfares by aerial trumpets blown ; The rustic chair she sat on was a throne ; He ate celestial food, and a divine Flavor was given to his country wine, And the poor falcon, fragrant with his spice, A peacock was, or bird of paradise ! When the repast was ended, they arose And passed again into the garden-close. Then said the Lady, " Far too well I know, Remembering still the days of long ago, Though you betray it not, with what surprise You see me here in this familiar wise. You have no children, and you cannot guess What anguish, what unspeakable distress A mother feels, whose child is lying ill, THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO. 483 Nor how her heart anticipates his will. And yet for this you see me lay aside All womanly reserve and check of pride, And ask the thing most precious in your sight, Your falcon, your sole comfort and delight, Which, if you find it in your heart to give, My poor, unhappy boy perchance may live." Ser Federigo listens, and replies, With tears of love and pity in his eyes : " Alas, dear lady ! there can he no task So sweet to me, as giving when you ask. One little hour ago, if I had known This wish of yours, it would have been my own. But thinking in what manner I could best Do honor to the presence of my guest, I deemed that nothing worthier could be Than what most dear and precious was to me, And so my gallant falcon breathed his last To furnish forth this morning our repast." In mute contrition, mingled with dismay, The gentle lady turned her eyes away, Grieving that he such sacrifice should make, And kill his falcon for a woman s sake, Yet feeling in her heart a woman s pride, That nothing she could ask for was denied ; Then took her leave, and passed out at the gate With footstep slow, and soul disconsolate. Three days went by, and lo ! a passing-bell Tolled from the little chapel in the dell ; Ten strokes Ser Federigo heard, and said, Breathing a prayer, " Alas ! her child is dead ! " Three months went by, and lo ! a merrier chime Eang from the chapel bells at Christmas time ; The cottage was deserted, and no more Ser Federigo sat beside its door, But now, with servitors to do his will, In the grand villa, half-way up the hill, 484 TALES OF A WAYSIDE Sat at the Christmas feast, and at his side Monna Giovanna, his beloved bride, Never so beautiful, so kind, so fair, Enthroned once more in the old rustic chair, High-perched upon the back of which there stood The image of a falcon carved in wood, And underneath the inscription, with a date, " All things come round to him who will but wait. INTERLUDE. SOON as the story reached its end, One, over eager to commend, Crowned it with injudicious praise ; And then the voice of blame found vent, And fanned the embers of dissent Into a somewhat lively blaze. The Theologian shook his head ; " These old Italian tales," he said, "From the much-praised Decameron down Through all the rabble of the rest, Are either trifling, dull, or lewd ; The gossip of a neighbourhood In some remote provincial town, A scandalous chronicle at best ! They seem to me a stagnant fen, Grown rank with rushes and with reeds, Where a white lily, now and then, Blooms in the midst of noxious weeds And deadly nightshade on its banks." To this the Student straight replied : " Eor the white lily, many thanks ! One should not say, with too much pride, Fountain, I will not drink of thee ! Nor were it grateful to forget, That from these reservoirs and tanks Even imperial Shakspeare drew His Moor of Venice and the Jew, And Romeo and Juliet, And many a famous comedy." Then a long pause ; till some one said, " An angel is flying overhead ! " At these words spake the Spanish Jew And murmured with an inward breath " God grant, if what you say is true, It may not be the Angel of Death !" And then another pause \ and then, Stroking his beard, he said again : " This brings back to my memory A story in the Talmud told, That book of gems, that book of gold, Of wonders many and manifold, A tale that often comes to me, And fills my heart, and haunts my brain And never wearies nor grows old." THE SPANISH JEW S TALE. THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI. RABBI BEN LEVI, on the Sabbath, read A volume of the Law, in which it said, "No man shall look upon my face and live." And as he read, he prayed that God would give His faithful servant grace with mortal eye To look upon His face and yet not die. TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. Then fell a sudden shadow on the page, And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim with age, He saw the Angel of Death before him stand, Holding a naked sword in his right hand. Rabbi Ben Levi was a righteous man, Yet through his veins a chill of terror ran. With trembling voice he said, " What wilt thou here ] The Angel answered, " The time draws near When thou must die ; yet first, by God s decree, Whate er thou askest shall be granted thee." Replied the Rabbi, " Let these living eyes First look upon my place in Paradise." Then said the Angel, " Come with me and look." Rabbi Ben Levi closed the sacred book, And rising, and uplifting his gray head, . " Give me thy sword/ he to the Angel said, " Lest thou shouldst fall upon me by the way/ The Angel smiled and hastened to obey, Then led him forth to the Celestial Town, And set him on the wall, whence, gazing down, Rabbi Ben Levi, with his living eyes, Might look upon his place in Paradise. Then straight into the city of the Lord The Rabbi leaped with the Death-Angel s sword, And through the streets there swept a sudden breath Of something there unknown, which men call death. Meanwhile the Angel stayed without, and cried, " Come back ! " To which the Rabbi s voice replied, "No ! in the name of God, whom I adore, I swear that hence I will depart no more !" Then all the Angels cried, " Holy One. See what the son of Levi here has done ! The kingdom of Heaven he takes by violence, And in Thy name refuses to go hence ! " The Lord replied, "My Angels, be not wroth ; Did e er the son of Levi break his oath ? Let him remain ; for he with mortal eye Shall look upon my face and yet not die." THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI. Beyond the outer wall the Angel of Death Heard the great voice, and said, with panting breath, " Give back the sword, and let me go my way." Whereat the Rabbi paused, and answered, "Nay ! Anguish enough already has it caused Among the sons of men." And while he paused, He heard the awful mandate of the Lord Resounding through the air, " Give back the sword ! " The Eabbi bowed his head in silent prayer ; Then said he to the dreadful Angel, " Swear, No human eye shall look on it again ; But when thou takest away the souls of men, Thyself unseen, and with an unseen sword, Thou wilt perform the bidding of the Lord." The Angel took the sword again, and swore, And walks on earth unseen for evermore. INTERLUDE. HE ended : and a kind of spell At last, but in a voice subdued, Upon the silent listeners fell. Not to disturb their dreamy mood, His solemn manner and his words Said the Sicilian : " While you spoke, Had touched the deep, mysterious chords, Telling your legend marvellous, That vibrate in each human breast Suddenly in my memory woke Alike, but not alike confessed. The thought of one, now gone from The spiritual world seemed near ; us, And close above them, full of fear, An old Abate, meek and mild, Its awful adumbration passed, My friend and teacher, when a child, A luminous shadow, vague and vast. Who sometimes in those days of old They almost feared to look, lest there, The legend of an Angel told, Embodied from the impalpable air, Which ran, if I remember, thus." They might behold the Angel stand, Holding the sword in his right hand. [ 488 ] THE SICILIAN S TALE. KING ROBERT OF SICILY. ROBERT of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Apparelled in magnificent attire, With retinue of many a knight and squire, On St. John s Eve, at vespers, proudly sat And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. And as he listened, o er and o er again Eepeated, like a burden or refrain, He caught the words, " Deposuit potentes De sede, et exaltavit humiles ; " And slowly lifting up his kingly head, He to a learned clerk beside him said, " What mean these words V The clerk made answer meet, " He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree." Thereat King Eobert muttered scornfully, " Tis well that such seditious words are sung Only by priests and in the Latin tongue ; Eor unto priests and people be it known, There is no power can push me from my throne ! " And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. When he awoke, it was already night ; The church was empty, and there was no light, Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint. Lighted a little space before some saint. He started from his seat and gazed around, But saw no living thing and heard no sound. He groped towards the door, but it was locked ; He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, And uttered awful threatenings and complaints, And imprecations upon men and saints. The sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls ! KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 489 At length the sexton, hearing from without The tumult of the knocking and the shout, And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, Came with his lantern, asking, " Who is there ? " Half- choked with rage, King Eobert fiercely said, " Open : tis I, the King ! Art thou afraid 1 " The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse, " This is some drunken vagabond, or worse ! " Turned the great key and flung the portal wide ; A man rushed by him at a single stride, Haggard, half-naked, without hat or cloak, Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke, But leaped into the blackness of the night, And vanished like a spectre from his sight. Eobert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Yalmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Despoiled of his magnificent attire, Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with mire, With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, Strode on and thundered at the palace-gate ; Rushed through the court-yard, thrusting in his rage To right and left each seneschal and page, And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, His white face ghastly in the torches glare. From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed ; Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, Until at last he reached the banquet-room, Blazing ,with light, and breathing with perfume. There on the dais sat another king, Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring, King Eobert s self in features, form, and height, But all transfigured with angelic light ! It was an Angel j and his presence there With a divine effulgence filled the air, An exaltation, piercing the disguise, Though none the hidden Angel recognise. A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed, 490 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. Who met his looks of anger and surprise With the divine compassion of his eyes ; Then said, " Who art thou 1 and why com st thou here 1 To which King Robert answered, with a sneer, " I am the King, and come to claim my own From an impostor, who usurps my throne ! " And suddenly, at these audacious words, Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords ; The Angel answered, with unruffled brow, " Nay, not the King, but the King s Jester ; thou Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape, And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape ; Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, And wait upon my henchmen in the hall ! " Deaf to King Robert s threats and cries and prayers, They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs ; A group of tittering pages ran before, And as they opened wide the folding-door, His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms, The boisterous laughter of his men-at-arms, And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring With the mock plaudits of " Long live the King ! " 3SText morning, waking with the day s first beam, He said within himself, " It was a dream ! " But the straw rustled as he turned his head, There were the cap and bells beside his bed, Around him rose the bare, discolored walls, Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls, And in the corner, a revolting shape, Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape. It was no dream ; the world he loved so much Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch ! Days came and went ; and now returned again To Sicily the old Saturnian reign ; Under the Angel s governance benign The happy island danced with corn and wine, And deep within the mountain s burning breast Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 491 Meanwhile King Eobert yielded to his fate, Sullen and silent and disconsolate. Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear, With looks bewildered and a vacant stare, Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, His only friend the ape, his only food What others left, he still was unsubdued. And when the Angel met him on his way, And half in earnest, half in jest, would say, Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, " Art thou the King 1 " the passion of his woe Burst from him in resistless overflow, And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling The haughty answer back, " I am, I am the King ! " Almost three years were ended ; when there came Ambassadors of great repute and name From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Unto King Eobert, saying that Pope Urbane By letter summoned them forthwith to come On Holy Thursday to his city of Eome. The Angel with great joy received his guests, And gave them presents of embroidered vests, And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined, And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. Then he departed with them o er the sea Into the lovely land of Italy, Whose loveliness was more resplendent made By the mere passing of that cavalcade, With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. And lo ! among the menials, in mock state, Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait, His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind, The solemn ape demurely perched behind, King Eobert rode, making huge merriment In all the country towns through which they went. 492 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. The Pope received them with great pomp, and blare Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter s square, Giving his benediction and embrace, Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. While with congratulations and with prayers He entertained the Angel unawares, Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd, Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud, " I am the King ! Look, and behold in me Eobert, your brother, King of Sicily ! This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, Is an impostor in a king s disguise. Do you not know me 1 does no voice within Answer my cry, and say we are akin ?" The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien, Gazed at the Angel s countenance serene ; The Emperor, laughing, said, " It is strange sport To keep a madman for thy Tool at court ! " And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace Was hustled back among the populace. In solemn state the Holy Week went by, And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky ; The presence of the Angel, with its light, Before the sun rose, made the city bright, And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. Even the Jester, on his bed of straw, With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw. He felt within a power unfelt before, And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor, He heard the rushing garments of the Lord Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward. And now the visit ending, and once more Valmond returning to the Danube s shore, Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again The land was made resplendent with his train, Flashing along the towns of Italy Unto Salerno, and from there by sea. KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 493 And when once more within Palermo s wall, And, seated on the throne in his great hall, He heard the Angelas from convent towers, As if the better world conversed with ours, He beckoned to King Eobert to draw nigher, And with a gesture bade the rest retire ; And when they were alone, the Angel said, " Art thou the King 1 " Then bowing down his head, King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, And meekly answered him : " Thou knowest best ! My sins as scarlet are ; let me go hence, And in some cloister s school of penitence, Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven, Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul is shriven ! " The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face A holy light illumined all the place, And through the open window, loud and clear, They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, Above the stir and tumult of the street : " He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree ! " And through the chant a second melody Eose like the throbbing of a single string : " I am an Angel, and thou art the King ! " King Robert, who was standing near the throne, Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone ! But all apparelled as in days of old, With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold ; And when his courtiers came, they found him there Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed, in silent prayer. INTERLUDE. AND then the blue-eyed Norseman told Legends that once were told or sung A Saga of the days of old. In many a smoky fireside nook " There is," said he, " a wondrous book Of Iceland, in the ancient day, Of Legends in the old Norse tongue By wandering Saga-man or Scald ; Of the dead kings of Norroway, Heimskringla is the volume called ; 494 TALES OF A WAYSIDE And he who looks may find therein The story that I now begin." And in each pause the story made Upon his violin he played, As an appropriate interlude, Fragments of old Norwegian tunes That bound in one the separate runes, And held the mind in perfect mood, Entwining and encircling all The strange and antiquated rhymes With melodies of olden times ; As over some half-ruined wall, Disjointed and about to fall, Fresh woodbines climb and interlace, And keep the loosened stones in place A THE MUSICIAN S TALE. THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. L THE CHALLENGE OF THOR. I AM the God Thor, I am the War God, I am the Thunderer ! Here in my Northland, My fastness and fortress, Reign I forever ! Here amid icebergs Rule I the nations ; This is my hammer, Miolner the mighty ; Giants and sorcerers Cannot withstand it ! These are the gauntlets, Wherewith I wield it, And hurl it afar off ; This is my girdle ; Whenever I brace it, Strength is redoubled ! The light thou beholdest Stream through the heavens In flashes of crimson, Is but my red beard Blown by the night- wind, Affrighting the nations ! Jove is my brother ; Mine eyes are the lightning ; The wheels of my chariot Roll in the thunder, The blows of my hammer Ring in the earthquake ! Force rules the world still, Has ruled it, shall rule it ; Meekness is weakness, Strength is triumphant, Over the whole earth Still is it Thor s-Day ! Thou art a God too, Galilean ! And thus single-handed Unto the combat, Gauntlet or Gospel, Here I defy thee ! THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 495 II. KING OLAF S RETURN. AND King Olaf heard the cry, Saw the red light in the sky, Laid his hand upon his sword, As he leaned upon the railing, And his ships went sailing, sailing Northward into Drontheim fiord. There he stood as one who dreamed ; And the red light glanced and gleamed On the armor that he wore ; And he shouted, as the rifted Streamers o er him shook and shifted, " I accept thy challenge, Thor ! " To avenge his father slain, And reconquer realm and reign, Came the youthful Olaf home, Through the midnight sailing, sailing, Listening to the wild wind s wailing, And the dashing of the foam. To his thoughts the sacred name Of his mother Astrid came, And the tale she oft had told Of her flight by secret passes Through the mountains and morasses, To the home of Hakon old. Then strange memories crowded back Of Queen Gunhild s wrath and wrack, And a hurried flight by sea ; Of grim Vikings, and their rapture In the sea-fight, and the capture, And the life of slavery. How a stranger watched his face In the Esthonian market-place, Scanned his features one by one, Saying, " We should know each other ; I am Sigurd, Astrid s brother, Thou art Olaf, Astrid s son ! " Then as Queen Allogia s page, Old in honors, young in age, Chief of all her men-at-arms ; Till vague whispers, and mysterious, Reached King Valdemar, the imperious, Filling him with strange alarms. Then his cruisings o er the seas, Westward to the Hebrides, And to Scilly s rocky shore ; And the hermit s cavern dismal, Christ s great name and rites baptismal, In the ocean s rush and roar. All these thoughts of love and strife Glimmered through his lurid life, As the stars intenser light Through the red flames o er him trailing, As his ships went sailing, sailing, Northward in the summer night. Trained for either camp or court, Skilful in each manly sport, Young and beautiful and tall : Art of warfare, craft of chases, Swimming, skating, snow-shoe races, Excellent alike in all. When at sea, with all his rowers, He along the bending oars Outside of his ship could run. He the Smalsor Horn ascended, And his shining shield suspended On its summit, like a sun. On the ship-rails he could stand, Wield his sword with either hand, And at once tw T o javelins throw ; At all feasts where ale was strongest Sat the merry monarch longest, First to come and last to go. 496 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. Norway never yet had seen Thus came Olaf to his own, One so beautiful of mien, When upon the night-wind blown One so royal in attire, Passed that cry along the shore ; When in arms completely furnished, And he answered, while the rifted Harness gold-inlaid and burnished, Streamers o er him shook and shifted, Mantle like a flame of fire. " I accept thy challenge, Thor ! " III. THORA OF RIMOL. " THORA of Eimol ! hide me ! hide me ! Danger and shame and death betide me ! For Olaf the King is hunting me down Through field and forest, through thorp and town ! Thus cried Jarl Hakon To Thora, the fairest of women. " Hakon Jarl ! for the love I bear thee Neither shall shame nor death come near thee ! But the hiding-place wherein thou must lie Is the cave underneath the swine in the sty," Thus to Jarl Hakon Said Thora, the fairest of women. So Hakon Jarl and his base thrall Karker Crouched in the cave, than a dungeon darker, As Olaf came riding, with men in mail, Through the forest roads into Orkadale, Demanding Jarl Hakon Of Thora, the fairest of women. " Eich and honored shall he be whoever The head of Hakon Jarl shall dissever ! " Hakon heard him, and Karker the slave, Through the breathing-holes of the darksome cave. Alone in her chamber Wept Thora, the fairest of women. Said Karker, the crafty, " I will not slay thee ! For all the King s gold I will never betray thee ! " " Then why dost thou turn so pale, churl, And then again black as the earth ? " said the Earl. More pale and more faithful Was Thora, the fairest of women. THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 497 From a dream in the night the thrall started, saying, " Kound my neck a gold ring King Olaf was laying ! " And Hakon answered, " Beware of the king ! He will lay round thy neck a blood-red ring." At the ring on her finger Gazed Thora, the fairest of women. At daybreak slept Hakon, with sorrows encumbered, But screamed and drew up his feet as he slumbered ; The thrall in the darkness plunged with his knife, And the Earl awakened no more in this life. But wakeful and weeping Sat Thora, the fairest of women. At Mdarholm the priests are all singing, Two ghastly heads on the gibbet are swinging ; One is Jarl Hakon s and one is his thrall s, And the people are shouting from windows and walls ; While alone in her chamber Thora, the fairest of women. IV. QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY. QUEEN SIGRID the Haughty sat proud and aloft In her chamber, that looked over meadow and croft. Heart s dearest, "Why dost thou sorrow so 1 The floor with tassels of fir was besprent, Filling the room with their fragrant scent. She heard the birds sing, she saw the sun shine, The air of summer was sweeter than wine. Like a sword without scabbard the bright river lay Between her own kingdom and Norroway. But Olaf the King had sued for her hand, The sword would be sheathed, the river be spanned. Her maidens were seated around her knee, Working bright figures in tapestry. 498 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INK And one was singing the ancient rune Of Brynhilda s love and the wrath of Gudrun. And through it, and round it, and over it all Sounded incessant the waterfall. The Queen in her hand held a ring of gold, From the door of Lady s Temple old. King Olaf had sent her this wedding gift, But her thoughts as arrows were keen and swift. She had given the ring to her goldsmiths twain, Who smiled as they handed it back again. And Sigrid the Queen in her haughty way, Said, " Why do you smile, my goldsmiths, say ? " And they answered : " Queen ! if the truth must be told, The ring is of copper, and not of gold ! " The lightning flashed o er her forehead and cheek, She only murmured, she did not speak : " If in his gifts he can faithless be, There will be no gold in his love to me." A footstep was heard on the outer stair, And in strode King Olaf with royal air. He kissed the Queen s hand, and he whispered of love, And swore to be true as the stars are above. But she smiled with contempt as she answered : " King, Will you swear it, as Odin once swore, on the ring 1 " And the King : " speak not of Odin to me, The wife of King Olaf a Christian must be." Looking straight at the King, with her level brows, She said, " I keep true to my faith and my vows." Then the face of King Olaf was darkened with gloom, He rose in his anger and strode through the room. " Why then should I care to have thee ? " he said, "A faded old woman, a heathenish jade ! " His zeal was stronger than fear or love, And he struck the Queen in the face with his glove. THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 409 Then forth from the chamber in anger he lied, And the wooden stairway shook with his tread. Queen Sigrid the Haughty said under her breath, " This insult, King Olaf, shall be thy death ! " Heart s dearest, Why dost thou sorrow so I V. THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS. Now from all King Olaf s farms His men-at-arms Gathered on the Eve of Easter ; To his house at Angvalds-ness Fast they press, Drinking with the royal feaster. Loudly through the wide-thing door Came the roar Of the sea upon the Skerry ; And its thunder loud and near Eeached the ear, Mingling with their voices merry. " Hark ! " said Olaf to his Scald, Halfred the Bald, " Listen to that song, and learn it ! Half my kingdom would I give, As I live, If by such songs you would earn it ! " For of all the runes and rhymes Of all times, Best I like the ocean s dirges, When the old harper heaves and rocks, His hoary locks Flowing and flashing in the surges ! " Halfred answered : " I am called The Unappalled ! Nothing hinders me or daunts me. Hearken to me, then, King, While I sing The great Ocean song that haunts me." " I will hear your song sublime Some other time," Says the drowsy monarch, yawning, And retires ; each laughing guest Applauds the jest ; Then they sleep till day is dawning. Pacing up and down the yard, King Oiaf s guard Saw the sea-mist slowly creeping O er the sands, and up the hill, Gathering still Round the house where they were sleep ing. It was not the fog he saw, Nor misty flaw, That above the landscape brooded ; It was Eyvind Kallda s crew Of warlocks blue, With their caps of darkness hooded ! Round and round the house they go, W T eaving slow Magic circles to encumber And imprison in their ring Olaf the King, As he helpless lies in slumber. Then athwart the vapors dun The Easter sun Streamed with one broad track of splen dor ! In their real forms appeared The warlocks weird, Awful as the Witch of Endor. 500 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. Blinded by the light that glared, They groped and stared Round about with steps unsteady ; From his window Olaf gazed, And, amazed, " Who are these strange people ? " said he. " Eyvind Kallda and his men !" Answered then From the yard a sturdy farmer ; While the men-at-arms apace Filled the place, Busily buckling on their armor. From the gates they sallied forth, South and north, Scoured the island coasts around them, Seizing all the warlock band, Foot and hand On the Skerry s rocks they bound them. And at eve the King again Called his train, And, with all the candles burning, Silent sat, and heard once more The sullen roar Of the ocean tides returning. Shrieks and cries of wild despair Filled the air, Growing fainter as they listened ; Then the bursting surge alone Sounded on ; Thus the sorcerers were christened ! " Sing, Scald, your song sublime, Your ocean-rhyme ! " Cried King Olaf : " it will cheer me ! " Said the Scald, with pallid cheeks, " The Skerry of Shrieks Sings too loud for you to hear me ! " VI. THE WRAITH OP ODIN. THE guests were loud, the ale was strong, King Olaf feasted late and long ; The hoary Scalds together sang ; O erhead the smoky rafters rang. Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. The door swung wide, with creak and din } A blast of cold night- air came in, And on the threshold shivering stood A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood. Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. The King exclaimed, "0 graybeard pale ! Come warm thee with this cup of ale." The foaming draught the old man quaffed, The noisy guests looked on and laughed. Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. Then spake the King : " Be not afraid ; Sit here by me." The guest obeyed, And, seated at the table, told Tales of the sea, and Sagas old. Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. And ever, when the tale was o er, The King demanded yet one more ; Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said, " Tis late, King, and time for bed." Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. The King retired ; the stranger-guest Followed and entered with the rest ; The lights were out, the pages gone, But still the garrulous guest spake on. Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. As one who from a volume reads, He spake of heroes and their deeds, Of lands and cities he had seen, And stormy gulfs that tossed between. Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 501 Then from his lips in music rolled The Bishop said, " Late hours we keep ! The Havamal of Odin old, Night wanes, O King ! Tis time for With sounds mysterious as the roar sleep ! " Of billows on a distant shore. Then slept the King, and when he woke Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. The guest was gone, the morning broke. Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. Do we not leam from runes and rhymes found ^ ^ ^ ^ Made by the gods in elder times, watch-dog in the yard, * J J _ 1. ~i:l1 4-U .-.-., .~4- C^^^l^I^. 4-/-,r.nV> J > 7 . And do not still the great Scalds each ^ ^ no .^ That Silence better is than speech? ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ r Dead ndes Sir Morten of Foelsang. gf FogelsaJ]g . Smiling at this, the King replied, King Olaf crossed himself and said : " Thy lore is by thy tongue belied \ " I know that Odin the Great is dead ; For never was I so enthralled Sure is the triumph of our Faith, Either by Saga-man or Scald." The one-eyed stranger was his wraith." Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. VII. IRON-BEARD. OLAF the King, one summer morn, Blew a blast on his bugle-horn, Sending his signal through the land of Drontheim. And to the Hus-Ting held at Mere Gathered the farmers far and near, With their war weapons ready to confront him. Ploughing under the morning star, Old Iron-beard in Yriar Heard the summons, chuckling with a low laugh. He wiped the sweat drops from his brow, Unharnessed his horses from the plough, And clattering came on horseback to King Olaf. He was the churliest of the churls ; Little he cared for king or earls ; Bitter as home-brewed ale were his foaming passions. Hodden-gray was the garb he wore, And by the Hammer of Thor he swore ; He hated the narrow town, and all its fashions. But he loved the freedom of his farm, His ale at night by the fireside warm, Gudrun his daughter, with her flaxen tresses. He loved his horses and his herds, The smell of the earth, and the song of birds, His well-filled barns, his brook with its watercresses. THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 503 Huge and cumbersome was his frame ; His beard, from which ho took his name, Frosty and fierce, like that of Hymer the Giant. So at the Hus-Ting he appeared, The farmer of Yriar, Iron-Beard, On horseback, with an attitude defiant. And to King Olaf he cried aloud, Out of the middle of the crowd, That tossed about him like a stormy ocean : " Such sacrifices shalt thou bring, To Odin and to Thor, King, As other kings have done in their devotion ! " King Olaf answered : " I command This land to be a Christian land ; Here is my Bishop who the folk baptizes ! " But if you ask me to restore Your sacrifices, stained with gore, Then will I offer human sacrifices ! " Not slaves and peasants shall they be, But men of note and high degree, Such men as Orm of Lyra and Kar of Gryting ! " Then to their Temple strode he in, And loud behind him heard the din Of his men-at-arms and the peasants fiercely fighting. There in the Temple, carved in wood, , The image of great Odin stood, And other gods, with Thor supreme among them. King Olaf smote them with the blade Of his huge war-axe, gold-inlaid, And downward shattered to the pavement flung them. At the same moment rose without, From the contending crowd, a shout, A mingled sound of triumph and of wailing. And there upon the trampled plain The farmer Iron-Beard lay slain, Midway between the assailed and the assailing. 504 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. King Olaf from the doorway spoke : " Choose ye between two things, niy folk, To be baptized or given up to slaughter ! " And seeing their leader stark and dead, The people with a murmur said, " King, baptize us with thy holy water ! " So all the Drontheim land became A Christian land in name and fame, Iii the old gods no more believing and trusting. And as a blood-atonement, soon King Olaf wed the fair Gudrun ; And thus in peace ended the Drontheim Ilus-Ting ! VIII. GUDRUN. ON King Olaf s bridal night Shines the moon with tender light, And across the chamber streams Its tide of dreams. At the fatal midnight hour, When all evil things have power, In the glimmer of the moon Stands Gudrun. Close against her heaving breast, Something in her hand is pressed ; Like an icicle, its sheen Is cold and keen. On the cairn are fixed her eyes Where her murdered father lies, And a voice remote and drear She seems to hear. What a bridal night is this 1 Cold will be the dagger s kiss ; Laden with the chill of death Is its breath. Like the drifting snow she sweeps To the couch where Olaf sleeps ; Suddenly he wakes and stirs, His eyes meet hers. " What is that," King Olaf said, " Gleams so bright above thy head 1 Wherefore standest thou so white In pale moonlight ? " " Tis the bodkin that I wear When at night I bind my hair ; It woke me falling on the floor ; Tis nothing more." " Forests have ears, and fields eyes; Often treachery lurking lies Underneath the fairest hair ! Gudrun, beware ! " Ere the earliest peep of morn Blew King Olaf s bugle-horn ; And forever sundered ride Bridegroom and bride ! THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 50.5 THANGBRAND THE PRIEST. SnuitT of stature, large of ]iml>, Burly face and russet beard, All the women stared at him, When in Iceland he appeared. " Look ! " they said, With nodding head, " There goes Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. All the prayers he knew by rote, He could preach like Chrysostome, .From the Fathers he could quote, He had even been at Rome. A learned clerk, A man of mark, Was this Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. He was quarrelsome and loud, And impatient of control, Boisterous in the market crowd, Boisterous at the wassail-bowl, Everywhere Would drink and swear, Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. In his house this malecontent Could the King no longer bear, So to Iceland he was sent To convert the heathen there; And away One summer day Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. There in Iceland, o er their books Pored the people day and night, But he did not like their looks, Xor the songs they used to write. " All this rhyme Is waste of time ! " Grumbled Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. To the alehouse, where he sat, ( ame the Scalds and Saga-men ; Is it to be wondered at, That they quarrelled now and then, When o er his beer Began to leer Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest I All the folk in Alftanord Boasted of their island grand ; Saying in a single word, " Iceland is the finest land That the sun Doth shine upon ! " Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest, And he answered : " What s the use Of this bragging up and down, When three women and one goose Make a market in your town ! " Every Scald Satires scrawled On poor Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. Something worse they did than that ; And what vexed him most of all Was a figure in shovel hat, Drawn in charcoal on the wall ; With words that go Sprawling below, " This is Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest." Hardly knowing what he did, Then he smote them might and main, Thorvald Veile and Veterlid Lay there in the alehouse slain. " To-day we are gold, To-morrow mould !" Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf s Priesk Much in fear of axe and rope, Back to Norway sailed he then, "0 King Olaf! little hope Is there of these Iceland men ! " Meekly said, With bending head, Pious Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. 3 T TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. X. RAUD THE STRONG. " ALL the old gods are dead, All the wild warlocks fled ; But the White Christ lives and reigns, And throughout my wide domains His Gospel shall be spread ! " On the Evangelists Thus swore King Olaf. But still in dreams of the night Beheld he the crimson light, Arid heard the voice that defied Him who was crucified, And challenged him to the fight. To Sigurd the Bishop King Olaf confessed it, And Sigurd the Bishop said, " The old gods are not dead, For the great Thor still reigns, And among the Jarls and Thanes The old witchcraft still is spread," Thus to King Olaf Said Sigurd the Bishop. " Far north in the Salten Fiord, By rapine, fire, and sword, Lives the Viking, Baud the Strong ; All the Godoe Isles belong To him and his heathen horde." Thus went on speaking Sigurd the Bishop. " A warlock, a wizard is he, And lord of the wind and the sea ; And whichever way he sails, He has ever-favoring gales, By his craft in sorcery." Here the sign of the cross made Devoutly King Olaf. " With rites that we both abhor, He worships Odin and Thor ; So it cannot yet be said, That all the old gods are dead, And the warlocks are no more," Flushing with anger Said Sigurd the Bishop. Then King Olaf cried aloud : " I will talk with this mighty Kaud, And along the Salten Fiord Preach the Gospel with my sword, Or be brought back in my shroud ! " So northward from Drontheim Sailed King Olaf. XL BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD. LOUD the angry wind was wailing As King Olaf s ships came sailing Northward out of Drontheim haven To the mouth of Salten Fiord. Though the flying sea-spray drenches Fore and aft the rower s benches, Not a single heart is craven Of the champions there on board. All without the Fiord was quiet, But within it storm and riot, Such as on his Viking cruises Kaud the Strong was wont to ride. And the sea through all its tide-ways Swept the reeling vessels sideways, As the leaves are swept through sluices, When the flood-gates open wide. " Tis the warlock ! tis the demon Kaud 1 " cried Sigurd to the seamen ; " But the Lord is not affrighted By the witchcraft of his foes." To the ship s bow he ascended, By his choristers attended, Round him were the tapers lighted. And the sacred incense rose. THE SAGA OF KING ULAF. f.07 On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd, In his robes, as one transfigured, And the Crucifix he planted High amid the rain and mist. Then with holy water sprinkled All the ship ; the mass-bells tinkled ; Loud the monks around him chanted, Loud he read the Evangelist. As into the Fiord they darted, On each side the water parted ; Down a path like silver molten Steadily rowed King Olaf s ships ; Steadily burned all night the tapers, And the White Christ through the vapors Gleamed across the Fiord of Salten, As through John s Apocalypse, Till at last they reached Eaud s dwelling On the little isle of Gelling ; Not a guard was at the doorway, Not a glimmer of light was seen. But at anchor, carved and gilded, Lay the dragon ship he builded ; Twas the grandest ship in Norway, With its crest and scales of green. Up the stairway, softly creeping, To the loft where Eaud was sleeping, With their fists they burst asunder Bolt and bar that held the door. Drunken with sleep and ale they found him, Dragged him from his bed and bound him, While he stared with stupid wonder, At the look and garb they wore. Then King Olaf said : " O Sea-King ! Little time have we for speaking, Choose between the good and evil ; Be baptized, or thou shalt die ! " But in scorn the heathen scoffer Answered : " I disdain thine offer ; Neither fear I God nor Devil ; Thee and thy Gospel I defy ! " Then between his jaws distended, When his frantic struggles ended, Through King Olaf s horn an adder, Touched by fire, they forced to glide. Sharp his tooth was as an arrow, As he gnawed through bone and marrow ; But without a groan or shudder, Eaud the Strong blaspheming died. Then baptized they all that region, Swarthy Lap and fair Norwegian, Far as swims the salmon, leaping, Up the streams of Salten Fiord. In their temples Thor and Odin Lay in dust and ashes trodden, As King Olaf, onward sweeping, Preached the Gospel with his sword. Then he took the carved and gilded Dragon-ship that Eaud had builded, And the tiller single-handed, Grasping, steered into the main. Southward sailed the sea-gulls o er him, Southward sailed the ship that bore him, Till at Drontheim haven landed Olaf and his crew again. XII. KING OLAF S CHRISTMAS. AT Drontheim, Olaf the King Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring, As he sat in his banquet-hall, Drinking the nut-brown ale, With his bearded Berserks hale And tall. COS TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. Three days his Yule-tide feasts He held with Bishops and Priests, And his horn filled up to the brim ; But the ale was never too strong, Nor the Saga-man s tale too long, For him. O er his drinking-horn, the sign He made of the Cross divine, As he drank, and muttered his prayers ; But the Berserks evermore Made the sign of the Hammer of Thor Over theirs. The gleams of the fire-light dance Upon helmet and hauberk and lance, And laugh in the eyes of the King ; And he cries to Halfred the Scald, Gray-bearded, wrinkled, and bald, " Sing ! " Sing me a song divine, With a sword in every line, And this shall be thy reward." And he loosened the belt at his waist, And in front of the singer placed His sword. " Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, Wherewith at a stroke he hewed The millstone through and through, And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong, Were neither so broad nor so long, Nor so true." And the Berserks round about Broke forth into a shout That made the rafters ring : They smote with their fists on the board, And shouted, " Long live the Sword, And the King ! " But the King said, " my son, I miss the bright word in one Of thy measures and thy rhymes." Arid Halfred the Scald replied, " In another twas multiplied Three times." Then King Olaf raised the hilt Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt, And said, " Do not refuse ; Count well the gain and the loss, Thor s hammer or Christ s cross ; Choose ! " And Halfred the Scald said, " This In the name of the Lord I kiss, Who on it was crucified ! " And a shout went round the board, " In the name of Christ the Lord, Who died ! " Then over the waste of snows The noonday sun uprose, Through the driving mists revealed, Like the lifting of the Host, By incense-clouds almost Concealed. Then the Scald took his harp and sang, On the shining wall a vast And loud through the music rang The sound of that shining word ; And the harp-strings a clangor made, As if they were struck with the blade Of a sword. And shadowy cross was cast From the hilt of the lifted sword. And in foaming cups of ale The Berserks drank "Was-hael ! To the Lord ! " XIII. THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT. THORBERG SKAFTING, master-builder, In his shipyard by the sea, Whistled, saying, " Twould bewilder Any man but Thorberg Skaftiiig, Any man but me ! " Near him lay the Dragon stranded, Built of old by Eaud the Strong, And King Olaf had commanded He should build another Dragon, Twice as large and long. Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting, As he sat with half-closed eyes, 510 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. And his head turned sideways, drafting That new vessel for King Olaf Twice the Dragon s size. ."Round him busily hewed and hammered Mallet huge and heavy axe ; Workmen laughed and sang and cla mored, Whirred the wheels, that into rigging Spun the shining flax ! All this tumult heard the master, It was music to his ear ; Fancy whispered all the faster, " Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting For a hundred year ! " Workmen sweating at the forges Fashioned iron bolt and bar ; Like a warlock s midnight orgies, Smoked and bubbled the black caldron With the boiling tar. Did the warlocks mingle in it, Thorberg Skafting, any curse ? Could you not be gone a minute But some mischief must be doing, Turning bad to worse ? Twas an ill wind that came wafting From his homestead words of woe ; To his farm went Thorberg Skafting, Oft repeating to his workmen, Build ye thus and so. After long delays returning Came the master back by night ; To his shipyard longing, yearning, Hurried he, and did not leave it Till the morning s light. " Come and see my ship, my darling ! " On the morrow said the King ; " Finished now from keel to carling ; Never yet was seen in Norway Such a wondrous thing !" In the shipyard, idly talking, At the ship the workmen stared : Some one all their labor balking, Down her sides had cut deep gashes, Not a plank was spared ! " Death be to the evil doer ! " With an oath King Olaf spoke ; " But rewards to his pursuer ! " And with wrath his face grew redder Than his scarlet cloak. Straight the master-builder, smiling, Answered thus the angry King : " Cease blaspheming and reviling, Olaf ; it was Thorberg Skafting Who has done this thing ! " Then he chipped and smoothed the plank ing, Till the King, delighted, swore, With much lauding and much thanking, " Handsomer is now my dragon Than she was before !" Seventy ells and four extended On the grass the vessel s keel ; High above it, gilt and splendid, Rose the figure-head ferocious, With its crest of steel. Then they launched her from the tres- sels, In the shipyard by the sea ; She was the grandest of all vessels, Never ship was built in Norway Half so fine as she ! The Long Serpent was she christened, Mid the roar of cheer on cheer ! They who to the Saga listened Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting For a hundred year ! THE SAGA OF KING (JLAF. 511 XIV. THE CHEW OP THE LONG SERPENT. SAFE at anchor in Drontheim Bay King Olaf s fleet assembled lay, And, striped with white and blue, Downward fluttered sail and banner, As alights the screaming lanner ; Lustily cheered, in their wild manner, The Long Serpent s crew. Her forecastle man was Ulf the lied ; Like a wolf s was his shaggy head, His teeth as large and white ; His beard of gray and russet blended, liound as a swallow s nest descended ; As standard-bearer he defended Olaf s flag in the fight, Near him Kolbiorn had his place, Like the King in garb and face, So gallant and so hale ; Every cabin-boy and varlet Wondered at his cloak of scarlet ; Like a river frozen and star-lit, Gleamed his coat of mail. By the bulkhead, tall and dark, Stood Thrand Rame of Thelemark, A figure gaunt and grand ; On his hairy arm imprinted Was an anchor, azure-tinted ; Like Thor s hammer, huge and dinted Was his brawny hand. Einar Tamberskelver, bare To the winds his golden hair, By the mainmast stood ; Graceful was his form and slender, And his eyes were deep and tender As a woman s, in the splendor Of her maidenhood. In the fore-hold Biorn and Bork Watched the sailors at their work : Heavens ! how they swore ! Thirty men they each commanded, Iron-sinewed, horny-handed, Shoulders broad, and chests expanded, Tugging at the oar. These, and many more like these, With King Olaf sailed the seas, Till the waters vast Filled them with a vague devotion, With the freedom and the motion, With the roll and roar of ocean And the sounding blast. When they landed from the fleet, How they roared through Drontheim s Boisterous as the gale ! [street, How they laughed and stamped and pounded, Till the tavern roof resounded, And the host looked on astounded As they drank the ale ! Never saw the wild North Sea Such a gallant company Sail its billows blue ! Never, while they cruised and quarrelled, Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Harald, Owned a ship so well apparelled, Boasted such a crew ! A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR. A LITTLE bird in the air Is singing of Thyri the fair, The sister of Svend the Dane ; And the song of the garrulous bird In the streets of the town is heard, And repeated again and again. Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee awav from each other 512 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. To King Burislaf, it is said, Was the beautiful Thyri wed, And a sorrowful bride went she ; And after a week and a day, She has fled away and away, From his town by the stormy sea. Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other. They say that through heat and through cold, [wold, Through weald, they say, and through By day and by night, they say, She has fled ; and the gossips report She has come to King Olaf s court, And the town is all in dismay. Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other. It is whispered King Olaf has seen, Has talked with the beautiful Queen ; And they wonder how it will end ; For surely, if here she remain, It is war with King Svend the Dane, And King Burislaf the Vend ! Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other. O, greatest wonder of all ! Tt is published in hamlet and hall, It roars like a flame that is fanned ! The King yes, Olaf the King- Has wedded her with his ring, And Thyri is Queen in the land ! Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other. XVI. QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA-STALKS. NORTHWARD over Drontheim Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, Sang the lark and linnet From the meadows green ; Weeping in her chamber, Lonely and unhappy, Sat the Drottning Thyri, Sat King Olaf s Queen. In at all the windows Streamed the pleasant sunshine, On the roof above her Softly cooed the dove ; But the sound she heard not, Nor the sunshine heeded, For the thoughts of Thyri Were not thoughts of love. Then King Olaf entered, Beautiful as morning, Like the sun at Easter Shone his happy face ; In his hand he carried Angelicas uprooted, With delicious fragrance Filling all the place. Like a rainy midnight Sat the Drottning Thyri, Even the smile of Olaf Could not cheer her gloom ; Nor the stalks he gave her With a gracious gesture, And with words as pleasant As their own perfume. In her hands he placed them, And her jewelled fingers Through the green leaves glistened Like the dews of morn ; But she cast them from her, Haughty and indignant, On the floor she threw them With a look of scorn. " Richer presents," said she, "Ciavo Kinir Harald Crormson THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 513 To the Queen, my mother, Than such worthless weeds ; " When he ravaged Norway, Laying waste the kingdom, Seizing scatt and treasure For her royal needs. " But thou darest not venture Through the Sound to Vendland, My domains to rescue From King Burislaf ; " Lest King Svend of Denmark, Forked Beard, my brother, Scatter all thy vessels As the wind the chaff. " Then up sprang King Olaf, Like a reindeer bounding, With an oath he answered Thus the luckless -Queen : " Never yet did Olaf Fear King Svend of Denmark ; This right hand shall hale him By his forked chin ! " Then he left the chamber, Thundering through the doorway, Loud his steps resounded Down the outer stair. Smarting with the insult, Through the streets of Drontheim Strode he red and wrathful, With his stately air. All his ships he gathered, Summoned all his forces, Making his war levy In the region round ; Down the coast of Norway, Like a flock of sea-gulls, Sailed the fleet of Olaf Throimh the Danish Sound. With his own hand fearless, Steered he the Long Serpent, Strained the creaking cordage, Bent each boom and gaff ; Till in Vendland landing, The domains of Thyri He redeemed and rescued From King Burislaf. Then said Olaf, laughing, " Not ten yoke of oxen Have the power to draw us Like a woman s hair ! " Now will I confess it, Better things are jewels Than angelica-stalks are For a Queen to wear." XVII. KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEARD. LOUDLY the sailors cheered Svend of the Forked Beard, As with bis fleet he steered Southward to Vendland ; Where with their courses haukd All were together called, Under the Isle of Svald Near to the mainland. After Queen Gunhild s death, So the old Saga saith, Plighted King Svend his faith To Sigrid the Haughty ; And to avenge his bride, Soothing her wounded pride, Over the waters wide King Olaf sought he. Still on her scornful face, Blushing with deep disgrace, Bore she the crimson trace Of Olaf s gauntlet ; a r 514 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. Like a malignant star, Blazing in heaven afar, Eed shone the angry scar Under her frontlet. Oft to King Svend she spake, " For thine own honor s sake Shalt thou swift vengeance take On the vile coward ! " Until the King at last, Gusty and overcast, Like a tempestuous blast Threatened and lowered. Soon as the Spring appeared, Svend of the Forked Beard High his red standard reared, Eager for battle ; While every warlike Dane, Seizing his arms again, Left all unsown the grain, Unhoused the cattle. Likewise the Swedish King Summoned in haste a Thing, Weapons and men to bring In aid of Denmark ; Eric the Norseman, too, As the war-tidings flew, Sailed with a chosen crew From Lapland and Finmark. So upon Easter day Sailed the three kings away, Out of the sheltered bay, In the bright season ; With them Earl Sigvald came, Eager for spoil and fame ; Pity that such a name Stooped to such treason ! Safe under Svald at last, Xow were their anchors cast, Safe from the sea and blast, Hotted the three kings ; While, with a base intent, Southward Earl Sigvald went, On a foul errand bent, Unto the Sea-kings, Thence to hold on his course, Unto King Olaf s force, Lying within the hoarse Mouths of Stet-haven ; Him to ensnare and bring Unto the Danish king, Who his dead corse would fling Forth to the raven ! XVIII. KING OLAF AND EAEL SIGVALD. ON the gray sea-sands King Olaf stands, Northward and seaward He points with his hands. With eddy and whirl The sea-tides curl, Washing the sandals Of Sigvald the Earl. The mariners shout, The ships swing about, The yards are all hoisted, The sails flutter out. The war-horns are played, The anchors are weighed, Like moths in the distance The sails flit and fade. The sea is like lead, The harbor lies dead, As a corse on the sea-shore, Whose spirit has fled ! On that fatal day, The histories say, Seventy vessels Sailed out of the b;iv. THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. r.ir, But soon scattered wide O er the billows they ride, While Sigvald and Olaf Sail side by side. Cried the Earl : " Follow me ! I your pilot will be, For I know all the channels Where flows the deep sea ! " So into the strait Where his foes lie in wait, Gallant King Olaf Sails to his fate ! Then the sea-fog veils The ships and their sails ; Queen Sigrid the Haughty, Thy vengeance prevails ! XIX. KING OLAP S WAR-HORNS. " STRIKE the sails ! " King Olaf said ; " Never shall men of mine take flight : Never away from battle I fled, Never away from my foes ! Let God dispose Of my life in the fight ! " " Sound the horns ! " .said Olaf the King ; And suddenly through the drifting brume The blare of the horns began to ring, Like the terrible trumpet shock Of Regnarock, On the Day of Doom ! Louder and louder the war-horns sang Over the level floor of the flood ; All the sails came dow^n with a clang, And there in the mist overhead The sun hung red As a drop of blood. Drifting down on the Danish fleet Three together the ships were lashed, So that neither should turn and retreat ; In the midst, but in front of the rest, The burnished crest Of the Serpent flashed. King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck, With bow of ash and arrows of oak, His gilded shield was without a fleck, His helmet inlaid with gold, And in many a fold Hung his crimson cloak. On the forecastle Ulf the Eed Watched the lashing of the ships ; " If the Serpent lie so far ahead. We shall have hard work of it here," Said he, with a sneer On his bearded lips. King Olaf laid an arrow on string, " Have I a coward on board 1 " said he " Shoot it another way, King ! " Sullenly answered Ulf, The old sea- wolf ; " You have need of me ! " In front came Svend, the King of the Danes, Sweeping down with his fifty rowers ; To the right, the Swedish king with his thanes ; And on board of the Tron-Beard Earl Eric steered On the left with his oars. " These soft Danes and Swedes," said the King, [stay, " At home with their wives had better Than come within reach of my Serpent s sting : But where Eric the Norseman leads Heroic deeds Will be done to-day ! 51(5 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. Then as together the vessels crashed, Eric severed the cables of hide, With which King Olaf s ships were lashed, And left them to drive and drift With the currents swift Of the outward tide. Louder the war-horns growl and snarl, Sharper the dragons bite and sting ! Eric the son of Hakon Jarl A death-drink salt as the sea Pledges to thee, Olaf the King ! EINAR TAMBERSKELVER. IT was Einar Tamberskelver Stood beside the mast ; From his yew-bow, tipped with silver, Flew the arrows fast ; Aimed at Eric unavailing, As he sat concealed, Half behind the quarter-railing, Half behind his shield. First an arrow struck the tiller, Just above his head ; " Sing, Eyvind Skaldaspiller," Then Earl Eric said, " Sing the song of Hakon dying, Sing his funeral wail ! " And another arrow flying Grazed his coat of mail. Turning to a Lapland yeoman, As the arrow passed, Said Earl Eric, " Shoot that bowman Standing by the mast." Sooner than the word was spoken Flew the yeoman s shaft ; Einar s bow in twain was broken, Einar only laughed. " What was that?" said Olaf, standing On the quarter-deck. " Something heard I like the stranding Of a shattered wreck." Einar then, the arrow taking From the loosened string, Answered, " That was Norway breaking From thy hand, king ! " " Thou art but a poor diviner," Straightway Olaf said ; " Take my bow, and swifter, Einar, Let thy shafts be sped." Of his bows the fairest choosing, Reached he from above ; Einar saw the blood-drops oozing Through his iron glove. But the bow was thin and narrow ; At the first essay, O er its head he drew the arrow, Flung the bow away ; Said, with hot and angry temper Flushing in his cheek, " Olaf ! for so great a Kamper Are thy bows too weak ! " Then, with smile of joy defiant On his beardless lip, Scaled he, light and self-reliant, Eric s dragon-ship. Loose his golden locks were flowing, Bright his armor gleamed ; Like Saint Michael overthrowing Lucifer he seemed. XXI. KING OLAF S DEATH-DRINK. ALL day has the battle raged, All day have the ships engaged, But not yet is assuaged The vengeance of Eric the Earl. THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 517 The decks with blood are red, The arrows of death are sped, The ships are filled with the dead, And the spears the champions hurl. They drift as wrecks on the tide, The grappling-irons are plied, The boarders climb up the side, The shouts are feeble and few. Ah ! never shall Norway again See her sailors come back o er the main . They all lie wounded or slain, Or asleep in the billows blue ! On the deck stands Olaf the King, Around him whistle and sing The spears that the foemen fling, And the stones they hurl with their hands. In the midst of the stones and the spears, Kolbiorn, the marshal, appears, His shield in the air he uprears, By the side of King Olaf he stands. Over the slippery wreck Of the Long Serpent s deck Sweeps Eric with hardly a check, His lips with anger are pale ; He hews with his axe at the mast, Till it falls, with the sails overcast, Like a snow-covered pine in the vast Dim forests of Orkadale. Seeking King Olaf then, He rushes aft with his men, As a hunter into the den Of the bear, when he stands at bay. " Eemember Jarl Hakon ! " he cries ; When lo ! on his wondering eyes, Two kingly figures arise, Two Olafs in warlike array ! Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear Of King Olaf a word of cheer, In a whisper that none may hear, With a smile 011 his tremulous lip; Two shields raised high in the air, Two flashes of golden hair, Two scarlet meteors glare, And both have leaped from the ship. Earl Eric s men in the boats Seize Kolbiorn s shield as it floats, And cry, from their hairy throats, " See ! it is Olaf the King ! " While far on the opposite side Floats another shield on the tide, Like a jewel set in the wide Sea-current s eddying ring. There is told a wonderful tale, How the King stripped off his mail, Like leaves of the brown sea-kale, As he swam beneath the main ; But the young grew old and gray, And never, by night or by day, In his kingdom of Norroway Was King Olaf seen again ! XXII. THE NUN OF NIDAROS. IN the convent of Drontheim, Alone in her chamber Knelt Astrid the Abbess, At midnight, adoring, Beseeching, entreating The Virgin and Mother. She heard in the silence The voice of one speaking, Without in the darkness, In gusts of the night-wind, Now louder, now nearer, Now lost in the distance. 518 TALES OF A WAYSIDE The voice of a stranger It seemed as she listened, Of some one who answered, Beseeching, imploring, A cry from afar off She could not distinguish. The voice of Saint John, The beloved disciple, Who wandered and waited The Master s appearance, Alone in the darkness, Unsheltered and friendless. " It is accepted, The angry defiance, The challenge of battle ! It is accepted, But not with the weapons Of war that thou wieldest ! " Cross against corselet, Love against hatred, Peace-cry for war-cry ! Patience is powerful ; He that o ercometh Hath power o er the nations ! INTERLUDE. 519 "As torrents in summer, Half dried in their channels, Suddenly rise, though the Sky is still cloudless, For rain has been falling Far off at their fountains ; "So hearts that are fainting Grow full to o ernowing, And they that behold it Marvel, and know not That God at their fountains Far off has been raining ! " Stronger than steel Is the sword of the Spirit ; Swifter than arrows The light of the truth is ; Greater than anger Is love, and subdueth ! " Thou art a phantom, A shape of the sea- mist, A shape of the brumal Rain, and the darkness Fearful and formless ; Day dawns and thou art not ! " The dawn is not distant, Nor is the night starless ; Love is eternal ! God is still God, and His faith shall not fail us ; Christ is eternal !" INTERLUDE. A STRAIN of music closed the tale, A low, monotonous, funeral wail, That with its cadence, wild and sweet, Made the long Saga more complete. " Thank God ! " the Theologian said, " The reign of violence is dead, Or dying surely from the world ; While Love triumphant reigns instead, And in a brighter sky o erhead His blessed banners are unfurled. And most of all thank God for this : The war and waste of clashing creeds Now end in words, and not in deeds, And no one suffers loss or bleeds, For thoughts that men call heresies. " I stand without here in the porch, I hear the bell s melodious din, I hear the organ peal within, I hear the prayer, with words that scorch Like sparks from an inverted torch, I hear the sermon upon sin, With threatenings of the last account. And all, translated in the air, Reach me but as our dear Lord s Prayer, And as the Sermon on the Mount. "Must it be Calvin, and not Christ? Must it be Athanasian creeds, Or holy Avater, books, and beads 1 Must struggling souls remain content With councils and decrees of Trent 1 And can it be enough for these The Christian Church the year embalms With evergreens and bows of palms, And fills the air with litanies ? " I know that yonder Pharisee Thanks God that he is not like me ; In my humiliation dressed, I only stand and beat my breast, And pray for human charity. 520 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. " Not to one church alone, hut seven, The voice prophetic spake from heaven ; And unto each the promise came, Diversified, but still the same ; For him that overcometh are The new name written on the stone, The raiment white, the crown, the throne, And I will give him the Morning Star ! " Ah ! to how many Faith has been IsTo evidence of things unseen, But a dim shadow, that recasts The creed of the Phantasiasts, For whom no Man of Sorrows died, For whom the Tragedy Divine Was but a symbol and a sign, And Christ a phantom crucified ! " For others a diviner creed Is living in the life they lead. The passing of their beautiful feet Blesses the pavement of the street, And all their looks and words repeat Old Fuller s saying, wise and sweet, Not as a vulture, but a dove, The Holy Ghost came from above. " And this brings back to me a tale So sad the hearer well may quail, And question if such things can be ; Yet in the chronicles of Spain Down the dark pages runs this stain, And nought can wash them white again, So fearful is the tragedy." THE THEOLOGIAN S TALE. TORQUEMADA. IN the heroic days when Ferdinand And Isabella ruled the Spanish land, And Torquemada, with his subtle brain, Euled them, as Grand Inquisitor of Spain, In a great castle near Valladolid, Moated and high and by fair woodlands hid, There dwelt, as from the chronicles we learn, An old Hidalgo, proud and taciturn, Whose name has perished with his towers of stone, And all his actions save this one alone ; This one so terrible, perhaps twere best If it, too, were forgotten with the rest ; Unless, perchance, our eyes can see therein The martyrdom triumphant o er the sin ; A double picture, with its gloom and glow, The splendor overhead, the death below. TOKQUEMADA. 521 This sombre man counted each, day as lost On which his feet no sacred threshold crossed ; And when he chanced the passing Host to meet, He knelt and prayed devoutly in the street ; Oft he confessed ; and with each mutinous thought, As with wild beasts at Ephesus, he fought. In deep contrition scourged himself in Lent, "Walked in processions with his head down bent ; At plays of Corpus Christi oft was seen, And on Palm Sunday bore his bough of green. His only pastime was to hunt the boar Through tangled thickets of the forest hoar, Or with his jingling mules to hurry down To some grand bull-fight in the neighboring town, Or in the crowd with lighted taper stand, When Jews were burned, or banished from the land. Then stirred within him a tumultuous joy ; The demon whose delight is to destroy Shook him, and shouted with a trumpet tone, " Kill ! kill ! and let the Lord find out his own ! " And now, in that old castle in the wood, His daughters, in the dawn of womanhood, Eeturning from their convent school, had made Eesplendent with their bloom the forest shade, Reminding him of their dead mother s face, When first she came into that gloomy place, A memory in his heart as dim and sweet As moonlight in a solitary street, Where the same rays, that lift the sea, are thrown Lovely but powerless upon walls of stone. These two fair daughters of a mother dead Were all the dream had left him as it fled. A joy at first, and then a growing care, As if a voice within him cried, " Beware ! " A vague presentiment of impending doom, Like ghostly footsteps in a vacant room, Haunted him day and night ; a formless fear That death to some one of his house was near, With dark surmises of a hidden crime, 3 x 522 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. Made life itself a death before its time. Jealous, suspicious, with no sense of shame, A spy upon his daughters he became ; With velvet slippers, noiseless on the floors, He glided softly through half-open doors ; Now in the room, and now upon the stair, He stood beside them ere they were aware ; He listened in the passage when they talked, He watched them from the casement when they walked, He saw the gipsy haunt the river s side, He saw the monk among the cork-trees glide ; And tortured by the mystery and the doubt Of some dark secret, past his finding out, Baffled he paused ; then, reassured again, Pursued the flying phantom of his brain. He watched them even when they knelt in church ; And then, descending lower in his search, Questioned the servants, and with eager eyes Listened incredulous to their replies ; The gipsy ? none had seen her in the wood ! The monk 1 a mendicant in search of food ! At length the awful revelation came, Crushing at once his pride of birth and name, The hopes his yearning bosom forward cast, And the ancestral glories of the past ; All fell together, crumbling in disgrace, A turret rent from battlement to base. His daughters talking in the dead of night In their own chamber, and without a light, Listening, as he was wont, he overheard, And learned the dreadful secret, word by word ; And hurrying from his castle, with a cry He raised his hands to the unpitying sky, Repeating one dread word, till bush and tree Caught it, and shuddering answered, " Heresy ! " Wrapped in his cloak, his hat drawn o er his face, Now hurrying forward, now with lingering pace, He walked all night the alleys of his park, With one unseen companion in the dark, TORQUEMADA. 523 The Demon who within him lay in wait, And by his presence turned his love to hate, Forever muttering in an undertone, " Kill ! kill ! and let the Lord find out his own ! " Upon the morrow, after early Mass, While yet the dew was glistening on the grass, And all the woods were musical with birds, The old Hidalgo, uttering fearful words, Walked homeward with the Priest, and in his room Summoned his trembling daughters to their doom. When questioned, with brief answers they replied, Nor when accused evaded or denied \ Expostulations, passionate appeals, All that the human heart most fears or feels, In vain the Priest with earnest voice essayed, In vain the father threatened, wept, and prayed ; Until at last he said, with haughty mien, "The Holy Office, then, must intervene ! " And now the Grand Inquisitor of Spain, With all the fifty horsemen of his train, His awful name resounding, like the blast Of funeral trumpets, as he onward passed, Came to Valladolid, and there began To harry the rich Jews with fire and ban. To him the Hidalgo went, and at the gate Demanded audience on affairs of state, And in a secret chamber stood before A venerable graybeard of fourscore, Dressed in the hood and habit of a friar ; Out of his eyes flashed a consuming fire, And in his hand the mystic horn he held, Which poison and all noxious charms dispelled. He heard in silence the Hidalgo s tale, Then answered in a voice that made him quail : " Son of the Church ! when Abraham of old To sacrifice his only son was told, He did not pause to parley nor protest, P>ut hastened to obey the Lord s behest. 524 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. In him it was accounted righteousness ; The Holy Church expects of thee no less ! " A sacred frenzy seized the father s brain, And Mercy from that hour implored in vain. Ah ! who will e er believe the words I say 1 His daughters he accused, and the same day They both were cast into the dungeon s gloom, That dismal antechamber of the tomb, Arraigned, condemned, and sentenced to the flame, The secret torture and the public shame. Then to the Grand Inquisitor once more The Hidalgo went, more eager than before, And said : " When Abraham offered up his son, He clave the wood wherewith it might be done. By his example taught, let me too bring Wood from the forest for my offering ! " And the deep voice, without a pause, replied : " Son of the Church ! by faith now justified, Complete thy sacrifice, even as thou wilt ; The Church absolves thy conscience from all guilt ! " Then this most wretched father went his way Into the woods, that round his castle lay, Where once his daughters in their childhood played With their young mother in the sun and shade. JSTow all the leaves had fallen ; the branches bare Made a perpetual moaning in the air, And screaming from their eyries overhead The ravens sailed athwart the sky of lead. With his own hands he lopped the boughs and bound Fagots, that crackled with foreboding sound, And on his mules, caparisoned and gay With bells and tassels, sent them on their way. Then with his mind on one dark purpose bent, Again to the Inquisitor he went, And said : " Behold, the fagots I have brought, And now, lest my atonement be as nought, 3 TORQUEMADA. 525 Grant me one more request, one last desire, With my own hand to light the funeral fire ! " And Torquemada answered from his seat, " Son of the Church ! thine offering is complete ; Her servants through all ages shall not cease To magnify thy deed. Depart in peace ! " Upon the market-place, builded of stone The scaifold rose, whereon Death claimed his own. At the four corners, in stern attitude, Four statues of the Hebrew Prophets stood, Gazing with calm, indifference in their eyes Upon this place of human sacrifice, Round which was gathering fast the eager crowd, With clamor of voices dissonant and loud, And every roof and window was alive With restless gazers, swarming like a hive. The church-bells tolled, the chant of monks drew near, Loud trumpets stammered forth their notes of fear, A line of torches smoked along the street, There was a stir, a rush, a tramp of feet, And, with its banners floating in the air, Slowly the long procession crossed the square, And, to the statues of the Prophets bound, The victims stood, with fagots piled around. Then all the air a blast of trumpets shook, And louder sang the monks with bell and book, And the Hidalgo, lofty, stern, and proud, Lifted his torch, and, bursting through the crowd, Lighted in haste the fagots, and then fled, Lest those imploring eyes should strike him dead ! pitiless skies ! why did your clouds retain For peasants fields their floods of hoarded rain ? pitiless earth ! why opened no abyss To bury in its chasm a crime like this ? That night, a mingled column of fire and smoke From the dark thickets of the forest broke, And, glaring o er the landscape leagues away, Made all the fields and hamlets bright as day. 526 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. Wrapped in a sheet of flame the castle blazed, And as the villagers in terror gazed, They saw the figure of that cruel knight Lean from a window in the turret s height, His ghastly face illumined with the glare, His hands upraised above his head in prayer, Till the floor sank beneath him, and he fell Down the black hollow of that burning well. Three centuries and more above his bones Have piled the oblivious years like funeral stones ; His name has perished with him, and no trace Eemains on earth of his afflicted race ; But Torqueinada s name, with clouds o ercast, Looms in the distant landscape of the Past, Like a burnt tower upon a blackened heath, Lit by the fires of burning woods beneath ! IOTEKLUDE. THUS closed the tale of guilt and gloom, That by its terrible control That cast upon each listener s face O ermasters and drags down the soul Its shadow, and for some brief space Into a fathomless abyss. Unbroken silence filled the room. The Italian Tales that you disdain, The Jew was thoughtful and distressed; Some merry Night of Straparole, Upon his memory thronged and pressed Or Macchiavelli s Belphagor, The persecution of his race, Would cheer us and delight us more, Their wrongs and sufferings and disgrace; Give greater pleasure and less pain His head was sunk upon his breast, Than your grim tragedies of Spain ! " And from his eyes alternate came Flashes of wrath and tears of shame, And liere the Poet raised his hand > With such entreaty and command, The Student first the silence broke, It stopped discussion at its birth, As one who long has lain in wait, And said : " The story I shall tell With purpose to retaliate, Has meaning in it, if not mirth ; And thus he dealt the avenging stroke. Listen, and hear what once befc)l " In such a company as this, The merry birds of Killingworth ! " A tale so tragic seems amiss, [ 527 ] THE POET S TALE. THE BIRDS OF K1LLINGWORTH. IT was the season, when through all the land The merle and mavis build, and building sing Those lovely lyrics, written by His hand, Whom Saxon Coedmon calls the Blithe-heart King ; When on the boughs the purple buds expand, The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. The robin and the blue-bird, piping loud, Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee ; The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be ; And hungry croAvs assembled in a crowd, Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said : " Give us, Lord, this day our daily bread ! " Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed, Speaking some unknown language strange and sweet Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed The village with the cheers of all their fleet ; Or quarrelling together, laughed and railed Lil^e foreign sailors, landed in the street Of seaport town, and with outlandish noise Of oaths and gibberish frightening girls and boys. Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, In fabulous days, some hundred years ago ; And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the earth, Heard with alarm the cawing of the crow, That mingled with the universal mirth, Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe ; They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful words To swift destruction the whole race of birds. 528 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INK And a town-meeting was convened straightway To set a price upon the guilty heads Of these marauders, who, in lieu of pay, Levied black-mail upon the garden beds And corn-fields, and beheld without dismay The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds ; The skeleton that waited at their feast, Whereby their sinful pleasure was increased. Then from his house, a temple painted white, With fluted columns, and a roof of red, The Squire came forth, august and splendid sight ! Slowly descending, with majestic tread, Three flights of steps, nor looking left nor right, Down the long street he walked, as one who said, " A town that boasts inhabitants like me Can have no lack of good society ! " The Parson, too, appeared, a man austere, The instinct of whose nature was to kill ; The wrath of God he preached from year to year, And read, with fervor, Edwards on the Will ; His favorite pastime was to slay the deer In Summer on some Adirondac hill ; E en now, while walking down the rural lane, He lopped the wayside lilies with his cane. From the Academy, whose belfry crow r ned The hill of Science with its vane of brass, Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round, Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, And all absorbed in reveries profound Of fair Almira in the upper class, Who was, as in a sonnet he had said, As pure as water, and as good as bread. And next the Deacon issued from his door, In his voluminous neck-cloth, white as snow ; A suit of sable bombazine he wore ; His form was ponderous, and his step was slow ; THE BIEDS OF KILLINGWOKTH. 599 There never was so wise a man before ; He seemed the incarnate "Well, I told you so !" And to perpetuate his great renown There was a street named after him in town. These came together in the new town-hall, With sundry farmers from the region round. The Squire presided, dignified and tall, His air impressive and his reasoning sound. Ill fared it with the birds, both great and small ; Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found, But enemies enough, who every one Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. When they had ended, from his place apart, Rose the Preceptor, to redress the wrong, And, trembling like a steed before the start, Looked round bewildered on the expectant throng ; Then thought of fair Almira, and took heart To speak out what was in him, clear and strong, Alike regardless of their smile or frown, And quite determined not to be laughed down. "Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, From his Republic banished without pity The Poets ; in this little to\vn of yours, You put to death, by means of a Committee, The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, The street-musicians of the heavenly city, The birds, who make sweet music for us all In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. " The thrush that carols at the dawn of day Prom the green steeples of the piny wood ; The oriole in the elm ; the noisy jay, Jargoning like a foreigner at his food ; The blue-bird balanced on some topmost spray, Flooding with melody the neighborhood ; Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng That dwell in nests, and have the gift of song. 3 Y 530 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. " Yon slay them all ! and wherefore 1 for the gain Of a scant handful more or less of wheat, Or rye, or barley, or some other grain, Scratched up at random by industrious feet, Searching for worm or weevil after rain ! Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet As are the songs these uninvited guests Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts. " Do you ne er think what wondrous beings these 1 Do you ne er think who made them, and who taught The dialect they speak, where melodies Alone are the interpreters of thought 1 Whose household words are songs in many keys, Sweeter than instrument of man e er caught ! Whose habitations in the tree-tops even Are half-way houses on the road to heaven ! " Think, every morning when the sun peeps through The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove, How jubilant the happy birds renew Their old, melodious madrigals of love ! And when you think of this, remember too Tis always morning somewhere, and above The awakening continents, from shore to shore, Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. " Think of your woods and orchards without birds ! Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams As in an idiot s brain remembered words Hang empty mid the cobwebs of his dreams ! Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds Make up for the lost music, when your teams Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more The feathered gleaners follow to your door ? " What ! would you rather see the incessant stir Of insects in the winrows of the hay, And hear the locust and the grasshopper Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play ? THE BIRDS OF K1LLINGWORTH. 531 Is this more pleasant to you than the whirr Of meadow-lark, and its sweet roundelay, Or twitter of little fieldfares, as you take Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake 1 " You call them thieves and pillagers but know They are the winged wardens of your farms, Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe, And from your harvests keep a hundred harms ; Even the blackest of them all, the crow, Eenders good service as your man-at-arms, Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail, And crying havoc on the slug and snail. " How can I teach your children gentleness, And mercy to the weak, and reverence For Life, which, in its weakness or excess, Is still a gleam of God s omnipotence, Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less The selfsame light, although averted hence, When by your laws, your actions, and your speech, You contradict the very tilings I teach ? " With this he closed ; and through the audience went A murmur, like the rustle of dead leaves ; The farmers laughed and nodded, and some bent Their yellow heads together like their sheaves ; Men have no faith in fine-spun sentiment Who put their trust in bullocks and in beeves. The birds were doomed ; and, as the record shows, A bounty offered for the heads of crows. There was another audience out of reach, Who had no voice nor vote in making laws, But in the papers read his little speech, And crowned his modest temples with applause ; They made him conscious, each one more than each, He still was victor, vanquished in their cause. Sweetest of all the applause he won from thee, fair Almira at the Academy ! And so the dreadful massacre began ; O er fields and orchards, and o er woodland crests, 532 TALES OF A WAYSIDE The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran. Dead fell the birds, with blood-stains on their breasts, Or wounded crept away from sight of man, While the young died of famine in their nests ; A slaughter to be told in groans, not words, The very St. Bartholomew of Birds ! The Summer came, and all the birds were dead ; The days were like hot coals ; the very ground Was burned to ashes ; in the orchards fed Myriads of caterpillars, and around The cultivated fields and garden beds Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found No foe to check their march, till they had made The land a desert without leaf or shade. Devoured by worms, like Herod, was the town, Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly Slaughtered the Innocents. From the trees spun down The canker-worms upon the passers-by, Upon each woman s bonnet, shawl, and gown, Who shook them off with just a little cry ; They were the terror of each favorite walk, The endless theme of all the village talk. The farmers grew impatient, but a few Confessed their error, and would not complain, For, after all, the best thing one can do When it is raining, is to let it rain. Then they repealed the law, although they knew It would not call the dead to life again ; As school-boys, finding their mistake too late, Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate. That year in Killingworth the Autumn came Without the light of his majestic look, The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, The illumined pages of his Doomsday-Book. A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame, And drowned themselves despairing in the brook, While the wild wind went moaning everywhere, Lamenting the dead children of the air ! FINALE. 533 But the next Spring a stranger sight was seen, A sight that never yet by bard was sung, As great a wonder as it would have been If some dumb animal had found a tongue ! A wagon, overarched with evergreen, Upon whose boughs w r ere wicker cages hung, All full of singing birds, came down the street, Filling the air with music wild arid sweet. From all the country round these birds were brought, By order of the town, with anxious quest, And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought In woods and fields the places they loved best, Singing loud canticles, which many thought Were satires to the authorities addressed, While others, listening in green lanes, averred Such lovely music never had been heard ! But blither still and louder carolled they Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know It was the fair Almira s wedding-day, And everywhere, around, above, below, When the Preceptor bore his bride away, Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow, And a new heaven bent over a new earth Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth. FINALE. THE hour was late; the fire burned low, Then all arose, and said "Good Night/ The Landlord s eyes were closed in sleep, Alone remained the drowsy Squire And near the story s end a deep To rake the embers of the fire, Sonorous sound at times was heard, And quench the waning parlor light : As when the distant bagpipes blow. While from the windows, here and there, At this all laughed ; the Landlord stirred The scattered lamps a moment gleamed, As one awaking from a swound, And the illumined hostel seemed And, gazing anxiously around, The constellation of the Bear, Protested that he had not slept, Downward, athwart the misty air, But only shut his eyes, and kept Sinking and setting toward the sun. His ears attentive to each word. Far off the village clock struck one. BIRDS OF PASSAGE. THE CHILDREN S HOUR. BETWEEN the dark and the daylight, When the niglit 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 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 Tn his Mouse Tower on the Rhine ! 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 ! 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 ! EXCELADUS. UNDER Mount Etna he lies, It is slumber, it is not death ; For he struggles at times to arise, Arid abo^e him the lurid skies Are hot with his fiery breath. The crags are piled on his breast, The earth is heaped on his head ; But the groans of his wild unrest, Though smothered and half suppressed, Are heard, and he is not dead. THE CUMBERLAND. 535 And the nations far away Are watching with eager eyes j They talk together and say, " To-morrow, perhaps to-day, Enceladus will arise ! " And the old gods, the austere Oppressors in their strength, Stand aghast and white with fear At the ominous sounds they hear, And tremble, and mutter, " At length ! Ah me ! for the land that is sown With the harvest of despair, Where the burning cinders, blown From the lips of the overthrown Enceladus, fill the air ; Where ashes are heaped in drifts Over vineyard and field and town Whenever he starts and lifts His head through the blackened rifts Of the crags that keep him down. See, see ! the red light shines ! Tis the glare of his awful eyes ! And the storm-wind shouts through the pines Of Alps and of Apennines, "Enceladus, arise !" THE CUMBERLAND. AT anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, On board of the Cumberland, sloop of war ; And at times from the fortress across the bay The alarum of drums swept past, Or a bugle blast Erom the camp on the shore. Then far away to the south uprose A little feather of snow-white smoke, And we knew that the iron ship of our foes Was steadily steering its course To try the force Of our ribs of oak. Down upon us heavily runs, Silent and sullen, the floating fort ; Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, And leaps the terrible death, With fiery breath, From each open port. We are not idle, but send her straight Defiance back in a full broadside ! As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, Rebounds our heavier hail Erom each iron scale Of the monster s hide. " Strike your flag ! " the rebel cries, In his arrogant old plantation strain. " Never ! " our gallant Morris replies ; " It is better to sink than to yield ! " And the whole air pealed With the cheers of our men. Then, like a kraken huge and black, She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp ! Down went the Cumberland all a wrack, With a sudden shudder of death, And the cannon s breath For her dying gasp. Next mom, as the sun rose over the bay, Still floated oar flag at the mainmast- head. BIRDS OF PASSAGE. Lord, how beautiful was thy day ! Every waft of the air Was a whisper of prayer, Or a dirge for the dead. Ho ! brave hearts that went down in the seas ! Ye are at peace in the troubled stream. Ho ! brave land ! with hearts like these, Thy flag, that is rent in twain, Shall be one again, And without a seam ! SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE. LABOR with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun. By the bedside, on the stair, At the threshold, near the gates, With its menace or its prayer, Like a mendicant it waits ; Waits, and will not go away ; Waits, and will not be gainsaid : By the cares of yesterday Each to-day is heavier made ; Till at length the burden seems Greater than our strength can bear ; Heavy as the weight of dreams, Pressing on us everywhere. And we stand from day to day, Like the dwarfs of times gone by, Who, as Northern legends say, On their shoulders held the sky. WEAEINESS. LITTLE feet ! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load ; I, nearer to the Wayside Inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road ! little hands ! that, weak or strong, Have still to serve or rule so long, Have still so long to give or ask ; I, who so much with book and pen Have toiled among my fellow-men, Am weary, thinking of your task. little hearts ! that throb and beat With such impatient, feverish heat, Such limitless and strong desires ; Mine that so long has glowed and burned, With passions into ashes turned Now covers and conceals its fires. little souls ! as pure and white And crystalline as rays of light Direct from heaven, their source divine ; Eefracted through the mist of years, How red my setting sun appears, How lurid looks this soul of mine ! SNOW-FLAKES. OUT of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take ^Suddenly shape in some divine expression, Even as the troubled heart doth make In the white countenance confession, The troubled sky reveals The grief it feels. This is the poem of the Air, Slowly in silent syllables recorded ; This is the secret of despair, Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, Now whispered and revealed To wood and field. 3 z [ 538 ] 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, 1 feel the electric thrill, the touch Of life, that seems almost too much. I hear the wind among the trees Playing celestial symphonies ; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument. And over nie 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 ! Life and Love ! happy throng Of thoughts, whose only speech is song ! heart of man ! canst thou not be Blithe as the air is, and as free ? 1860. FLOWER-DE-LUCE. FLOWER-DE-LUCE. BEAUTIFUL lily, dwelling by still rivers, Or solitary mere, Or where the sluggish meadow-brook delivers Its waters to the weir ! Thou laughest at the mill, the whirr and worry Of spindle and of loom, And the great wheel that toils amid the hurry And rushing of the flume. 540 FLOWER-DE-LUCE. Born to the purple, born to joy and pleasance, Thou dost not toil nor spin, But makest glad and radiant with thy presence The meadow and the lin. The wind blows, and uplifts thy drooping banner, And round thee throng and run The rushes, the green yeomen of thy manor, The outlaws of the sun. The burnished dragon-fly is thine attendant, And tilts against the field, And down the listed sunbeam rides resplendent With steel-blue mail and shield. Thou art the Iris, fair among the fairest, Who, armed with golden rod And winged with the celestial azure, bearest The message of some God. Thou art the Muse, who far from crowded cities Hauntest the sylvan streams, Playing on pipes of reed the artless ditties That come to us as dreams. flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river Linger to kiss thy feet ! A flower of song, bloom on, and make for ever The world more fair and sweet. PALINGENESIS. I LAY upon the headland-height, and listened To the incessant sobbing of the sea In caverns under me, And watched the waves, that tossed and fled and glistened, Until the rolling meadows of amethyst Melted away in mist. PALINGENESIS. 541 Then suddenly, as one from sleep, I started ; For round about me all the sunny capes Seemed peopled with the shapes Of those whom I had known in days departed, Apparelled in the loveliness which gleams On faces seen in dreams. A moment only, and the light and glory Faded away, and the disconsolate shore Stood lonely as before ; And the wild roses of the promontory Around me shuddered in the wind, and shed Their petals of pale red. There was an old belief that in the embers Of all things their primordial form exists, And cunning alchemists Could re-create the rose with all its members From its own ashes, but without the bloom, Without the lost perfume. Ah me ! what wonder-working, occult science Can from the ashes in our hearts once more The rose of youth restore ? What craft of alchemy can bid defiance To time and change, and for a single hour Renew this phantom-flower ? " 0, give me back ! " I cried, "the vanished splendors, The breath of morn, and the exultant strife, When the swift stream of life Bounds o er its rocky channel, and surrenders The pond, with all its lilies, for the leap Into the unknown deep !" And the sea answered, with a lamentation, Like some old prophet wailing, and it said, " Alas ! thy youth is dead ! It breathes no more, its heart has no pulsation ; In the dark places with the dead of old It lies for ever cold ! " 542 FLOWER-DE-LUCE. Then said I, " From its consecrated cerements I will not drag this sacred dust again, Only to give me pain ; But, still remembering all the lost endearments, Go on my way, like one who looks "before, And turns to weep no more." Into what land of harvests, what plantations Bright with autumnal foliage and the glow Of sunsets burning low ; Beneath what midnight skies, whose constellations Light up the spacious avenues between This world and the unseen ! Amid what friendly greetings and caresses, What households, though not alien, yet not mine, What bowers of rest divine ; To what temptations in lone wildernesses, What famine of the heart, what pain and loss, The bearing of what cross ! I do not know ; nor will I vainly question Those pages of the mystic book which hold The story still untold, But without rash conjecture or suggestion Turn its last leaves in reverence and good heed, Until "The End" I read. THE BKIDGE OF CLOUD. BURN, evening hearth, and waken Pleasant visions, as of old ! Though the house by winds be shaken, Safe I keep this room of gold ! Ah, no longer wizard Fancy Builds her castles in the air, Luring me by necromancy Up the never-ending stair ; But, instead, she builds me bridges Over many a dark ravine, Where beneath the gusty ridges Cataracts dash and roar unseen. And I cross them, little heeding Blast of wind or torrent s roar, As I follow the receding Footsteps that have gone before. HAWTHORNE. 543 Nought avails the imploring gesture, Nought avails the cry of pain ! When I touch the flying vesture, Tis the gray robe of the rain. Baffled I return, and leaning O er the parapets of cloud, Watch the mist that intervening Wraps the valley in its shroud. And the sounds of life ascending Faintly, vaguely, meet the ear, Murmur of bells and voices blending With the rush of waters near. Well I know what there lies hidden, Every tower and town and farm, And again the land forbidden Reassumes its vanished charm. Well I know the secret places, And the nests in hedge and tree ; At what doors are friendly faces, In what hearts are thoughts of me. Through the mist and darkness sinking, Blown by wind and beaten by shower, Down I fling the thought I m thinking, Down I toss this Alpine flower. HAWTHORNE. MAY 23, 1864. How beautiful it was, that one bright day In the long week of rain ! Though all its splendor could not chase away The omnipresent pain. The lovely town was white with apple-blooms, And the great elms o erhead Dark shadows wove on their aerial looms, Shot through with golden thread. Across the meadows, by the gray old manse, The historic river flowed ; I was as one who wanders in a trance, Unconscious of his road. The faces of familiar friends seemed strange : Their voices I could hear, And yet the words they uttered seemed to change Their meaning to my ear. 544 FLOWER-DE-LUCE. For the one face I looked for was not there, The one low voice was mute ; Only an unseen presence filled the air, And baffled my pursuit. Now I look back, and meadow, manse, and stream Dimly my thought defines ; I only see a dream within a dream The hill-top hearsed with pines. I only hear above his place of rest Their tender undertone, The infinite longings of a troubled breast, The voice so like his own. There in seclusion and remote from men The wizard hand lies cold, Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen, And left the tale half told. Ah ! who shall lift that wand of magic power, And the lost clue regain 1 The unfinished window in Aladdin s tower Unfinished must remain ! CHEISTMAS BELLS. I HEARD the bells on Christmas-day Till, ringing, singing on its way, Their old, familiar carols play, The world revolved from night to day, And wild and sweet A voice, a chime, The words repeat A chant sublime, Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! And thought how, as the day had come, Then from each black, accursed mouth The belfries of all Christendom The cannon thundered in the South, Had rolled along And with the sound The unbroken song The carols drowned Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! Ot peace on earth, good-will to men ! KAMBALr. 545 It was as if an earthquake rent " For hate is strong The hearthstones of a continent, And mocks the song And made forlorn Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! " The households born 11,1111 Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! Then pealed the bells more loud anddeep . " God is not dead ; nor doth he sleep ! The Wrong shall fail, And in despair I bowed my head ; The Eight prevail, " There is no peace on earth," I said ; With peace on earth, good-will to men!" KAMBALU. INTO the city of Kambalu, By the road that leadeth to Ispahan, At the head of his dusty caravan, Laden with treasure from realms afar, Baldacca and Kelat and Kandahar, Eode the great captain Alan. The Khan from his palace- window gazed, And saw in the thronging street beneath, In the light of the setting sun that blazed Through the clouds of dust by the caravan raised, The flash of harness and jewelled sheath, And the shining scimitars of the guard, And the weary camels that bared their teeth, As they passed and passed through the gates unbarred Into the shade of the palace-yard. Thus into the city of Kambalu Eode the great captain Alan ; And he stood before the Khan, and said : " The enemies of my lord are dead ; All the Kalifs of all the West Bow and obey thy least behest ; The plains are dark with, the mulberry- trees, The weavers are busy in Samarcand, The miners are sifting the golden sand, The divers plunging for pearls in the seas, And peace and plenty are in the land. 4 A 546 FLOWEK-DE-LUCE. " Baldacca s Kalif, and he alone, Rose in revolt against thy throne : His treasures are at thy palace-door, With the swords and the shawls and the jewels he wore His body is dust o er the desert blown. " A mile outside of Baldacca s gate I left my forces to lie in wait, Concealed by forests and hillocks of sand, And forward dashed with a handful of men To lure the old tiger from his den Into the ambush I had planned. Ere we reached the town, the alarm was spread, For we heard the sound of gongs from within ; And with clash of cymbals and warlike din The gates swung wide ; and we turned and fled, And the garrison sallied forth and pursued, With the gray old Kalif at their head, And above them the banner of Mohammed : So we snared them all, and the town was subdued. " As in at the gate we rode, behold, A tower that was called the Tower of Gold ! For there the Kalif had hidden his wealth, Heaped and hoarded and piled on high, Like sacks of wheat in a granary ; And thither the miser crept by stealth To feel of the gold that gave him health, And to gaze and gloat with his hungry eye On jewels that gleamed like a glow-worm s spark, Or the eyes of a panther in the dark, " I said to the Kalif : < Thou art old, Thou hast no need of so much gold. Thou shouldst not have heaped and hidden it here, Till the breath of battle was hot and near, But have sown through the land these useless hoards To spring into shining blades of swords, And keep thine honor sweet and clear. These grains of gold are not grains of wheat ; These bars of silver thou canst not eat ; THE WIND OVER THE CHIMNEY. 547 These jewels and pearls and precious stones Cannot cure the aches in. thy bones, Nor keep the feet of Death one hour From climbing the stairways of thy tower ! "Then into his dungeon I locked the drone, And left him to feed there all alone In the honey-cells of his golden hive : Never a prayer nor a cry nor a groan Was heard from those massive walls of stone, Nor again was the Kalif seen alive ! " When at last we unlocked the door, We found him dead upon the floor ; The rings had dropped from his withered hands, His teeth were like bones in the desert sands ; Still clutching his treasure he had died ; And as he lay there, he appeared A statue of gold with a silver beard, His arms outstretched as if crucified." This is the story, strange and true, That the great captain Alan Told to his brother the Tartar Khan, AVhen he rode that day into Kambalu By the road that leadeth to Ispahan. THE WIND OVER THE CHIMNEY. SEE, the fire is sinking low, Dusky red the embers glow, While above them still I cower, While a moment more I linger, Though the clock, with lifted finger, Points beyond the midnight hour. Sings the blackened log a tune Learned in some forgotten June From a schoolboy at his play, When they both were young together, Heart of youth and summer weather Making all their holiday. And the night-wind rising, hark ! How above there in the dark, In the midnight and the snow, Ever wilder, fiercer, grander, Like the trumpets of Iskander, All the noisy chimneys blow ! Every quivering tongue of flame Seems to murmur some great name, Seems to say to me, " Aspire ! " But the night- wind answers, " Hollow Are the visions that you follow, Into darkness sinks your fir Then the flicker of the blaze Gleams on volumes of old days, Written by masters of the art, Loud through whose majestic pages J tolls the melody of ages, Throb the harp-strings of the heart. And again the tongues of flame Start exulting and exclaim : " These are prophets, bards, and seers; In the horoscope of nations, Like ascendant constellations, They control the coming years." But the night-wind cries : " Despair ! Those who walk with feet of air Leave no long-enduring marks ; At God s forges incandescent jNIighty hammers beat incessant, These are but the flying sparks. " Dust are all the hands that wrought ; Books are sepulchres of thought ; The dead laurels of the dead Bustle for a moment only, Like the withered leaves in lonely Churchyards at some passing tread." Suddenly the flame sinks down ; Sink the rumors of renown ; And alone the night- wind drear Clamors louder, wilder, vaguer, " Tis the brand of Meleager Dying on the hearth-stone here ! " And I answer, Though it be, Why should that discomfort me ? No endeavor is in vain ; Its reward is in the doing, And the rapture of pursuing Is the prize the vanquished gain." [ 549 ] THE BELLS OF LYNX, HEARD AT NAHANT. O CURFEW of the setting sun ! Bells of Lynn ! O requiem of the dying day ! Bells of Lynn ! From the dark belfries of yon cloud-cathedral wafted, Your sounds aerial seem to float, Bells of Lynn ! Borne on the evening wind across the crimson twilight, O er land and sea they rise and fall, Bells of Lynn ! The fisherman in his boat, far out beyond the headland, Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, Bells of Lynn ! Over the shining sands the wandering cattle homeward Follow each other at your call, Bells of Lynn ! The distant lighthouse hears, and with his flaming signal Answers you, passing the watchword on, Bells of Lynn ! And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous surges, And clap their hands, and shout to you, Bells of Lynn ! Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild incantations, Ye summon up the spectral moon, Bells of Lynn. ! And startled at the sight, like the weird woman of Endor, Ye cry aloud, and then are still, Bells of Lynn ! KILLED AT THE FOK1). HE is dead, the beautiful youth, The heart of honor, the tongue of truth, He, the life and light of us all, Whose voice was blithe as a bugle-call, Whom all eyes followed with one consent, The cheer of whose laugh, and whose pleasant word, Hushed all murmurs of discontent. 550 FLOWER-DE-LUCE. (July last night, as we rode along Down tlie dark of the mountain gap, To visit the picket-guard at the ford, Little dreaming of any mishap, He was humming the words of some old song : " Two red roses he had on his cap, And another he bore at the point of his sword." Sudden and swift a whistling ball Came out of a wood, and the voice was still ; Something I heard in the darkness fall, And for a moment my blood grew chill ; I spake in a whisper, as he who speaks In a room where some one is lying dead ; But he made no answer to what I said. We lifted him up to his saddle again, And through the mire and the mist and the rain Carried him back to the silent camp, And laid him as if asleep on his bed ; And I saw by the light of the surgeon s lamp Two white roses upon his cheeks, And one, just over his heart, blood-red ! And I saw in a vision how far and fleet That fatal bullet went speeding forth Till it reached a town in the distant i^orth, Till it reached a house in a sunny street, Till it reached a heart that ceased to beat Without a murmur, without a cry ; And a bell was tolled in that far-off town, For one who had passed from cross to crown, And the neighbors wondered that she should die. GIOTTO S TOWER. How many lives, made beautiful and sweet By self-devotion and by self-restraint, Whose pleasure is to run without complaint On unknown errands of the Paraclete, TO-MORROW. 551 Wanting the reverence of unsliodden feet, Fail of the nimbus which the artists paint Around the shining forehead of the saint, And are in their completeness incomplete ! In the old Tuscan town stands Giotto s tower, The lily of Florence blossoming in stone, A vision, a delight, and a desire, The builder s perfect and centennial flower, That in the night of ages bloomed alone, But wanting still the glory of the spire. TO-MOKROW. TJS late at night, and in the realm of sleep My little lambs are folded like the flocks ; From room to room I hear the wakeful clocks Challenge the passing hour, like guards that keep Their solitary watch on tower and steep ; Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks, And through the opening door that time unlocks Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep. To-morrow ! the mysterious, unknown guest, Who cries to me : " Remember Barmecide, And tremble to be happy with the rest." And I make answer : " I am satisfied ; I dare not ask ; I know not what is best God hath already said what shall betide." [ 552 ] D1VINA COMMEDIA. i. OFT have I seen at some cathedral door A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat, Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet Enter, and cross himself, arid on the floor Kneel to repeat his paternoster o er ; Far off the noises of the world retreat ; The loud vociferations of the street Become an undistinguishable roar. So, as I enter here from day to day, And leave my burden at this minster gate, Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray, The tumult of the time disconsolate To inarticulate murmurs dies away, While the eternal ages watch and wait. IT. How strange the sculptures that adorn these towers ! This crowd of statues, in whose folded sleeves Birds build their nests ; while canopied with leaves Parvis and portal bloom like trellised bowers, And the vast minster seems a cross of flowers ! But fiends and dragons on the gargoyled eaves Watch the dead Christ between the living thieves, And, underneath, the traitor Judas lowers ! Ah ! from what agonies of heart and brain, What exultations trampling on despair, What tenderness, what tears, what hate of wrong, What passionate outcry of a soul in pain, Uprose this poem of the earth and air, This mediaeval miracle of son"- ! DIVINA COMMEDIA; 553 in. I ENTER, and I see thee in the gloom Of the long aisles, poet saturnine ! And strive to make my steps keep pace with thine. The air is filled with some unknown perfume ; The congregation of the dead make room For thee to pass ; the votive tapers shine ; Like rocks that haunt Eavenna s groves of pine The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb. Prom the confessionals I hear arise Eehearsals of forgotten tragedies, And lamentations from the cr-ypts below.; And then a voice celestial, that begins With the pathetic words, " Although your sins As scarlet be," and ends with "as the snow." IT. I LIFT mine eyes, and all the windows blaze With forms of saints and holy men who died, Here martyred and hereafter glorified ; And the great Eose upon its leaves displays Christ s Triumph, and the angelic roundelays With splendor upon splendor multiplied ; And Beatrice again at Dante s side No more rebukes, but smiles her words of praise. And then the organ sounds, and unseen choirs Sing the old Latin hymns of peace and love, And benedictions of the Holy Ghost ; And the melodious bells among the spires O er all the house-tops and through heaven above Proclaim the elevation of the Host ! 4 B 554 DIVINA COMMEDIA. V. STAR of morning and of liberty ! bringer of the light whose splendor shines Above the darkness of the Apennines, Forerunner of the day that is to be ! The voices of the city and the sea, The voices of the mountains and the pines, Eepeat thy song, till the familiar lines Are footpaths for the thought of Italy ! Thy fame is blown abroad from all the heights, Through all the nations, and a sound is heard, As of a mighty wind, and men devout, Strangers of Eome, and the new proselytes, In their own language hear thy wondrous word, And many are amazed and many doubt. ! 5.15 NOEL. EXVOYK A M. AOASSTZ, F,A VRTLLE I>E NOKL 1864, AVF/I TIN PANIER BE vrxs DIVERS. L Academic en respect, Nonobstant I incorreetion, A la faveur du sujet, Ture-lure, N y fera point de rature ; Noel ! ture -lure-lure. GUI-BAROZAI. QUAND les astres de Xoel Brillaient, palpitaient au ciel, Six gaillards, et chacun ivre, Chantaient gaiment dans le givre, "Bons amis, Aliens done chez Agassiz ! " Ces illustres Pelerins D Outre-Mer adroits et fins, Se donnant des airs de pretre, A 1 envi se vantaient d etre " Bons amis De Jean Kudolphe Agassiz ! " CEil-de-Perdrix, grand farceur, Sans reproche et sans pudeur, Dans son patois da Bourgogne, Bredouillait comme un ivrogne, " Bons amis, J ai danse chez Agassiz ! " Yerzenay le Champenois, Bon Frangais, point New-Yorquois, Mais des environs d Avize, Fredonne a mainte reprise, " Bons amis, J ai chante chez Agassiz ! " A cote marchait un vieux Plidalgo, mais non mousseux ; Dans le temps de Charlemagne Fut son pere Grand d Espagne ! " Bons amis, J ai dine chez Agassiz ! " Derriere eux un Bordelais, Gascon, s il en fut jamais, Parfumc de poesie Biait, chantait, plein de vie, " Bons amis, J ai soupe chez Agassiz ! " Avec ce beau cadet roux, Bras dessus et bras dessous Mine altiere et couleur term-, Vint le Sire de Sauterne ; " Bons amis, J ai couche chez Agassiz ! " Mais le dernier de ces preux Etait un pauvre Chartreux, Qui disait, d un ton robuste, " Benedictions sur le Juste ! Bons amis, Benissons Pere Agassiz ! " 4 B 2 556 NOEL. 11s arrivent trois & trois, Montent 1 escalier de bois Clopin-clopant ! quel gendarme Peut permettre ce vacarme, Bons amis, A la porte d Agassiz ! " Ouvrez done, mon bon Seigneur, Ouvrez vite et n ayez peur ; Onvrez. ouvrez, car nous sommes Gens de bien et gentilshommes, Bons amis De la famille Agassiz ! " Chut, ganaches ! taisez-vous ! C en est trop de vos glouglous ; Epargnez aux Philosophes Vos abominables strophes ! Bons amis, Kespectez mon Agassiz ! THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES, I. ENDICOTT. PROLOGUE. TO-NIGHT we strive to read, as we may best, This city, like an ancient palimpsest ; And bring to li^ht, upon the blotted page? The mournful record of an earlier age, That pale, and half-effaced, lies hidden away Beneath the fresher writing of to-day. Kise, then, buried city that has been; Eise up, rebuilded in the painted scene, And let our curious eyes behold once more The pointed gable and the pent-house door, The Meeting-house with leaden-latticed panes, The narrow thoroughfares, the crooked lanes ! Eise, too, ye shapes and shadows of the Past ; Eise from your long-forgotten graves at last; Let us behold your faces, let us hear The words ye uttered in those days of fear! Eevisit your familiar haunts again, The scenes of triumph, and the scenes of pain, And leave the footprints of your bleed ing feet Once more upon the pavement of the street ! Nor let the Historian blame the Poet here, If he perchance misdate the day or year, And group events together, by his art, That in the Chronicles lie far apart ; For as the double-stars, though sundered far, Seem to the naked eye a single star, So facts of history, at a distance seen, Into one common point of light convene. " Why touch upon such themes ? " perhaps some friend May ask, incredulous ; " and to what good end ] Why drag again into the light of day The errors of an age long passed away?" I answer : " For the lesson that they teach ; The tolerance of opinion and of speech. Hope, Faith, and Charity remain, these three ; And greatest of them all is Charity." Let us remember, if these words be true, That unto all men Charity is due ; Give what we ask ; and pity, while we blame, J.est we become copartners in the shame, Lest we condemn, and yet ourselves partake, And persecute the dead for conscience sake. Therefore it is the author seeks and strives To represent the dead as in their lives, And let at times his characters unfold Their thoughts in their own language, strong and bold : He only asks of you to do the like; To hear him first, and, if you will, then strike. THK NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. ENDICOTT JOHN ENDICOTT . . . RICHARD BELLINGHAM Jon NORTON . . . EDWARD BUTTER WALTER MEKRT . . NICHOLAS UPSALL . . Governor. His son. Deputy Governor. Minister of the Gospel. Treasurer. Tithing-man. A.n old man. DRAMATIS PERSONS. SAMUEL COLE The Scene is in Boston in the year 1665. ACT I. SCENE I. Sunday afternoon. Tlie interior of the Meeting -house. On the pulpit, an hour-glass; below, a box for contributions. JOHN NORTON in the pulpit. GOVERNOR ENDICOTT in a canopied seat, attended by four halberdiers. The congregation singing. THE Lord descended from above, And Lowed the heavens high ; And underneath his feet he cast The darkness of the sky. On Cherubim and Seraphim Right royally he rode, And on the wings of mighty winds Came flying all abroad. Norton (rising and turning the hour glass on the pulpty. I heard a great voice from the temple saying Unto the Seven Angels, Go your ways ; Pour out the vials of the wrath of God Upon the earth. And the First Angel went And poured his vial on the earth ; and straight There fell a noisome and a grievous sore On them which had the birth-mark of the Beast, And them which worshipped and adored his image. On us hath fallen this grievous pesti lence. There is a sense of horror in the air ; Landlord of the Three Manners. - SIMON KEMPTHORN RALPH GOLDSMITH WENLOCK CHRISTISON EDITH, his daughter EDWARD WHARTON Assistants, Halb(rdicrs, Marshals, &c. For Costume, see DRAKE S History of Boston. Sea-Captains. > Quakers. And apparitions of things horrible Are seen by many. From the sky above us The stars fall and beneath us the earth quakes ! The sound of drums at midnight in the air, The sound of horsemen riding to and fro, As if the gates of the invisible world Were opened, and the dead came forth to warn us, All these are omens of some dire disaster Impending over us, and soon to fall. Moreover, in the language of the Pro phet, Death is again come up into our win dows, To cut off little children from without, And young men from the streets. And in the midst Of all these supernatural threats and warnings, Doth Heresy uplift its horrid head ; A vision of Sin more awful and appalling Than any phantasm, ghost, or apparition, As arguing and portending some enlarge ment Of the mysterious Power of Darkness ! EDITH, barefooted, and clad in sackcloth, with her hair hanging loose upon her shoulders, walks slowly up the aisle, followed by WHAR TON and other Quakers. The congregation starts up in confusion. Edith (raising her hand). Peace ! Norton. Anathema maranatlia ! The Lord cometh ! Edith. Yea, verily he cometh, and shall judge The shepherds of Israel, who do feed themselves, And leave their flocks to eat what they have trodden Beneath their feet. Norton. Be silent, babbling woman ! St. Paul commands all women to keep silence Within the churches. Edith. Yet the women prayed And prophesied at Corinth in his day ; And, among those on whom the fiery tongues Of Pentecost descended, some were women ! Norton. The Elders of the Churches, by our law, Alone have power to open the doors of speech And silence in the Assembly. I com mand you ! Edith. The law of God is greater than your laws ! Ye build your church with blood, your town with crime ; 500 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. The heads thereof give judgment for reward ; The priests thereof teach only for their hire ; Your laws condemn the innocent to death ; And against this I bear my testimony ! Norton. What testimony ] Edith. That of the Holy Spirit, Which, as your Calvin says, surpasseth reason. Norton. The laborer is worthy of his hire. Edith. Yet our great Master did not teach for hire, And the Apostles without purse or scrip Went forth to do his work. Behold this box Beneath thy pulpit. Is it for the poor ? Thou canst not answer. It is for the Priest ; And .against this I bear my testimony. Norton. Away with all these Heretics and Quakers ! Quakers, forsooth ! Because a quaking fell On Daniel, at beholding of the Vision, Must ye needs shake and quake 1 Because Isaiah Went stripped and barefoot, must ye wail and howl? Must ye go stripped and naked? must ye make A wailing like the dragons, and a mourning As of the owls ? Ye verify the adage That Satan is God s ape ! Away with them ! Tumult, The Quakers are driven out with violence, EDTTH following slowly. The congregation retire in confusion. Thus freely do the Eeprobates commit Such measure of iniquity as fits them For the intended measure of God s wrath, And even in violating God s commands Are they fulfilling the divine decree ! The will of man is but an instrument Disposed and predetermined to its action According unto the decree of God, Being as much subordinate thereto As is the axe unto the hewer s hand ! He descends from the pulpit, and joins GOVERNOR ENDICOTT, who comes forward to meet him. The omens and the wonders of the time, Famine, and fire, and shipwreck, and disease, The blast of corn, the death of our young men, Our sufferings in all precious, pleasant things, Are manifestations of the wrath divine, Signs of God s controversy with Xew England. These emissaries of the Evil One, These servants and ambassadors of Satan, Are but commissioned executioners Of God s vindictive and deserved dis pleasure. We must receive them as the Roman Bishop Once received Attila, saying, I rejoice You have come safe, whom I esteem to be The scourge of God, sent to chastise his people. This very heresy, perchance, may serve The purposes of God to some good end. With you I leave it ; but do not neglect The holy tactics of the civil sword. ENDICOTT. 561 Endicott. And what more can be done? Norton. The hand that cut The Red Cross from the colors of the king Can cut the red heart from this heresy. Fear not. All "blasphemies immediate And heresies turbulent must be sup pressed By civil power. Endicott. But in what way sup pressed ? Norton. The Book of Deuteronomy declares That if thy son, thy daughter, or thy wife, Ay, or the friend which is as thine own soul, Entice tliee secretly, and say to thee, Let us serve other gods, then shall thine eye Not pity him, but thou shalt surely kill him, And thine own hand shall be the first upon him To slay him. Endicott. Four already have been slain ; And others banished upon pain of death. But they come back again to meet their doom, Bringing the linen for their winding- sheets. We must not go too far. In truth, I shrink From shedding of more blood. The people murmur At our severity. Norton. Then let them murmur ! Truth is relentless ; justice never wavers ; The greatest firmness is the greatest mercy ; The noble order of the Magistracy Cometh immediately from God, and yet This noble order of the Magistracy Is by these Heretics despised and out raged. Endicott. To-night they sleep in prison. If they die, They cannot say that we have caused their death. We do but guard the passage, with the sword Pointed towards them; if they dash upon it, Their blood will be on their own heads, not ours. Norton. Enough. I ask no more. My predecessor Coped only with the milder heresies Of Antinomians and of Anabaptists. He was not born to wrestle with these fiends. Chrysostom in his pulpit ; Augustine In disputation ; Timothy in his house ! The lantern of St. Botolph s ceased to burn When from the portals of that church he came To be a burning and a shining light Here in the wilderness. And, as he lay On his death-bed, he saw me m a vision Ride on a snow-white horse into this town. His vision was prophetic ; thus I came, A terror to the impenitent, and Death On the pale horse of the Apocalypse To all the accursed race of Heretics ! [Exeunt. 562 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. SCENE II. A street. On one, side, NICHOLAS UPS ALL S house ; on the other, ROBERT MERRY S, with a flock of pigeons on the roof- UPSALL seated in the porch of his house. Upsall. day of rest ! How beau tiful, how fair, How welcome to the weary and the old ! Day of the Lord ! and truce to earthly cares ! Day of the Lord, as all our days should be! Ah, why will man by his austerities Shut out the blessed sunshine and the light, And make of thee a dungeon of despair ! Robert Merry (entering and looking round him). All silent as a graveyard ! No one stirring ; No footfall in the street, no sound of voices ! By righteous punishment and perse verance, And perseverance in that punishment, At last I ve brought this contumacious town To strict observance of the Sabbath day. Those wanton gospellers, the pigeons yonder, Are now the only Sabbath-breakers left. I cannot put them down. As if to taunt me, They gather every Sabbath afternoon In noisy congregation on my roof, Billing and cooing. Whir ! take that, ye Quakers. Throws a stone at the pigeons. Sees UPSALL. Ah ! Master Nicholas ! Upsall. Good afternoon, Dear neighbor Eobert. Merry. Master Nicholas, You have to-day withdrawn yourself from meeting. Upsall. Yea, I have chosen rather to worship God Sitting in silence here at my own door. Merry. Worship the Devil ! You this day have broken Three of our strictest laws. First, by abstaining From public worship. Secondly, by walking Profanely on the Sabbath. Upsall. Not one step. I have been sitting still here, seeing the pigeons Feed in the street and fly about the roofs. Merry. You have been in the street with other intent Than going to and from the Meeting house. And, thirdly, you are harboring Quakers here. I am amazed ! Upsall. Men sometimes, it is said, Entertain angels unawares. Merry. Nice angels ! Angels in broad-brimmed hats and russet cloaks, The color of the Devil s nutting-bag ! They came Into the Meeting-house this after noon More in the shape of devils than of angels. The women screamed and fainted ; and the boys Made such an uproar in the gallery I could not keep them quiet. Upsall. . Neighbor Eobert, Your persecution is of no avail. BNDICOTT. 563 Merry. Tis prosecution, as the Governor says, Not persecution. U-psall. Well, your prosecution ; Your hangings do no good. Merry. The reason is, We do not hang enough. But, mark my words, We ll scour them ; yea, I warrant ye, we ll scour them ! And now go in and entertain your angels, And don t be seen here in the street again Till after sundown ! There they are again ! [Exit UPSALL. MERRY throws another stone at the pigeons, and then goes into his house. SCENE III. A room in UPSALL S house. Night. EDITH, WHARTON, and other Quakers seated at a table. UPSALL seated near them. Several books on the table. Wharton. William and Marniaduke, our martyred brothers, Sleep in untimely graves, if aught untimely, Can find place in the providence of God, Where nothing comes too early or too late. I saw their noble death. They to the scaffold Walked hand in hand. Two hundred armed men And many horsemen guarded them, for fear Of rescue by the crowd, whose hearts were stirred. Edith. O holy martyrs ! Wharton. When they tried to speak, Their voices by the roll of drums were drowned. When they were dead they still looked fresh and fair, The terror of death was not upon their faces. Our sister Mary, likewise, the meek woman, Has passed through martyrdom to her reward ; Exclaiming, as they led her to her death, " These many days I ve been in Para dise." And, when she died, Priest Wilson threw the hangman His handkerchief, to cover the pale face He dared not look upon. Edith. As persecuted, Yet not forsaken; as unknown, yet known ; As dying, and behold we are alive ; As sorrowful, and yet rejoicing alway ; As having nothing, yet possessing all ! Wharton. And Ledra, too, is dead. But from his prison, The day before his death, he sent these words Unto the little flock of Christ : " What ever May come upon the followers of the Light, Distress, affliction, famine, nakedness, Or perils in the city or the sea, Or persecution, or even death itself, I am persuaded that God s armor of Light, As it is loved and lived in, will pre serve you. Yea, death itself; through which you will find entrance Into the pleasant pastures of the fold, Where you shall feed for ever as the herds 564 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. That roam at large in the low valleys of Achor. And as the flowing of the ocean fills Each creek arid branch thereof, and then retires, Leaving behind a sweet and wholesome savor ; So doth the virtue and the life of God Flow evermore into the hearts of those Whom he hath made partakers of his nature ; And, when it but withdraws itself a little, Leaves a sweet savor after it, that many Can say they are made clean by every word That he hath spoken to them in their silence." Edith (rising, and breaking into a Jdnd of chant), Truly we do but grope here in the dark, JS"ear the partition-wall of Life and Death, At every moment dreading or desiring To lay our hands upon the unseen door ! Let us, then, labor for an inward still ness, An inward stillness and an inward healing ; That perfect silence where the lips and heart Are still, and we no longer entertain Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions, But God alone speaks in us, and we wait In singleness of heart, that we may know His will, and in the silence of our spirits, That we may do His will, and do that only ! A long pause, interrupted by the sound of a drum approaching ; then shouts in the street, and a loud knocking at the door. Marshal. Within there ! Open the door ! Merry. Will no one answer 1 ? Marshal. In the King s name ! With in there ! Merry. Open the door ! Upsall (from the windoiv). It is not barred. Come in. Nothing prevents you. The poor man s door is ever on the latch. He needs no bolt nor bar to shut out thieves ; He fears no enemies, and has no friends Importunate enough to turn the key upon them ! Enter JOHN ENDICOTT, the MARSHAL, MERRY, and a crowd. Seeing the Quakers silent and unmoved, they pause, aive-struck. JOHN ENDICOTT opposite EDITH. Marshal. In the King s name do I arrest you all ! Away with them to prison. Master Upsall, You are again discovered harboring here These ranters and disturbers of the peace. You know the law. Upsall. I know it, and am ready To suffer yet again its penalties. Edith (to John Endicott). Why dost thou persecute me, Saul of Tarsus ? END OF ACT I. ENDICOTT, 565 ACT IT. SCENE I. JOHN ENDICOTT S room. Early morning. John Endicott. "Why dost thou persecute me, Saul of Tarsus?" All night these words were ringing in mine ears ! A sorrowful sweet face ; a look that pierced me With meek reproach; a voice of resig nation That had a life of suffering in its tone ; And that was all ! And yet I could not sleep, Or, when I slept, I dreamed that awful dream ! I stood beneath the elm-tree on the Common On which the Quakers have been hanged, and heard A voice, not hers, that cried amid the darkness, " This is Aceldama, the field of blood ! I will have mercy, and not sacrifice ! " [Opens the window, and looks out. The sun is up already ; and my heart Sickens and sinks within me when I think How many tragedies will be enacted Before his setting. As the earth rolls round, It seems to me a huge Ixion s wheel, Upon whose whirling spokes \VQ are bound fast, And must go with it ! Ah, how bright the sun Strikes on the sea and on the masts of vessels, That are uplifted in the morning air, Like crosses of some peaceable crusade ! It makes me long to sail for lands un known, No matter whither ! Under me, in shadow, Gloomy and narrow lies the little town, Still sleeping, but to wake and toil a while, Then sleep again. How dismal looks the prison, How grim and sombre in the sunless street, The prison where she sleeps, or wakes and waits For what I dare not think of, death, perhaps ! A word that has been said may be unsaid : It is but air. But w r hen a deed is done It cannot be undone, nor can our thoughts Reach out to all the mischiefs that may follow. Tis time for morning prayers. I will go down. My father, though severe, is kind and just ; And when his heart is tender with de votion, When from his lips have fallen the words, " Forgive us As we forgive," then will I intercede For these poor people, and perhaps may save them. [Exit. SCENE II. Dock Square. On one side, the tavern of the Three Mariners. In the background, a quaint building ivith gables ; and, beyond it, wharves and shipping. CAPTAIN KEMPTIIORN and others seated at a table before the door. SAMUEL COLE standing near them. Kempthorn. Come, drink about ! Ive- mernbcr Parson Melham, 566 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. And bless the man who first invented flip ! [They drink. Cole. Pray, Master Kempthorn, where were you last night 1 KemptJiorn. On board the Swallow, Simon Keuipthorn, master, Up for Barbadoes, and the Windward Islands. Cole. The town was in a tumult. Kemptliorn. And for what 1 Cole. Your Quakers were arrested. Kemptliorn. How my Quakers ? Cole. Those you brought in your vessel from Barbadoes. They made an uproar in the Meeting house Yesterday, and they re now in prison for it. I owe you little thanks for bringing them To the Three Mariners. Kemptkorn. They have not harmed you. I tell you, Goodman Cole, that Quaker girl Is precious as a sea-bream s eye. I tell you It was a lucky day when first she set Her little foot upon the Swallow s deck, Bringing good luck, fair winds, and pleasant weather. Cole. I am a law-abiding citizen ; I have a seat in the new Meeting-house, A cow-right on the Common j and, besides, Am corporal in the Great Artillery. I rid me of the vagabonds at once. Kemptliorn. Why should you not have Quakers at your tavern If you have fiddlers 1 Cole. Never ! never ! never ! If you want fiddling you must go else where, To the Green Dragon and the Admiral Vernon, And other such disreputable places. But the Three Mariners is an orderly house, Most orderly, quiet, and respectable. Lord Leigh said he could be as quiet here As at the Governor s. And have I not King Charles s Twelve Good Rules all framed and glazed Hanging in my best parlor ? Kemptliorn. Here s a health To good King Charles. Will you not drink the King ? Then drink confusion to old Parson Palmer ! Cole. Arid who is Parson Palmer ? I don t know him. KemptJiorn. He had his cellar under neath his pulpit, And so preached o er his liquor, just as you do. [A drum within. Cole. Here comes the Marshal. Merry (within). Make room for the Marshal. Kemptliorn. How pompous and im posing he appears ! His great buff doublet bellying like a mainsail, And all his streamers fluttering in the wind. What holds he in his hand 1 Cole. A Proclamation. Enter the MARSHAL, with a proclamation ; and MERRY, with a halberd. They are preceded by a drummer, and followed by the hangman, with an armful of books, and a crowd of people, among whom are O"PSALL and JOHN ENDICOTT. A pile is made of the books. Merry. Silence, the drum ! Good citizens, attend To the new laws enacted by the Court. ENDICOTT. 507 Marshal (reads}. "Whereas a cursed Marshal (reads). " If any one within set of Heretics this Jurisdiction Has lately risen, commonly called Shall henceforth entertain, or shall Quakers, conceal Who take upon themselves to be Quakers, or other blasphemous Heretics, commissioned Knowing them so to be, every such Immediately of God, and futhermore person Infallibly assisted by the Spirit Shall forfeit to the country forty To write and utter blasphemous opi- shillings nions, For each hour s entertainment or con- Despising Government and the order cealment, of God And shall be sent to prison, as afore- In Church and Commonwealth, and said, speaking evil Until the forfeiture be wholly paid." Of Dignities, reproaching and reviling [Murmurs in the crowd. The Magistrates and Ministers, and Kempthorn. Now, Goodman Cole, I seeking think your turn has come ! To turn the people from their faith, and Cole. Knowing them so to be ! thus Kempthorn. At forty shillings Gain proselytes to their pernicious The hour, your fine will be some forty ways ; pound ! This Court, considering the premises, Cole. Knowing them so to be ! And to prevent like mischief as is That is the law. wrought Marshal (reads). " And it is further By their means in our land, doth hereby ordered and enacted, order, If any Quaker or Quakers shall That whatsoever master or commander presume Of any ship, bark, pink, or catch shall To come henceforth into this Juris- bring diction, To any roadstead, harbor, creek, or cove Every male Quaker for the first offence Within this Jurisdiction any Quakers, Shall have one ear cut off; and shall be Or other blasphemous Heretics, shall pay kept Unto the Treasurer of the Common- At labor in the Workhouse, till such wealth time One hundred pounds, and for default As he be sent away at his own charge. thereof And for the repetition of the offence Be put in prison, and continue there Shall have his other ear cut off, and Till the said sum be satisfied and paid." then Cole. Now, Simon Kempthorn, what Be branded in the palm of his right say you to that 1 hand. Kempthorn. I pray you, Cole, lend And every woman Quaker shall be me a hundred pound ! whipt 568 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Severely in three towns; and every Quaker, Or he or she, that shall for a third time Herein again offend, shall have their tongues Bored through with a hot iron, and shall be Sentenced to Banishment on pain of Death." [Loud murmurs. The voice of Christison in the crowd. patience of the Lord ! How long, how long, Ere Thou avenge the blood of Thine Elect 1 Merry. Silence, there, silence ! Do not break the peace ! Marshal (reads}. " Every inhabitant of this Jurisdiction Who shall defend the horrible opinions Of Quakers, by denying due respect To equals and superiors, and with drawing From Church Assemblies, and thereby approving The abusive and destructive practices Of this accursed sect, in opposition To all the orthodox received opinions Of godly men, shall be forthwith committed Unto close prison for one month ; and then Refusing to retract and to reform The opinions as aforesaid, he shall be Sentenced to Banishment on pain of Death. By the Court. Edward Eawson, Secre tary." Now, hangman, do your duty. Burn those books. [Loud murmurs in the crowd. The pile of books is lighted. Upsall. I testify against these cruel laws ! Forerunners are they of some judgment on us And, in the love and tenderness I bear Unto this town and people, I beseech you, Magistrates, take heed, lest ye be found As fighters against God ! John Endicott (talcing UpsaWs hand). Upsall, I thank thee For speaking words such as some younger man, 1 or another, should have said before you. Such laws as these are cruel and oppressive ; A blot on this fair town, and a disgrace To any Christian people. Merry (aside, listening behind them). Here s sedition ! I never thought that any good would come Of this young popinjay, with his long hair And his great boots, fit only for the Russians Or barbarous Indians, as his father says ! The Voice. Woe to the bloody town ! And rightfully Men call it the Lost Town ! The blood of Abel Cries from the ground, and at the final judgment The Lord will say, " Cain, Cain ! where is thy brother 1 " Merry. Silence there in the crowd ! Upsall (aside). Tis Christison ! The Voice. foolish people, ye that think to burn ENDICOTT. 569 And to consume the truth of God, I tell you That every flame is a loud tongue of fire To publish it abroad to all the world Louder than tongues of men ! KemptJiarn (springing to his feet). Well said, my hearty ! There s a brave fellow ! There s a man of pluck ! A man who s not afraid to say his say, Though a whole town s against him. Kain, rain, rain, Bones of St. Botolph, and put out this fire! [The drum beats. Exeunt all but MERRY, KEMPTHORN, and COLE. Merry. And now that matter s ended, Goodman Cole, Fetch me a mug of ale, your strongest ale. Kempthorn (sitting down}. And me another mug of flip ; and put Two gills of brandy in it. [Exit COLE. Merry. ^ T o ; no more. Not a drop more, I say. You ve had enough. Kempthorn. And who are you, sir 1 Merry. I m a Tith ing-man, And Merry is my name. Kempthorn. A merry name ! I like it ; and I ll drink your merry health Till all is blue. Merry. And then you will be clapped Into the Stocks, with the red letter D Hung round about your neck for drunkenness. You re a free-drinker, yes, and a free. thinker ! Kempthorn. And you are Andrew Merry, or Merry Andrew. Merry. My name is Walter Merry, and not Andrew. Kempthorn. Andrew or Walter, you re a merry fellow ; I ll swear to that. Merry. No swearing, let me tell you. The other day one Shorthose had his tongue Put into a cleft stick for profane swearing. [CoLE brings the ale. Kempthorn. Well, where s my flip 1 As sure as my name s Kemp- thorn Merry. Is your name Kempthorn ? Kempthorn. That s the name I go by. Merry. What, Captain Simon Kempthorn of the Swallow ] Kempthorn. No other. Merry (touching him on the shoulder). Then you re wanted. I arrest you In the King s name. Kempthorn. And where s your warrant 1 Merry (unfolding a paper and reading). Here. Listen to me. "Hereby you are required, In the King s name, to apprehend the body Of Simon Kempthorn, mariner, and him Safely to bring before me, there to answer All such objections as are laid to him Touching the Quakers." Signed, John Endicott. Kempthorn. Has it the Governor s seal? Merry. A y, here it is. Kempthorn. Death s head and cross- bones. That s a pirate s flag ! 570 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Merry. Beware how you revile the Magistrates ! Yon may be whipped for that. Kempthom. Then mum s the word. [Exeunt MERRY and KEMPTHORN. Cole. There s mischief brewing ! Sure, there s mischief brewing ! I feel like Master Josselyn when he found The hornet s nest, and thought it some strange fruit, Until the seeds came out, and then he dropped it. [Exit. SCENE III. A room in the Governor s house. Enter GOVERNOR ENDICOTT and MERRY. Endicott. My son, you say ] Merry. Your Worship s eldest son. Endicott. Speaking against the laws ? Merry. Ay, worshipful sir. Endicott. And in the public market place ? Merry. I saw him With my own eyes, heard him with my own ears. Endicott. Impossible ! Merry. He stood there in the crowd With Nicholas Upsall, when the laws were read To-day against the Quakers, and I heard him Denounce and vilipend them as unjust, As cruel, wicked, and abominable. Endicott. Ungrateful son ! God ! thou layest upon me A burden heavier than I can bear ! Surely the power of Satan must be great Upon the earth, if even the elect Are thus deceived and fall away from grace ! Merry. Worshipful sir ! I meant no harm Endicoit. Tis well. You ve done your duty, though you ve done it roughly, And every word you ve uttered since you came Has stabbed me to the heart ! Merry. I do beseech Your Worship s pardon ! Endicott. He whom I have nurtured And brought up in the reverence of the Lord ! The child of all my hopes and my affec tions ! He upon whom I leaned as a sure staff For my old age ! It it God s chastise ment For leaning upon any arm but His ! Merry. Your Worship ! Endicott. And this comes from hold ing parley With the delusions and deceits of Satan. At once, for ever, must they be crushed out, Or all the land will reek with heresy ! Pray, have you any children 1 Merry. No, not any. Endicott. Thank God for that. He has delivered you From a great care. Enough; my private griefs Too long have kept me from the public service. [Exit MERRY. ENDICOTT seats himself at the table and arranges his papers. The hour has come ; and I am eager now To sit in judgment on these Heretics. [A knock. Come in. Who is it 1 (Not looldng up). John Endicott. It is I. Endicott (restraining himself}. Sit down ! ENDICOTT. 571 John Endicoit (silting down). I come John Endicott. And yet who is there to intercede for these poor people that has never doubted ? Who are in prison, and await their trial. And, doubting and believing, has not Endicott. It is of them I wish to said, speak with you. "Lord, I believe; help thou my I have been angry with you, but tis unbelief?" passed. Endicott. In the same way we trifle For when I hear your footsteps come with our doubts, or go, Whose shining shapes are like the stars See in your features your dead mother s descending ; face, Until at last, bewildered and dismayed, And in your voice detect some tone of Blinded by that which seemed to give hers, us light, All anger vanishes, and I remember We sink to sleep, and find that it is The days that are no more, and come death, (Rising) no more, Death to the soul through all eternity ! When as a child you sat upon my knee, Alas that I should see you growing up And prattled of your playthings, and To man s estate, and in the admonition the games And nurture of the Law, to find you You played among the pear-trees in the now orchard ! Pleading for Heretics ! John Endicott. Oh, let the memory John Endicoit (rising). In the sight of my noble mother of God, Plead with you to be mild and merciful ! Perhaps all men are Heretics. Who For mercy more becomes a Magistrate dares Than the vindictive wrath which men To say that he alone has found the call justice ! Truth ? Endicott. The sin of heresy is a We cannot always feel and think and deadly sin, act Tis like the falling of the snow, whose As those who go before us. Had you crystals done so, The traveller plays with, thoughtless of You would not now be here. his danger, Endicott. Have you forgotten L T ntil he sees the air so full of light The doom of Heretics, and the fate of That it is dark ; and blindly staggering those onward, Who aid and comfort them ? Have Lost, and bewildered, he sits down to you forgotten rest ; That in the market-place this very day There falls a pleasant drowsiness upon You trampled on the laws 1 What him, right have you, And what he thinks is sleep, alas! is An inexperienced and untravelled youth, death. To sit in judgment here upon the acts 4 i) 572 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Of older men and wiser than yourself, Thus stirring up sedition in the streets, And making me a byword and a jest ? John Endicott. Words of an inex perienced youth like me Were powerless if the acts of older men Went not before them. Tis these laws themselves Stir up sedition, not my judgment of them. Endicott. Take heed, lest I be called, as Brutus was, To be the judge of my own son ! Begone ! When you are tired of feeding upon husks, Eeturn again to duty and submission, But not till then. John Endicott. I hear and I obey ! [Mxtt. Endicott. happy, happy they who have no children ! He s gone ! I hear the hall door shut behind him ! It sends a dismal echo through my heart, As if for ever it had closed between us, And I should look upon his face no more ! Oh, this will drag me down into my grave, To that eternal re?ting-place wherein Man lieth down, and riseth not again ! Till the heavens be no more he shall not wake, Nor be roused from his sleep ; for Thou dost change His countenance, and sendest him away ! [Exit. END OF ACT II. ACT TIT. SCENE I. The Court of Assistants. ENDI COTT, BELLINGHAM, ATHERTON, and other magistrates. KEMPTHORX, MERRY, and constables. Afterwards WIIARTON, EDITH, and CHRISTISOX. Endicott. Call Captain Simon Kemp- thorn. Merry. Simon Kempthorn, Come to the bar ! [KEMPTHORN comes forward. Endicott. You are accused of bring ing Into this Jurisdiction, from Barbadoes, Some persons of that sort and sect of people Known by the name of Quakers, and maintaining Most dangerous and heretical opinions ; Purposely coming here to propagate Their heresies and errors ; bringing with them And spreading sundry books here, which contain Their doctrines most corrupt and blasphemous, And contrary to the truth professed among us. What say you to this charge ? Kempthorn. I do acknowledge, Among the passengers on board the Swallow Were certain persons saying Thee and Thou. They seemed a harmless people, mostways silent, Particularly when they said their prayers. Endicott. Harmless and silent as the pestilence ! You d better have brought the fever or the plague ENDICOTT. Among us in your ship ! Therefore, this Court, For preservation of the Peace and Truth, Hereby commands you speedily to trans port, Or cause to be transported speedily, The aforesaid persons hence unto Barbadoes, From whence they came ; you paying all the charges Of their imprisonment. Kempthorn. Worshipful sir, No ship e er prospered that has carried Quakers Against their will ! I knew a vessel once- Endicott. And for the more effectual performance Hereof, you are to give security In bonds amounting to one hundred pounds. On your refusal, you will be committed To prison till you do it. Kempthorn. But you see I cannot do it. The law, sir, of Barba- does Forbids the landing Quakers on the island. Endicott. Then yqu will be com mitted. Who comes next ? Merry. There is another charge against the Captain. Endicott. What is it ? Merry. Profane swearing, please your Worship. He cursed and swore from Dock Square to the Court-house. Endicott. Then let him stand in the pillory for one hour. [Exit KEMPTHORN with constable. Who s next ? Merry. The Quakers. Endicott. Call them. Merry. Edward Wharton, Come to the bar ! Wharton. Yea, even to the bench. Endicott. Take off your hat. Wharton. My hat offend eth not. If it offendeth any, let him take it ; For I shall not resist. Endicott. Take off his hat. Let him be fined ten shillings for con tempt. [MERRY takes off WHARTON s hat. Wharton. What evil have I done f Endicott. Your hair s too long ; And in not putting off your hat to us You ve disobeyed and broken that com mandment Which sayeth " Honor thy father and thy mother." Wharton. John Endicott, thou art become too proud ; And lovest him who putteth off the hat, And honoreth thee by bowing of the body, And sayeth "Worshipful sir!" Tis time for thee To give such follies over, for thou mayest Be drawing very near unto thy grave. Endicott. Now, sirrah, leave your canting. Take the oath. Wharton. Nay, sirrah me no sirrah s ! Endicott. Will you swear ? Wharton. Nay, I will not. Endicott. You made a great disturbance, And uproar yesterday in the Meeting house, Having your hat on. Wharton. I made no disturbance ; For peacefully I stood, like other people. 574 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. I spake no words ; moved against none my hand ; But by the hair they haled me out, and dashed Their books into niy face. Endicott. You, Edward Wharton, On pain of death, depart this Jurisdic tion Within ten days. Such is your sen tence. Go. Wharton. John Endicott, it had been well for thee If this day s doings thou hadst left undone. But, banish me as far as thou hast power, Beyond the guard and presence of my God Thou canst not banish me ! Endicott. Depart the Court ; We have no time to listen to your babble. Who s next ? [Exit WHAHTON. Merry. This woman, for the same offence. [EDITH comes forward. Endicott. What is your name ? - Edith. Tis to the world unknown, But written in the Book of Life. Endicott. Take heed It be not written in the Book of Death ! What is it ? Edith. Edith Christison. Endicott (with eagerness}. The daughter Of Wenlock Christison ? Edith. I am his daughter. Endicott. Your father hath given us trouble many times. A bold man and a violent, who sets At nought the authority of our Church and State, And is in banishment on pain of death. Where are you living ? Edith. In the Lord. Endicott. Make answer With out evasion. Where 1 ? Edith. My outward being Is in Barbadoes. Endicott. Then why come you here ? Edith. I come upon an errand of the Lord. Endicott. Tis not the business of the Lord you re doing ; It is the Devil s. Will you take the oath ? Give her the Book. [M EBKY offers the Book. Edith. You offer me this Book To swear on ; and it saith, " Swear not at all, Neither by heaven, because it is God s Throne, Xor by the earth, because it is his footstool ! " I dare not swear. Endicott. You dare not? Yet you Quakers Deny this Book of Holy Writ, the Bible, To be the Word of God. Edith (reverentially). Christ is the Word, The everlasting oath of God. I dare not. Endicott. You own yourself a Quaker, do you not ? Edith. I own that in derision and reproach I am so called. Endicott. Then you deny the Scripture To be the rule of life. Edith. Yea, I believe The Inner Light, and not the Written Word, To be the rule of life. END1COTT. Endicott. And you deny That the Lord s day is holy. Edith. Every day Is the Lord s day. It runs through alt our lives, As through the pages of the Holy Bible "Thus said the Lord." Endico t. You are accused of making An horrible disturbance, and affrighting The people in the Meeting-house on Sunday. What answer make you \ Edith. I do not deny That I was present in your Steeple- house On the First Day ; but I made no disturbance. Endicott. Why came you there 1 Edith. Because the Lord commanded. His word was in my heart, a burning fire Shut up within me and consuming me, And I was very weary with forbearing ; I could not stay. Endicott. Twos not the Lord that sent -you ; As an incarnate devil did you come ! Edith. On the First Day, when, seated in my chamber, I heard the bells toll, calling you together, The sound struck at my life, as once at his, The holy man, our Founder, when he heard The far-off bells toll in the Yale of Beavor. It sounded like a market bell to call The folk together, that the Priest might set His wares to sale. And the Lord said within nie, " Thou must go cry aloud against that Idol, And all the worshippers thereof." I went Barefooted, clad in sackcloth, and I stood And listened at the threshold ; and I heard The praying and the singing and the preaching, Which were but outward forms, and without power. Then rose a cry within me, and my heart Was filled with admonitions and reproofs. Eemembering how the Prophets and Apostles Denounced the covetous hirelings and diviners, I entered in, and spake the words the Lord Commanded me to speak. I could no less. Endicott. Are you a Prophetess 1 Edith. Is it not written, " Upon my handmaidens will I pour out My spirit, and they shall prophesy 1 " Endicott. Enough ; For out of your own mouth are you condemned ! ISTeed we hear further? The Judges. We are satisfied. Endicott. It is sufficient. Edith Christison, The sentence of the Court is, that you be Scourged in three towns, with forty stripes save one, Then banished upon pain of death ! Edith. Your sentence Is truly no more terrible to me Than had you blown a feather into the air, 576 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. And, as it fell upon me, you had said, " Take heed it hurt thee not ! " God s will be done ! Wenlock Christison (unseen in the crowd). Woe to the city of blood! The stone shall cry Out of the wall ; the beam from out of the timber Shall answer it ! Woe unto him that buildeth A town with blood, and stablisheth a city By his iniquity ! Endicott. Who is it makes Such outcry here ? Christison (coming forward). I, Wenlock Christison ! Endicott. Banished on pain of death, why come you here ? Christison. I come to warn you that you shed no more The blood of innocent men ! It cries aloud For vengeance to the Lord ! Endicott. Your life is forfeit Unto the law ; and you shall surely die, And shall not live. Christison. Like unto Eleazer, Maintaining the excellence of ancient years And the honor of his gray head, I stand before you ; Like him disdaining all hypocrisy, Lest, through desire to live a little longer, I get a stain to my old age and name ! Endicott. Being in banishment, on pain of death, You come now in among us in rebellion. Christison. I come not in among you in rebellion, But in obedience to the Lord of Heaven. Not in contempt to any Magistrate, But only in the love I bear your souls, As ye shall know hereafter, when all men Give an account of deeds done in the body ! God s righteous judgments ye cannot escape. One of the Judges. Those who have gone before you said the same, And yet no j udgment of the Lord hath fallen Upon us. Christison. He but waiteth till the measure Of your iniquities shall be filled up, And ye have run your race. Then will his wrath Descend upon you to the uttermost ! For thy part, Humphrey Athertoii, it hangs Over thy head already. It shall come Suddenly, as a thief doth in the night, And in the hour when least thou thinkest of it ! Endicott. We have a law, and by that law you die. Christison. I, a free man of England, and freeborn, Appeal unto the laws of mine own nation ! Endicott. There s no appeal to England from this Court ! What ! do you think our statutes are but paper ? Are but dead leaves that rustle in the wind ? Or litter to be trampled underfoot 1 What say ye, Judges of the Court, what say ye ? Shall this man suffer death ] Speak your opinions. ENDICOTT. 577 One of the Judges. I am a mortal man, and die I must, And that ere long ; and I must then appear Before the awful judgment-seat of Christ, To give account of deeds done in the body. My greatest glory on that day will "be, That I have given my vote against this man. Christison. If, Thomas Danforth, thou hast nothing more To glory in upon that dreadful day Than blood of innocent people, then thy glory Will be turned into shame ! The Lord hath said it ! Another Judge. I cannot give con sent, while other men Who have been banished upon pain of deatli Are now in their own houses here among us. Endicott. Ye that will not consent, make record of it. I thank my God that I am not afraid To give my judgment. Wenlock Chris tison, You must be taken back from hence to prison, Thence to the place of public execution, There to be hanged till you be dead dead dead ! Christison. If ye have power to take my life from me, Which I do question, God hath power to raise The principle of life in other ten, And send them here among you. There shall be No peace unto the wicked, saith my God. Listen, ye Magistrates, for the Lord hath said it ! The day ye put his servitors to death, That day the Day of your own Visita tion, The Day of Wrath, shall pass above your heads, And ye shall be accursed for evermore ! (To EDITH, embracing her.} Cheer up, dear heart ! they have not power to harm us. [Exeunt CHRISTISON and EDITH, guarded. The Scene doses. SCENE II. A street. Enter JOHN ENDICOTT and UPSALL. John Endicott. Scourged in three towns ! and yet the busy people Go up and down the streets on their affairs Of business or of pleasure, as if nothing Had happened to disturb them or their thoughts ! When bloody tragedies like this are acted, The pulses of a nation should stand still; The town should be in mourning, and the people Speak only in low whispers to each other. Upsall. I know this people ; and that underneath A cold outside there burns a secret fire That will find vent, and will not be put out, Till every remnant of these barbarous laws Shall be to ashes burned, and blown away. John Endicott. Scourged in three towns ! It is incredible Such things can be. I feel the blood within me 578 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Fast mounting in rebellion, since in vain Have I implored compassion of my father ! Upsall. You know your father only as a father ; I know him better as a Magistrate. He is a man both loving and severe ; A tender heart ; a will inflexible. None ever loved him more than I have loved him. He is an upright man and a just man In all things save the treatment of the Quakers. John Endicott. Yet I have found him cruel and unjust Even as a father. He has driven me forth Into the street ; has shut his door upon me, With words of bitterness. I am as home less As these poor Quakers are. UpsaH. Then come with me. You shall be welcome for your father s sake, And the old friendship that has been between us. He will relent ere long. A father s anger Is like a sword without a handle, piercing Both ways alike, and wounding him that wields it No less than him that it is pointed at. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The prison. Night. EDITH reading the Bible by a lamp. Edith. "Blessed are ye when men shall persecute you, And shall revile you, and shall say against you All manner of evil falsely for my sake ! Rejoice, and be exceeding glad, for great Is your reward in heaven. For so the prophets, Which were before you, have been persecuted." Enter JOHN ENLUCOTT. John Endicott. Edith ! Edith. Who is it speaketh ? John Endicott. Saul of Tarsus ; As thou didst call me once. Edith (coming forward) . Yea, I remember. Thou art the Governor s son. John Endicott. I am ashamed Thou shouldst remember me. Edith. Why comest thou Into this dark guest-chamber in the night ? What seekest thou ? John Endicott. Forgiveness ! Edith. I forgive All who have injured me. What hast thou done 1 John Endicott. I have betrayed thee, thinking that in this I did God service. Now, in deep contrition, I come to rescue thee. Edith. From what ? Join Endicott. From prison. Edith. I am safe here within these gloomy walls. John Endicott. From scourging in the streets, and in three towns ! Edith. Remembering who was scourged for me, I shrink not, Nor shuJder at the forty stripes save one. John Endicott. Perhaps from death itself! Edith. I fear not death, Knowing who died for me. ENDICOTT. 579 John Endicott (aside). Sure some divine Ambassador is speaking though, those lips And looking through those eyes ! I cannot answer ! Edith. If all these prison doors stood opened wide I would not cross the threshold, not one step. There are invisible bars I cannot break ; There are invisible doors that shut me in, And keep me ever stedfast to my purpose. John Endicott. Thou hast the pa tience and the faith of Saints ! Edith. Thy Priest hath been with me this day to save me, Not only from the death that comes to all, But from the second death ! John Endicott. The Pharisee ! My heart revolts against him and his creed ! Alas ! the coat that was without a seam Is rent asunder by contending sects ; Each bears away a portion of the garment, Blindly believing that he has the whole ! Edith. When Death, the Healer, shall have touched our eyes With moist clay of the grave, then shall we see The truth as we have never yet beheld it. But he that overcometh shall not be Hurt of the second death. Has he for gotten The many mansions in our Father s house ? Joh nEndicolt. There is no pity in his iron heart ! The hands that now bear stamped upon their palms The burning sign of Heresy, hereafter Shall be uplifted against such accusers, And then the imprinted letter and its meaning Will not be Heresy, but Holiness ! Edith. Remember, thou condemnest thine own father ! John Endicott. I have no father ! He has cast me off. I am as homeless as the wind that moans And wanders through the streets. Oh, come with me ! Do not delay. Thy God shall be my God, And where thou goest I will go. Edith. I cannot. Yet will I not deny it, nor conceal it; From the first moment I beheld thy face I felt a tenderness in my soul towards thee. My mind has since been inward to the Lord, Waiting his word. It has not yet been spoken. John Endicott. I cannot wait. Trust me. Oh, come with me ! Edith. In the next room, my father, an old man, Sitteth imprisoned and condemned to death, Willing to prove his faith by martyr dom ; And tlrinkest thou his daughter would do less ? John Endicott. Oh, life is sweet, and death is terrible ! Edith. I have too long walked hand in hand with death To shudder at that pale familiar face. But leave me now. I wish to be alone. 4 E 580 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. John Etidicott. Not yet. Oh, let me stay ! Edith. Urge me no more. John Endicott. Alas ! good night. I will not say good-bye ! Edith. Pat this temptation under neath thy feet. To him that overcomsth shall be given The white stone with the new name written on it, That no man knows save him that doth receive it. And I will give thee a new name, and call thee Paul of Damascus and not Saul of Tarsus. [Exit JOHN EXDICOTT. EDITH sits down again to read the Bible. END OF ACT III. ACT IV. SCEXE 1. King Street, in front of ike town- house. KEMPTHOEN in the pillory. MERRY, and a crowd of lookers-on. Keinptliorn (sinc/s). The world is full of care, Much like unto a bubble ; Women and care, and care and women, And women and care and trouble. Good Master Merry, may I say confound ? Merry. Ay, that you may. Kemptliorn. Well, then, with your permission, Confound the Pillory ! Merry. That s the very thing The joiner said who made the Shrews bury stocks. ENDICOTT. 581 He said confound the stocks, because they put him Into his own. He was the first man in them. Kempthorn. For swearing, was it 1 Merry. No, it was for charging. He charged the town too much ; and so the town, To make things square, set him in his own stocks, And fined him five pound sterling, just enough To settle his own bill. Kempthorn. And served him right ; But, Master Merry, is it not eight bells 1 Merry. Not quite. Kempthorn. For, do you see? I m getting tired Of being perched aloft here in this cro nest, Like the first mate of a whaler, or a Middy Mast-headed, looking out for land ! Sail ho ! Here comes a heavy-laden merchantman With the lee clews eased off, and run ning free Before the wind. A solid man of Boston. A comfortable man, wijth dividends, And the first salmon, and the first green peas. [A gentleman passes. He does not even turn his head to look. He s gone without a word. Here comes another ; A different kind of craft on a taut bowline, Deacon Giles Firmin, the apothecary, A pious and a ponderous citizen, Looking as rubicund and round and splendid As the great bottle in his own shop window ! [DEACON FIRMIN passes. And here s my host of the Three Mariners, My creditor and trusty taverner, My corporal in the Great Artillery ! He s not a man to pass me without speaking. [COLE looks away and passes. Don t yaw so ; keep your luif, old hypo crite ! Respectable, ah yes, respectable, You, with your seat in the new Meeting house, Your cow-right on the Common ! But who s this 1 I did not know the Mary Ann was in ! And yet this is my old friend, Captain Goldsmith, As sure as I stand in the bilboes here. Why, Ealph, my boy ! Enter RALPH GOLDSMITH. Goldsmith. Why, Simon, is it you 1 Set in the bilboes 1 Kempthorn. Chock-a-block, you see, And without chafing-gear. Goldsmith. And what s it for ? Kempthorn. Ask that starbowline with the boat-hook there, That handsome man. ^lerry (bowing}. For swearing. Kempthorn. In this town They put sea-captains in the stocks for swearing, And Quakers for not swearing. So look out. Goldsmith. I pray you set him free ; he meant no harm ; Tis an old habit he picked up afloat. Merry. Well, as your time is out, you may come down. 582 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. The law allows you now to go at large Like Elder Oliver s horse upon the Common. Kempthorn. Now, hearties, beau a hand ! Let go and haul. [KEMPTHORN is set free, and comes forward, shaking GOLDSMITH S hand. Kempthorn. Give me your hand, Ralph. Ah, how good it feels ! The hand of an old friend. Goldsmith. God bless you, Simon ! Kempthorn. Now let us make a straight wake for the tavern Of the Three Mariners, Samuel Cole, commander ; Yfhere we can take our ease, and see the shipping, And talk about old times. Goldsmith. First I must pay My duty to the Governor, and take him His letters and despatches. Come with me. Kempthorn. I d rather not. I saw him yesterday. Goldsmith. Then wait for me at the Three Nuns and Comb. Kempthorn. I thank you. That s too near to the town pump. I will go with you to the Governor s, And wait outside there, sailing off and on; If I am wanted, you can hoist a signal. Merry. Shall I go with you and pc.int out the way ? Goldsmith. Oh no, I thank you. I am not a stranger Here in your crooked little town. Merry. How now, sir 1 Do you abuse our town 1 [Exit. Goldsmith. Oh, no offence. Kempthorn. Ralph, I am under bonds for a hundred pound. Goldsmith. Hard lines. What for 1 Kempthorn. To take some Quakers back I brought here from Earbadoes in the Swallow. And how to do it I don t clearly see, For one of them is banished, and another Is sentenced to be hanged ! What shall I do? Goldsmith. Just slip your hawser on some cloudy night ; Sheer off, and pay it with the topsail, Simon ! [Exeunt, Street in front of the prison. Jn the background a gateway and several flights of steps leading up terraces to the GOVERNOR S house. A pump on one side of the street. JOHN ENDICOTT, MERRY, UPSALL, and others. A drum beats. John Endicott. Oh shame, shame, shame ! Merry. Yes, it would be a shame But for the damnable sin of Heresy ! John Endicott. A woman scourged and dragged about our streets ! Merry. Well, Roxbury and Dor chester must take Their share of shame. She will be whipped in each ! Three towns, and forty stripes save one; that makes Thirteen in each. John Endicott. And are we Jews or Christians ? See where she comes, amid a gaping crowd ! And she a child. Oh pitiful ! pitiful ! There s blood upon her clothes, her hands, her feet ! ENDICOTT. 583 Enter MARSHAL and a drummer; EDITH, stripped to the waist, followed by the hang man with a scourge, and a noisy crowd. Edith. Here let me rest one moment. I am tired. "Will some one give me water? Merry. At liis peril. Upsall. Alas that I should live to see this day ! A Woman. Did I forsake my father and my mother And come here to New England to see this? Edith. I am athirst. AVill no one give me water ? John Endicott (making Ids ivay through the crowd with water). In the Lord s name ! Edith (drinking). In his name I receive it ! Sweet as the water of Samaria s well This water tastes. I thank thee. Is it thou ? I was afraid thou hadst deserted me. John Endicott. Never will I desert thee, nor deny thee. Be comforted. Merry. Master Endicott, Be careful what you say. John Endicott. Peace, idle babbler ! Merry. You ll rue these words ! John Endicott. Art thou not better now? Edith. They ve struck me as with roses. John Endicott. Ah, these wounds ! These bloody garments ! Edith. It is granted me To seal my testimony with my blood. John Endicott. blood-red seal of man s vindictive wrath ! roses of the garden of the Lord ! I, of the household of Iscariot, I have betrayed in thee my Lord and Master ! WENLOCK CHRISTISON appears above, at the window of the prison, stretching out his hands through the bars. Christison. Be of good courage, my child ! my child ! Blessed art thou when men shall per secute thee ! Fear not their faces, saith the Lord, fear not, For I am with thee to deliver thee. A Citizen. Who is it crying from the prison yonder? Merry. It is old Wenlock Christison. Christison. Eemember Him who was scourged, and mocked, and crucified ? I see his messengers attend thee. Be stedfast, oh, be stedfast to the end ! Edith (with exultation). I cannot reach thee with these arms, father ! But closely in my soul do I embrace thee And hold thee. In thy dungeon and thy death I will be with thee, and will comfort thee! Marshal. Come, put an end to this. Let the drum beat. [The drum beats. Exeunt all but JOHN ENDICOTT, UPSALL, and MERRY. Christison. Dear child, farewell! Never shall I behold Thy face again with these bleared eyes of flesh ; And never wast thou fairer, lovelier, dearer Than now, when scourged and bleeding, and insulted 584 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. For the truth s sake. pitiless, pitiless town ! The wrath of God hangs over thee j and the day Is near at hand when thou shalt be abandoned To desolation and the breeding of nettles. The bittern and the cormorant shall lodge Upon thine upper lintels, and their voice Sing in thy windows. Yea, thus saith the Lord ! John Endicott. Awake ! awake ! ye sleepers, ere too late, And wipe these bloody statutes from your books ! [Exit. Merry. Take heed ; the walls have ears ! Upsall. At lasfc, the heart Of every honest man must speak or break ! Enter GOVERNOR ENDICOTT with his lialberdiers. Endicott. What is this stir and tumult in the street ? Merry. Worshipful sir, the whipping of a girl, And her old father howling from the prison. Endicott (to his halberdiers). Go on. Christison. Antiochus ! Antiochus ! thou that slayest the Maccabees ! The Lord Shall smite thee with incurable disease, And no man shall endure to carry thee ! Merry. Peace, old blasphemer ! Christiso?i. I both feel and see The presence and the waft of death go forth Against thee, and already thou dost look Like one that s dead ! Merry (pointing). And there is your own son, Worshipful sir, abetting the sedition. Endicott. Arrest him. Do not spare him. Merry (aside]. His own child ! There is some special providence takes care That none shall be too happy in this world ! His own first-born ! Endicott. Absalom, my son ! [Exeunt; the GOVERNOR, with his hal berdiers, ascending the steps of his house. SCENE III. The GOVERNOR S private room. Papers upon the table. ENDICOTT and BELLINGHAM. Endicott. There is a ship from Eng land has come in, Bringing despatches and much news from home. His Majesty was at the Abbey crowned ; And when the coronation was complete, There passed a mighty tempest o er the city, Portentous with great thunderings and lightnings. Bellingliam. After his father s, if I well remember, There was an earthquake, that foreboded evil. Endicott. Ten of the Regicides have been put to death ! The bodies of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw Have been dragged from their graves, and publicly Hanged in their shrouds at Tyburn. BeUincjham. Horrible ! ENDICOTT. 585 Endicott. Thus the old tyranny revives again ! Its arm is long enough to reach us here, As you will see. For, more insulting still Than flaunting in our faces dead men s shrouds, Here is the King s Mandamus., taking from us, From this clay forth, all power to punish Quakers. Bellingham. That takes from us all power ; we are but puppets, And can no longer execute our laws. Endicott. His Majesty begins with pleasant words, " Trusty and well-beloved, we greet you well:" Then with a ruthless hand he strips from me All that which makes me what I am ; as if From some old general in the field, grown gray In service, scarred with many wounds, Just at the hour of victory, he should strip His badge of office and his well-gained honors, And thrust him back into the ranks again. Opens the Mandamus, and hands it to BEL- LINOHAM ; and, while he is reading, ENDI COTT walks up and down the room. Here, read it for yourself; you see his words Are pleasant words considerate not reproachful Nothing could be more gentle or more royal ; But then the meaning underneath the words, Mark that. He says all people known as Quakers Among us, now condemned to suffer death Or any corporal punishment whatever, Who are imprisoned, or may be ob noxious To the like condemnation, shall be sent Forthwith to England, to be dealt with there In such wise as shall be agreeable Unto the English law and their de merits. Is it not so 1 Bellingham (returning the paper). Ay, so the paper says. Endicott. It means we shall no longer rule the province ; It means farewell to law and liberty, Authority, respect for Magistrates, The peace and welfare of the Com monwealth. If all the knaves upon this continent Can make appeal to England, and so thwart The ends of truth and justice by delay, Our power is gone for ever. We are nothing But cyphers, valueless save when we follow Some unit ; and our unit is the King ! Tis he that gives us value. Bellingham. I confess Such seems to be the meaning of this paper. But being the King s Mandamus, signed and sealed, We must obey, or w r e are in rebellion. Endicott. I tell you, Eichard Bel lingham, I tell you That this is the beginning of a struggle Of which no mortal can foresee the end. 586 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. I shall not live to fight the battle for you, I am a man disgraced in every way ; This order takes from me my self- respect And the respect of others. Tis my doom, Yes, my death-warrant, but must be obeyed ! Take it, and see that it is executed So far as this, that all be set at large ; But see that none of them be sent to England To bear false witness, and to spread reports That might be prejudicial to ourselves. [Exit BELLINGHAM. There s a dull pain keeps knocking at my heart, Dolefully saying, " Set thy house in order, For thou shalt surely die, and shalt not live ! " For me the shadow on the dial-plate Goeth not back, but on into the dark ! [Exit. SCENE IV. The street. A crowd, reading a placard on the door of the Meeting-house. NICHOLAS UP- SALL among them. Enter JOHN NORTON. Norton. What is this gathering here 1 Upsall. One William Brand, An old man like ourselves, and weak in body, Has been so cruelly tortured in his prison, The people are excited, and they threaten To tear the prison do\vn. Norton. What has been done 1 Upsall. He has been put in irons, with his neck And heels tied close together, and so left From five in the morning until nine at night. Norton. What more was done 1 Upsall. He has been kept five days In prison, without food and cruelly beaten, So that his limbs were cold, his senses stopped. Norton. What more 1 Upsall. And is not this enough 1 Norton. Now hear me. This William Brand of yours has tried to beat Our Gospel Ordinances black and blue ; And, if he has been beaten in like manner, It is but justice, and I will appear In his behalf that did so. I suppose That he refused to work. Upsall. He was too weak. How could an old man work, when he was starving ? Norton. And what is this placard 1 Upsall. The Magistrates, To appeass the people and prevent a tumult, Have put up these placards throughout the town, Declaring that the jailer shall be dealt with Impartially and sternly by the Court. Norton (tearing down the placard). Down with this weak and cowardly concession, This flag of truce with Satan and with Sin! I fling it in his face ! I trample it Under my feet ! It is his cunning craft, The masterpiece of his diplomacy, ENDICOTT. 587 To cry and plead for boundless tolera tion. But toleration is the first-born child Of all abominations and deceits. There is no room in Christ s triumphant army For tolerationists. And if an Angel Preach any other gospel unto you Than that ye have received, God s male diction Descend upon him ! Let him be accursed ! [Exit. Vpsall. Now, go thy ways, John Norton ! go thy ways, Thou Orthodox Evangelist, as men call thee ! But even now there cometh out of Eng land, Like an o ertaking and accusing e on- science, An outraged man, to call thee to account For the unrighteous murder of his son ! [Exit. SCENE Y. The Wilderness. Enter EDITH. Edith. How beautiful are these au tumnal woods ! The wilderness doth blossom like the rose, And change into a garden of the Lord ! How silent everywhere ! Alone and lost Here in the forest, there comes over me An inward awfulness. I recall the words Of the Apostle Paul : "In journey ings often, Often in perils in the wilderness, In weariness, in painfulness, in watch- ings, In hunger and thirst, in cold and nakedness ;" And I forget my weariness and pain, My watchings, and my hunger and my thirst, "f he Lord hath said that he will seek his flock In cloudy and dark days, and they shall dwell Securely in the wilderness, and sleep Safe in the woods ! Whichever way I turn, I come back with my face towards the town. Dimly I see it, and the sea beyond it. cruel town ! I know what waits me there, And yet I must go back ; forever louder 1 hear the inward calling of the Spirit, And must obey the voice. woods; that wear Your golden crowil of martyrdom bloo d- stained,- From you I learn a lesson of submission, And am obedient even unto death, If God so wills it. [Exit. John Endicott (within). Edith ! Edith ! Edith ! [He enters: It is in vain ! I call, she answers not ; I follow, but I find no trace of her ! Blood ! blood ! The leaves above me and around me Are red with blood ! The pathways o the forest, The clouds that canopy the setting sun, And even the little river in the meadows, Are stained with it ! "Where er I look, I see it ! Away, thou horrible vision ! Leave me? leave me ! 4 F 583 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Alas ! yon winding stream, that gropes its way Through mist and shadow, doubling an itself, At length will find, by the unerring law Of nature, what it seeks. O soul of man, Groping through mist and shadow, and recoiling Back on thyself, are, too, thy devious ways Subject to law ? and when thou seemest to wander The farthest from thy goal, art thou still drawing Nearer and nearer to it, till at length Thou findest, like the river, what thou seekest ? [Exit. END OF ACT IV. ACT V. SCENE I. Daybreak. Street in front of UPS ALL S house. A light in the window. Enter JOHN ENIHCOTT. John Endicott. silent, sombre, and deserted streets, To me ye re peopled with a sad pro cession, And echo only to the voice of sorrow ! houses full of peacefulness and sleep, Far better were it to awake no more Than wake to look upon such scenes again ! There is a light in Master Upsall s window. The good man is already risen, for sleep Deserts the couches of the old. [Knocks at UPSALL S door. Upsall (at the window). Who s there ? John Endicott. Am I so changed you do not know my voice ? Upsall. I know you. Have you heard what things have happened ? John Endicott. I have heard nothing, Upsall. Stay ; I will come down. John Endicott. I am afraid some dreadful news awaits me ! I do not dare to ask, yet am impatient To know the worst. Oh, I am very weary With waiting and with watching and pursuing \ Enter UPSALL. Upsall. Thank God you have come back ! I ve much to tell you. Where have you been ? John Endicott. You know that I was seized, Fined, and released again. You know that Edith, After her scourging in three towns, was banished Into the wilderness, into the land That is not sown ; and there I followed her, But found her not. Where is she ? Upsall. She is here. John Endicott. Oh, do not speak that word, for it means death ! Upsall. Yet is it true. She sleeps there in that chamber. Listen to me. When news of Leddra s death Eeached England, Edward Burroughs having boldly Got access to the presence of the King, Told him there was a vein of innocent blood Opened in his dominions here, which threatened To overrun them all. The King replied, "But I will stop that vein!" and he forthwith ENDICOTT. 589 Sent his Mandamus to our Magistrates, That they proceed no further in this business. So all are pardoned, and all set at large. John Endicott. Thank God! This is a victory for truth ! Our thoughts are free. They cannot be shut up In prison walls, nor put to death on scaffolds ! UpsalL Come in ; the morning air blows sharp and cold Through the damp streets, John Endicott. It is the dawn of day That chases the old darkness from our sky, And fills the land with liberty and light. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The, parlor of the Three Mariners. Enter KEMPTHORN". Kempthom. A dull life this, a dull life any way ! Eeady for sea ; the cargo all aboard, Cleared for Barbadoes, and a fair wind blowing From nor -nor -west ; and I, an idle lubber, Laid neck and heels by that confounded bond ! I said to Ralph, says I, " What s to be done ? " Says he : " Just slip your hawser in the night ; Sheer off, and pay it with the topsail, Simon." But that won t do; because, you see, the owners Somehow or other are mixed up with it. Here are King Charles s Twelve Good Rules, that Cole Thinks as important as the Rule of Three. (Reads}. " Make no comparisons ; make no long meals." Those are good rules and golden for a landlord To hang in his best parlor, framed and glazed ! " Maintain no ill opinions ; urge no healths." I drink the King s, whatever he may say; And as to ill opinions, that depends Now of Ralph Goldsmith I ve a good opinion, And of the bilboes I ve an ill opinion ; And both of these opinions I ll main tain As long as there s a shot left in the locker. Enter EDWARD BUTTER with an ear-trumpet. Butter. Good morning, Captain Kempthom. Kempthom. Sir, to you. You ve the advantage of me. I don t know you. What may I call your name 1 Butter. That s not your name ? Kempihorn. Yes, that s my name. What s yours ? Butter. My name is Butter. I am the treasurer of the Commonwealth. Kempthom. Will you be seated 1 Butter. What gay? Who s conceited ? Kempthom. Will you sit down ? Butter. O, thank you. Kempthom. Spread yourselt Upon this chair, sweet Butter. Butter (sitting down}. A fine morn ing. Kempthom. Nothing s the matter with it that I know of. .090 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. I have seen better, and I have seen worse. The wind s nor west. That s fair for them that sail. Butter. You need not speak so loud ; I understand you. You sail to-day. Kempthorn. No, I don t sail to-day. So, be it fair or foul, it matters not. Say, will you smoke ? There s choice tobacco here. Butter. No, thank you. It s against the law to smoke. Kempthorn. Then will you drink ? There s good ale at this inn. Butter. No, thank you. It s against the law to drink. Kempthorn. Well, almost everything s against the law In this good town. Give a wide berth to one thing, You re sure to fetch up soon on something else. Butter. And so you sail to-day for dear Old England. I am not one of those who think a sup Of this New England air is better worth Than a whole draught of our Old Eng land s ale. Kempthorn. Nor I. Give me the ale and keep the air. But, as I said, I do not sail to-day. Butter. Ah yes ; you sail to-day. Kempthorn. I m under bonds To take some Quakers back to the Barbadoes ; And one of them is banished, and another Is sentenced to be hanged. Butter. No, all are pardoned, All are set free, by order of the Court ; But some of them would fain return to England. You must not take them. Upon that condition Your bond is cancelled. Kempthorn. Ah, the wind has shifted ! I pray you, do you speak officially ! Butter. I always speak officially. To prove it, Here is the bond. [Rising \ and giving a paper. Kempthorn. And here s my hand upon it. And, look you, when I say I ll do a thing The thing is done. Am I now free to go 1 fitter. What say ? Kempthorn. I say, confound the tedious man With his strange speaking-trumpet ! Can I go 1 Butter. You re free to go, by order of the Court. Your servant, sir. {Exit. Kempthorn (shouting from the window]. Swallow, ahoy ! Hallo ! If ever a man was happy to leave Boston, That man is Simon Kempthorn of the Swallow ! Re-enter BUTTER. Butter. Pray, did you call ? Kempthorn. Call 1 Yes, I hailed the Swallow. Butter. That s not my name. My name is Edward Butter. You need not speak so loud. Kempthorn (shaking hands). Good bye ! Good-bye ! Butter. Your servant, sir. Kempthorn. And yours a thousand times ! ENDICOTT. 591 SCENE III. GOVERNOR ENDICOTT S private room. An open window. ENDICOTT seated in an arm chair. BELLINGHAM standing near. Endicott. lost, loved ! wilt thou return no more 1 loved and lost, and loved the more when lost ! How many men are dragged into their graves By their rebellious children ! I now feel The agony of a father s breaking heart In David s cry, " Absalom, my son !" Bellingham. Can you not turn your thoughts a little while To public matters 1 There are papers here That need attention. Endicott. Trouble me no more ! My business now is with another world. Ah, Richard Bellingham ! I greatly fear That in my righteous zeal I have been led To doing many things which, left undone, My mind would now be easier. Did I dream it, Or has some person told me, that John Norton Is dead ? Bellingham. You have not dreamed it. He is dead, And gone to his reward. It was no dream. Endicott. Then it was very sudden : for I saw him Standing where you now stand not long ago. Bellingham. By his own fireside, in the afternoon, A faintness and a giddiness came o er him; And, leaning on the chimney-piece, he cried, " The hand of God is on me!" and fell dead. Endicott. And did not some one say, or have I dreamed it, That Humphrey Atherton is dead ? Bellingham. Alas ! He too is gone, and by a death as sudden. Returning home one evening, at the place Where usually the Quakers have been scourged, His horse took fright, and threw him to the ground, So that his brains were dashed about the street. Endicott. I am not superstitious, Bellingham, And yet I tremble lest it may have been A judgment on him. Bellingham. So people think. They say his horse saw standing in the way The ghost of William Leddra, and was frightened. And furthermore, brave Richard Daven port, The captain of the Castle, in the storm Has been struck dead by lightning. Endicott. Speak no more. For as I listen to your voice it seems As if the Seven Thunders uttered their voices, And the dead bodies lay about the streets Of the disconsolate city ! Bellingham, I did not put those wretched men to death. I did but guard the passage with the sword Pointed towards them, and they rushed upon it ! 592 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Yet now I would that I had taken no part In all that bloody work. Bellingham. The guilt of it Be on their heads, not ours. Endicott. Are all set free ? Bellingham. All are at large. Endicott. And none have been sent back To England to malign us with the King ? Bellingham. The ship that brought them sails this very hour, But carries no one back. [A distant cannon. Endicott. What is that gun ? Bellingham. Her parting signal. Through the window there, Look, you can see her sails, above the roofs, Dropping below the Castle, outward bound. Endicott. white, white, white ! Would that my soul had wings As spotless as those shining sails to fly with! Now lay this cushion straight. I thank you. Hark ! I thought I heard the hall- door open and shut ! I thought I heard the footsteps of my boy ! Bellingham. It was the wind. There s no one in the passage. Endicott. Absalom, my son ! I feel the world Sinking beneath me, sinking, sinking, sinking ! Death knocks ! I go to meet him ! Welcome, Death ! [Rises, and sinks back dead ; his head falling aside upon his shoulder. Bellingham. ghastly sight ! Like one who has been hanged ! Endicott ! Endicott ! He makes no answer ! [Raises ENDICOTT S head. He breathes no more ! How bright this signet- ring Glitters upon his hand, where he has worn it Through such long years of trouble, as if Death Had given him this memento of affection, And whispered in his ear, " Remember me!" How placid and how quiet is his face Now that the struggle and the strife are ended ! Only the acrid spirit of the times Corroded this true steel. Oh, rest in peace, Courageous heart ! Eor ever rest in peace ! THE END. [ 593 ] II GILES COEEY OF THE SALEM FAEMS. PROLOGUE. The goodwife at her doorstep sat and DELUSIONS of the days that once have spun, been, And gossiped with her neighbours in Witchcraft and wonders of the world the sun ; unseen, The only men of dignity and state Phantoms of air, and necromantic arts Were then the Minister and the Magis- That crushed the weak and awed the trate, stoutest hearts, Who ruled their little realm with iron These are our theme to-night ; and rod, vaguely here, Less in the love than in the fear of Through the dim mists that crowd the God ; atmosphere, And who believed devoutly in the We draw the outlines of weird figures Powers cast Of Darkness, working in this world of In shadow on the background of the ours, Past. In spells of Witchcraft, incantations Who would believe that in the quiet dread, town And shrouded apparitions of the dead. Of Salem, and amid the woods that Upon this simple folk " with fire and crown flame," The neighbouring hillsides, and the Saith the old Chronicle, "the Devil sunny farms came ; That fold it safe in their paternal Scattering his firebrands and his poison- arms, ous darts, Who would believe that in those peace- To set on fire of Hell all tongues and ful streets, . hearts ! Where the great elms shut out the sum- And tis no wonder ; for, with all his mer heats, host, Where quiet reigns, and breathes There most he rages where he hateth through brain and breast most, The benediction of unbroken rest, And is most hated ; so on us he brings Who would believe such deeds could All these stupendous and portentous find a place things ! " As these whose tragic history we retrace ? Something of this our scene to-night Twas but a village then : the good- will show ; man ploughed And ye who listen to the Tale of His ample acres under sun or cloud ; Woe, 594 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Be not too swift in casting the first "Was but the common madness of the stone, time, Nor think New England bears the guilt "When in all lands, that lie within the alone. sound This sudden burst of wickedness and Of Sabbath bells, a Witch was burned crime or drowned. DRAMATIS PERSONS. GILES COREY. . . Farmer. JOHN HATHORNE. . Magistrate. COTTON MATHER. . Minister of the Gospel JONATHAN WALCOT. A Youth. RICHARD GARDNER . Sea-Captain. The Scene is in Salem in the vear 1692. JOHN GLOYD . . . Corey s hired man. MARTHA Wife of Giles Ccrrey. TITUBA An Indian Woman. MARY WALCOT . . One of the Afflicted. For Costume, see DRAKE S History of Boston. ACT I. SCENE I. The woods near Salem Village. Enter TITUBA, with a basket of herbs. Tituba. Here s monk s-hood, that breed s fever in the blood ; And deadly nightshade, that makes men see ghosts ; And henbane, that will shake them with convulsions ; And meadow-saffron and black helle bore. That rack the nerves, and puff the skin with dropsy ; And bitter-sweet, and briony, and eye- bright, That cause eruptions, nosebleed, rheu matisms : 1 know them, and the places where they hide In field and meadow ; and I know their secrets, And gather them because they give me power Over all men and women. Armed with these, I. Tituba, an Indian and a slave, Am stronger than the captain with his sword, Am richer than the merchant with his money, Am wiser than the scholar with his book, Mightier than Ministers and Magistrates, With all the fear and reverence that attend them ! For I can fill their bones with aches and pains, Can make them cough with asthma, shake with palsy, Can make their daughters see and talk with ghosts, Or fall into delirium and convulsions. I have the Evil Eye, the Evil Hand : A touch from me, and they are weak with pain ; A look from me, and they consume and die. The death of cattle and the blight of corn, The shipwreck, the tornado, and the fire, These are my doings, and they know it not. Thus I work vengeance on mine enemies, Who, while they call me slave, are slaves to me ! [Exit TITUBA. Enter MATHER, booted and spurred, with a riding-whip in Ms hand. Mather. Methinks that I have come by paths unkndwn Into the land and atmosphere of Witches ; For, meditating as I journeyed on, Lo ! I have lost my way ! If I remember Rightly, it is Scribonius the learned That tells the story of a man who, praying For one that was possessed by Evil Spirits, Was struck by Evil Spirits in the face ; I, journeying to circumvent the Witches, Surely by Witches have been led astray. I am persuaded there are few affairs In which the Devil doth not interfere. We cannot undertake a journey even, But Satan will be there to meddle with it By hindering or by furthering. He hath led me Into this thicket, struck me in the face With branches of the trees, and so en tangled The fetlocks of my horse with vines and brambles, That I must needs dismount, and search on foot For the lost pathway leading to the village. Rc-cnt&r TITUBA. What shape is this ? What monstrous apparition, 4 o 596 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Exceeding fierce, that none may pass that way ? Tell me, good woman, if you are a woman Tituba. I am a woman, but I am not good. I am a Witch ! Mather. Then tell me, Witch and woman, For you must know the pathways through this wood, Where lieth Salem Village ? Tituba. Reverend sir, The village is near by. I m going there With these few herbs. I ll lead you. Follow me. Mather. First say, who are you? I am loth to follow A stranger in this wilderness, for fear Of being misled, and left in some morass. Who are you 1 Tituba. I am Tituba the Witch, Wife of John Indian. Mather. You are Tituba ? I know you then. You have renounced the Devil, And have become a penitent confessor. The Lord be praised ! Go on, I ll follow you. Wait only till I fetch my horse, that stands Tethered among the trees, not far from here. Tituba. Let me get up behind you, reverend sir. Mather. The Lord forbid! What would the people think, If they should see the Reverend Cotton Mather Ride into Salem with a Witch behind him? The Lord forbid ! Tituba. I do not need a horse ; I can ride through the air upon a stick, Above the tree-tops and above the houses, And no one see me, no one overtake me ! [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Room at JUSTICE HATHORNE S. A dock in the corner. Enter HATHORNE and MATHER. Hathorne. You are welcome, reverend sir, thrice welcome here Beneath my humble roof. Mather. I thank your Worship. Hathorne. Pray you be seated. You must be fatigued With your long ride through unfre quented woods. [They sit down. Mather. You know the purport of my visit here, To be advised by you, and counsel with you, And with the Reverend Clergy of the village, Touching these witchcrafts that so much afflict you ; And see with mine own eyes the wonders told Of spectres and the shadows of the dead, That come back from their graves to speak with men. Hathorne. Some men there are, I have known such, who think That the two worlds the seen and the unseen, The world of matter and the world of spirit Are like the hemispheres upon our maps, And touch each other only at a point. But these two worlds are not divided thus, Save for the purposes of common speech. GILES COREY. 597 They form one globe, in wfyich the parted seas All flow together and are intermingled, While the great continents remain dis tinct. Mather. I doubt it not. The spiritual world Lies all about us, and its avenues Are open to the unseen feet of phantoms That come and go, and we perceive them not Save by their influence, or when at times A most mysterious Providence permits them To manifest themselves to mortal eyes. Hathorne. You, who are always wel come here among us, Are doubly welcome now. We need your wisdom, Your learning in these things, to be our guide. The Devil hath come down in wrath upon us, And ravages the land with all his hosts. Mather. The Unclean Spirit said, " My name is Legion ! " Multitudes in the Valley of Destruction ! But when our fervent, well-directed prayers, Which are the great ^artillery of Heaven, Are brought into the field, I see them scattered And driven like Autumn leaves before the wind. Hathorne. You, as a Minister of God, can meet them With spiritual weapons ; but, alas ! I, as a Magistrate, must combat them With weapons from the armory of the flesh. Mather. These wonders of the world invisible, These spectral shapes that haunt our habitations, The multiplied and manifold afflictions With which the aged and the dying saints Have their death prefaced and their age embittered, Are but prophetic trumpets that proclaim The Second Coming of Our Lord on earth. The evening wolves will be much more abroad, When we are near the evening of the world. Hathorne. When you shall see, as I have hourly seen, The sorceries and the witchcrafts that torment us, See children tortured by invisible spirits, And wasted and consumed by powers unseen, You will confess the half has not been told you. Mather. It must be so. The death- pangs of the Devil Will make him more aDevil than before, And Nebuchadnezzar s furnace will be heated Seven times more hot before its putting out. Hathorne. Advise me, reverend sir. I look to you For counsel and for guidance in this matter. What further shall we do ? Mather. Eemember this, That as a sparrow falls not to the ground Without the will of God, so not a Devil Can come down from the air without his leave. We must inquire. Hathorne. Dear sir, we have inquired ; THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Sifted the matter thoroughly through arid through, And then resifted it. Mather. If God permits These Evil Spirits from the unseen regions To visit us with surprising informations, We must inquire what cause there is for this, But not receive the testimony borne By spectres as conclusive proof of guilt In the accused. Hathorne. Upon such evidence We do not rest our case. The ways are many In which the guilty do betray them selves. Mather. Be careful. Carry the knife with such exactness, That on one side no innocent blood be shed By too excessive zeal, and, on the other, No shelter given to any work of dark ness. Hathorne. For one, I do not fear excess of zeal. What do we gain by parleying with the Devil? You reason, but you hesitate to act ! Ah, reverend sir ! believe me, in such cases The only safety is in acting promptly. Tis not the part of wisdom to delay In things where not to do is still to do A deed more fatal than the deed we shrink from. You are a man of books and meditation, But I am one who acts. Mather. God give us wisdom In the directing of this thorny business, And guide us, lest New England should become Of an unsavory and sulphurous odor In the opinion of the world abroad ! [The clock strikes. I never hear the striking of a clock Without a warning and an admonition That time is on the wing, and we must quicken Our tardy pace in journeying Heaven ward, As Israel did in journeying Canaan- ward ! [They rise. Hathorne. Then let us make all haste, and I will show you In what disguises and what fearful shapes The Unclean Spirits haunt this neigh bourhood, And you will pardon my excess of zeal. Mather. Ah, poor New England ! He who hurricanoed The house of Jacob is making now on thee One last assault, more deadly and more snarled With unintelligible circumstances Than any thou hast hitherto encountered ! [Exeunt. SCENE III. A room in WALCOT S house. MARY WALCOT seated in an arm-chair. TITUBA with a mirror. Mary. Tell me another story, Tituba. A drowsiness is stealing over me Which is not sleep ; for, though I close mine eyes, I am awake, and in another world. Dim faces of the dead and of the absent Come floating up before me, floating, fading, And disappearing. Tituba. Look into this glass. What see you ? Mary. Nothing but a golden vapor. GILES COREY. 599 Yes, something more. An island with. a sea Breaking all round it, like a blooming hedge. What land is this ? Tituba. It is San Salvador, Where Tituba was born. What see you now 1 Mary. A man all black and fierce. Tituba. That is my father. He was an Obi man, and taught me magic, Taught me the use of herbs and images. What is he doing 1 Mary. Holding in his hand A waxen figure. He is melting it Slowly before a fire. Tituba. And now what see you 1 Mary. A woman lying on a bed of leaves, Wasted and worn away. Ah ! she is dying ! Tituba. That is the way the Obi men destroy The people they dislike ! That is the way Some one is wasting and consuming you. Mary. You terrify me, Tituba ! Oh, save me From those who make me pine and waste away ! Who are they? Tell me. Tituba. That I do not know. But you will see them. They will come to you. Mary. No, do not let them come 1 I cannot bear it ! I am too weak to bear it ! I am dying ! [Falls into a trance. Tituba. Hark! there is some one coming ! Enter HATHORNE, MATHER, and WALCOT. Walcot. There she lies, Wasted and worn by devilish incan tations ! my poor sister ! Mather. Is she always thus 1 Walcot. Nay, she is sometimes tor tured by convulsions. Mather. Poor child ! How thin she is ! How wan and wasted ! Hathorne. Observe her. She is troubled in her sleep. Mather. Some fearful vision haunts her. Hathorne. You now see With your own eyes, and touch with your own hands, The mysteries of this Witchcraft. Mather. One would need The hands of Briareus and the eyes of Argus To see and touch them all. Hathorne. You now have entered The realm of ghosts and phantoms, the vast realm Of the unknown and the invisible, Through whose wide-open gates there blows a wind From the dark valley of the shadow of Death, That freezes us with horror. Mary (starting). Take her hence ! Take her away from me ! I see her there ! She s coming to torment me ! Walcot (taking her hand). my sister ! What frightens you? She neither hears nor sees me. She s in a trance. Mary. Do you not see her there ? Tituba. My child, who is it 1 600 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Mary. Ah, I do not know. I cannot see her face. Titiiba. How is she clad ? Mary. She wears a crimson bodice. In her hand She holds an image, and is pinching it Between her fingers. Ah, she tortures me ; I see her face now. It is Goodwife Bishop ! Why does she torture me? I never harmed her ! And now she strikes me with an iron rod ! Oh, I am h eaten ! Mather. This is wonderful ! I can see nothing ! Is this apparition Visibly there, and yet we cannot see it? Hailwme. It is. The spectre is in visible Unto our grosser senses, but she sees it. Mary. Look ! look ! there is another clad in gray ! She holds a spindle in her hand, and threatens To stab me with it ! It is Goodwife Corey ! Keep her away ! Now she is coming at me ! Oh mercy ! mercy ! Walcot (thrusting with his sword). There is nothing there ! Mather (to Hathorne). Do you see anything 1 Hathorne. The laws that govern The spiritual world prevent our seeing Things palpable and visible to her. These spectres are to us as if they were not. Mark her ; she wakes. [TITUBA touches her, and she awakes. Mary. Who are these gentlemen ? Walcot. They are our friends. Dear Mary, are you better 1 Mary. Weak, very weak. (Taking a spindle from her lap, and holding it up). How came this spindle here ? Tituba. You wrenched it from the hand of Goodwife Corey When she rushed at you. Hathorne. Mark that, reverend sir ! Mather. It is most marvellous, most inexplicable ! Tituba (picking up a bit of gray cloth from the floor). And here, too, is a bit of her gray dress, That the sword cut away. Mather. Beholding this, It were indeed by far more credulous To be incredulous than to believe. None but a Sadducee, who doubts of all Pertaining to the spiritual world, Could doubt such manifest and damning proofs ! Hathorne. Are you convinced 1 Mather (to Mary). Dear child, be comforted ! Only by prayer and fasting can you drive These Unclean Spirits from you. An old man Gives you his blessing. God be with you, Mary ! END OF ACT I. ACT II. SCENE I. GILES COREY S farm. Morning. Enter COREY, with a horse-shoe and a hammer. Corey. The Lord hath prospered me. The rising sun Shines on my Hundred Acres and my woods As if he loved them. On a morn like this I can forgive mine enemies, and thank God GILES COREY. 601 For all his goodness unto me and mine. My orchard groans with russets and pearmains ; My ripening corn shines golden in the sun : My barns are crammed with hay, my cattle thrive ; The birds sing blithely on the trees around me, And blither than the birds niy heart within me ! But Satan still goes up and down the earth ; And to protect this house from his assaults, And keep the powers of darkness from my door, This horse-shoe will I nail upon the threshold. [Nails down the horse- shoe. There, ye night-hags and witches that torment The neighbourhood, ye shall not enter here ! What is the matter in the field ? John Gloyd ! The cattle are all running to the woods ! John Gloyd ! Where is the man ? Enter JOHN GLOYD. Look there ! What ails the cattle T Are they all be witched 1 They run like mad ! Gloyd. They have been over-looked. Corey. The Evil Eye is on them, sure enough. Call all the men. Be quick. Go after them ! [Exit GLOYD and enter MARTHA. Martha. What is amiss 1 Corey. The cattle are bewitched. They are broken loose and making for the woods. Martha. Why will you harbor such delusions, Giles 1 Bewitched! Well, then it was John Gloyd bewitched them ; I saw him even now take down the bars And turn them loose! They re only frolicsome. Corey. The rascal ! Martha. I was standing in the road, Talking with Good wife Proctor, and I saw him. Corey. With Proctor s wife? And what says Goodwife Proctor ? Martha. Sad things indeed ; the saddest you can hear Of Bridget Bishop. She s cried out upon ! Corey. Poor soul ! I ve known her forty year or more. She was the widow Wasselby ; and then She married Oliver, and Bishop next. She s had three husbands. I remember well My games of shovel-board at Bishop s tavern In the old merry days, and she so gay With her red paragon bodice and her ribbons ! Ah, Bridget Bishop always was a Witch ! Martha. They ll little help her now, her caps and ribbons, And her red paragon bodice, and her plumes, With which she flaunted in the Meeting house ! When next she goes there, it will be for trial. Corey. When will that be ? Martha. This very day, at ten. Corey. Then get you ready. We will go and see it. Come ; you shall ride behind me on the pillion. 602 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Martha. Not I. You know I do not like such things. I wonder you should. I do not "believe In Witches nor in Witchcraft. Corey. Well, I do. There s a strange fascination in it all, That draws me on and on, I know not why. Martha. What do we know of spirits good or ill, Or of their power to help us, or to harm us? Corey. Surely what s in the Bible must be true. Did not an Evil Spirit come on Saul 1 Did not the Witeh of En dor bring the ghost Of Samuel from his grave ? The Bible says so. Martha. That happened very long ago. With God Corey. There is no long ago. Martha. There is with us. Corey. And Mary Magdalene had seven devils, And he who dwelt among the tombs a legion .! Martha. God s power is infinite i I do not doubt it. If in his providence he once permitted Such things to be among the Israelites, It does not follow he permits them now, And among us who are not Israelites. But we will not dispute about it, Giles. Go to the village, if you think it best, And leave me here; I ll go about my work. [Exit into the house. Corey. And I will go and saddle the gray mare. The last word always. That is woman s .nature. If an old man will marry a young wife, He must make up his mind to many things. It s putting new cloth into an old gar ment : When the strain comes, it is the old gives way. [Goes to the door. Martha ! I forgot to tell you some thing. I ve had a letter from a friend of mine, A certain Richard Gardner of Nantucket, Master and owner of a whaling- vessel ; He writes that he is coming down to see us. 1 hope you ll like him. Martha. I will do my best. Coret/. That s a good woman, ^"ow I will be gone. I ve not seen Gardner for this twenty year; But there is something of the sea about him, Something so open, generous, large, and strong, It makes me love him better than a brother. [Exit. MARTHA comes to the door. Martha. these old friends and cronies of my husband, These captains from ^antucket and the Cape, That come and turn my house into a tavern With their carousing ! Still, there s something frank In these seafaring men that makes me like them. Why, here s a horse-shoe nailed upon the doorstep ! Giles has done this to keep away the Witches. GILES COREY. 603 I hope this Eichard Gardner will bring with him A gale of sound common sense, to blow The fog of these delusions from his brain ! Corey (within). Ho ! Martha ! Martha ! Enter COREY. Have you seen my saddle ? Martha. I saw it yesterday. Corey. Where did you see it 1 ? Martha. On a gray mare, that some body was riding Along the village road. Corey. Who was it? Tell me. Martha. Some one who should have stayed at home. Corey (restraining himself). I see ! Don t vex me, Martha. Tell me where it is. Martha. I ve hidden it away. Corey. Go fetch it me. Martha. Go find it. Corey. " No. I ll ride down to the village Bare-back ; and when the people stare and say, " Giles Corey, where s your saddle 1 ? " I will answer, " A Witch has stolen it." How shall you like that 1 Martha. I shall not like it. Corey. Then go fetch the saddle. [Exit MARTHA. If an old man will marry a young wife, Why then why then why then he must spell Baker ! * * A local expression for doing anything difficult. In the old spelling-books, Baker was the first word of two syllables, and when a child came to it he thought he had a hard task before him. Enter MARTHA with the saddle, which she throws down. Martha. There ! There s the saddle. Corey. Take it up. Martha. I won t ! Corey. Then let it lie there. I ll ride to the village, And say you are a Witch. Martha. No, not that, Giles. [She takes up the saddle. Corey. Now come with me, and saddle the gray mare With your own hands ; and you shall see me ride Along the village road as is becoming Giles Corey of the Salem Farms, your husband ! [Exeunt. SCENE II. The, Green in front of the Meeting-house in Salem Village. People, coming and going. Enter GILES COREY. Corey. A melancholy end ! Who would have thought That Bridget Bishop e er would come to this? Accused, convicted, and condemned to death For Witchcraft \ And so good a woman too! A Farmer. Good morrow, neighbor Corey. Corey (not Jiearing him). Who is safe ? How do I know but under my own roof I too may harbor Witches, and some Devil Be plotting and contriving against me ? Farmer. He does not hear. Good morrow, neighbor Corey ! Corey. Good morrow. Farmer. Have you seen John Proctor lately ? 4 H 604 THE NEW ENCJEAXD TRAGEDIES. Corey. JS T o, I Lave not. Farmer. Then do not see liim, Corey. Corey. Why should I not ? Farmer. Because lie s angry with you. So keep out of his way. Avoid a quarrel. Corey. Why does he seek to fix a quarrel on me ? Farmer. He says you burned his house. Corey. I burn his house ? If he says that, John Proctor is a liar ! The night his house was burned I was in bed, And I can prove it ! Why, we are old friends ! He could not say that of me. Farmer. He did say it. I heard him say it. Corey. Then he shall unsay it. Farmer. He said you did it out of spite to him For taking part against you in the quarrel You had with your John Gloyd about his wages. He says you murdered Goodell ; that you trampled Upon his body till he breathed no more. And so beware of him ; that s my advice ! [Exit. Corey. By Heaven ! this is too much ! I ll seek him out, And make him eat his words, or strangle him. I ll not be slandered at a time like this, When every word is made an accusation, When every whisper kills, arid every man Walks with a halter round his neck ! Enter GLOYD in haste. Corei/. What now 1 Gloyd. I came to look for you. The cattle Corey. Well, What of them 1 Have you found them 1 Gloyd. They are dead. I followed them through the woods, across the meadows ; Then they all leaped into the Ipswich River, And swam across, but could not climb the bank, And so were drowned. Corey, You are to blame for this ; For you took down the bars, and let them loose. Gloyd. That I deny. They broke the fences down. You know they were bewitched. Corey. Ah, my poor cattle ! The Evil Eye was on them; that is true. Day of disaster ! Most unlucky day ! Why did I leave my ploughing and my reaping To plough and reap this S jdom and Gomorrah ? Oh, I could drown myself for sheer vexation ! {Exit. Gloyd. He s going for his cattle. He won t find them. By this time they have drifted out to sea. They will not break his fences any more, Though they may break his heart. And what care 1 1 [Exit. SCENE III. COREY S kitchen. A table ivith supper. MARTHA knitting. Martha. He s come at last. I hear him in the passage. GILES COREY. CO 5 Something has gone amiss with him to day ; I know it by his step, and by the sound The door made as he shut it. He is angry. Enter COREY with Iris riding-whip. As he- speaks, he takes off his hat and gloves, and throws them down violently. Corey. I say if Satan ever entered man, He s in John Proctor ! Martha. Gilep, what is the matter? You frighten me. Corey. I say if any man Can have a Devil in him, then that man Is Proctor, is John Proctor, and no other ! Martha. Why, what has lie been doing ? Corey. Everything ! What do you think I heard there in the village ? Martha. I m sure I cannot guess. What did you hear ^ Corey. He says I burned his house ! Martha. Does he say that ? Corey. He says I burned his house. 1 was in bed And fast asleep that night ; and I can prove it. Martha. If he says that, I think the Father of Lies Is surely in the man. Corey. He does say that, And that I did it to wreak vengeance on him For taking sides against me in the quarrel I had with that John Gloyd about his wages. And God knows that I never bore him malice For that, as I have told him twenty times ! Martha. It is John Gloyd has stirred him up to this. I do not like that Gloyd. I think him crafty, Not to be trusted, sullen, and untruth ful. Come, have your supper. You are tired and hungry. Corey. I m angry, and not hungry. Martha. Do eat something. You ll be the better for it. Corey (sitting doivnj. I m not hungry. Martha. Let not the sun go down upon your wrath. Corel/. It has gone down upon it, and will rise To-morrow, and go down again upon it. They have trumped up against me the old story Of causing Goodell s death by trampling on him. Martha. Oh, that is false ! I know it to be false. Corey. He has been dead these four teen years or more. Why can t they let him rest ; why must they drag him Out of his grave to give me a bad name ? I did not kill him. In his bed he died, As most men die, because his hour had come. I have wronged no man. Why should Proctor say Such things about me? I will not for give him Till he confesses he has slandered me. Then, I ve more trouble. All my cattle gone, Martha. They will come back again. 606 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Corey. Not in this world. Did I not tell you they were over looked ? They ran down through the woods, into the meadows, And tried to swim the river, and were drowned. It is a heavy loss. Martha. I m sorry for it. Corey. All my dear oxen dead. I loved them, Martha, Next to yourself. I liked to look at them, And wateh the breath eonie out of their wide nostrils, And see their patient eyes. Somehow I thought It gave me strength only to look at them. And how they strained their necks against the yoke If I but spoke, or touched them with : the goad ! They were my friends ; and when Gloyd came and told me They were all drowned, I could have drowned myself From sheer vexation; and I said as much To Gloyd and others. Martha. Do not trust John Gloyd With anything you would not have repeated. Corey. As I came through the woods this afternoon, Impatient at my loss, and much per plexed With all that I had heard there in the village, The yellow leaves lit up the trees about me Like an enchanted palace, and I wished I knew enough of magic or of Witch craft To change them into gold. Then sud denly A tree shook down some crimson leaves upon me, Like drops of blood, and in the path before me Stood Tituba the Indian, the old crone. Martha. Were you not frightened ? Corey. No, I do not think I know the meaning of that word. Why frightened ? I am not one of those who think the Lord Is waiting till he catches them some day In the back yard alone ! What should I fear? - She started from the bushes by the path, And had a basket full of herbs and roots For some witch-broth or other, the old hag ! Martha. She has been here to-day. Corey. With hand outstretched She said : " Giles Corey, will you sign the Book 1 " " Avaunt 1 " I ciied ; " Get thee behind me, Satan ! " At which she laughed and left me. But a voice Was whispered in my ear continually : "Self-murder is no crime. The life of man Is his, to keep it or to throw away ! " Martha. Twas a temptation of the Evil One ! Giles, Giles ! why will you harbor these dark thoughts 1 Corey (rising). I am too tired to talk. I ll go to bed. GILES COREY. 607 Martha. First tell me something about Bridget Bishop. How did she look ] You saw her ? You were there 1 Corey. I ll tell you that to-morrow, not to-night. I ll go to bed. Martha. First let us pray together. Corey. I cannot pray to-night. Martha. Say the Lord s Prayer, And that will comfort you. Corey. I cannot say, " As we forgive those that have sinned against us," "When I do not forgive them. Martha (kneeling on the hearth}. God forgive you ! Corey. I will not make believe ! I say, to-night There s something thwarts me when I wish to pray, And thrusts into my mind, instead of prayers, Hate and revenge, and things that are not prayers. Something of my old self, my old, bad life, And the old Adam in me, rises up, And will not let me pray. I am afraid The Devil hinders ,me. You know I say Just what I think, and nothing more nor less, And, when I pray, my heart is in my prayer. I cannot say one thing and mean another. If I can t pray, I will not make believe ! [Exit COREY. MARTHA continues kneeling. END OF ACT II. ACT III. SCENE I. GILES COREY S kitchen. Morning. COREY and MARTHA sitting at the breakfast- table. Corey (rising). Well, now I ve told you all I saw and heard Of Bridget Bishop ; and I must be gone. Martha. Don t go into the village, Giles, to-day. Last night you came back tired and out of humor. Corey. Say, angry ; say, right angry. I was never In a more devilish temper in my life. All things went wrong with me. Martha. You were much vexed ; So don t go to the village. Corey (going). No, I won t. I won t go near it. We are going to mow The Ipswich meadows for the aftermath, The crop of sedge and rowens. Martha. Stay a moment. I want to tell you what I dreamed last night. Do you believe in dreams ? Corey. Why, yes and no. When they come true, then I believe in them ; When they come false, I don t believe in them. But let me hear. What did you dream about ? Martha. I dreamed that you and I were both in prison ; That we had fetters on our hands and feet; That we were taken before the Magis trates, And tried for Witchcraft, and con demned to death ! r>os THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. I wished to pray ; they would not let me pray ; You tried to comfort me, arid they forbade it. But the most dreadful thing in all my dream Was that they made you testify against me ! And then there came a kind of mist between us ; I could not see you ; and I woke in terror. I never was more thankful in my life Than when I found you sleeping at my side ! Corey (with tenderness). It was our talk last night that made you dream. I m sorry for it. I ll control myself Another time, and keep my temper down ! I do not like such, dreams. Remember, Martha, I m going to mow the Ipswich Eiver meadows ; If Gardner comes, you ll tell him where to find me. [Exit. Martha. So this delusion grows from bad to worse. First, a forsaken and forlorn old woman, Ragged and wretched, and without a friend ; Then something higher. Now it s Bridget Bishop ; God only knows whose turn it will be next! The Magistrates are blind, the people mad ! I they would only seize the Afflicted Children, And put them in the Workhouse, where they should be, There d be an end of all this wickedness. [Exit. SCENE II. A street in Salem Village. Enter MATHER and HATHORNE. Mather. Yet one tiling troubles me. JIathorne. And what is that ? Mather. May not the Devil take the outward shape Of innocent persons? Are we not in danger, Perhaps, of punishing some who are not guilty ] Hatfwrne. As I have said, we do not trust alone To spectral evidence. Mather. And then again, If any shall be put to death for Witch craft, We do but kill the body, not the soul. The Unclean Spirits that possessed them once Live still, to enter into other bodies. What have we gained ? Surely, there s nothing gained. Hathorne. Doth not the Scripture say, " Thou shalt not suffer A Witch to live 1 " Mather. The Scripture sayeth it, But speaketh to the Jews ; and we are Christians. What say the laws of England ? Hathorne. They make Witchcraft Felony without the benefit of Clergy. Witches are burned in England. You have read For you read all things, not a book escapes you The famous " Deinonology " of King James ? GILES COREY. 609 Mather. A curious volume. I re member also The pbt of the Two Hundred, with one Eian, TheEegistrar of the Devil, at their head, To drown his Majesty on his return From Denmark ; how they sailed in sieves or riddles Unto North Berwick Kirk in Lothian, And, landing there, danced hand in hand, and sang, " Goodwife, go ye before ! goodwife, go ye! If ye ll not go before, goodwife, let me !" While Geilis Duncan played the Witches Reel Upon a jew s-harp. Hathorne. Then you know full well The English law, and that, in England, Witches, When lawfully convicted and attainted, Are put to death. Mather. When lawfully convicted ; That is the point. Hathorne. You heard the evidence Produced before us yesterday at the trial Of Bridget Bishop. Mather. One of the Afflicted, I know, bore witness to the apparition Of ghosts unto the spectre of this Bishop, Saying, " You murdered us ! " of the truth whereof There was in matter of fact too much suspicion. Hathorne. And when she cast her eyes on the Afflicted, They were struck down ; and this in such a manner There could be no collusion in the business. And when the accused but laid her hand upon them, As they lay in their swoons, they straight revived, Although they stirred not when the others touched them. Mather. What most convinced me of the woman s guilt Was finding hidden in her cellar wall Those puppets made of rags, with head less pins Stuck into them point outwards, and whereof She could not give a reasonable account. Hathorne. When you shall read the testimony given Before the Court in all the other cases, I am persuaded you will find the proof No less conclusive than it was in this. Come, then, with me, and 1 will tax your patience With reading of the documents so far As may convince you that these sor cerers Are lawfully convicted and attainted. Like doubting Thomas, you shall lay your hand Upon these wounds, and you will doubt no more. [Exeunt. SCE^E III. A room in COREY S house. MARTHA and two Deacons of the church. Martha. Be seated. I am glad to see you here. I know what you are come for. You are come To question me, and learn from my own lips If I have any dealings with the Devil ; In short, if I m a Witch. Deacon (sitting down). Such is our purpose. 610 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. How could you know beforehand why we came ? Martha. Twos only a surmise. Deacon. We came to ask you, You being with us in church covenant, What part you have, if any, in these matters. Martha. And I make answer, No part whatsoever. I am a farmer s wife, a working woman ; You see my spinning-wheel, you see my loom, You know the duties of a farmer s wife, And are not ignorant that my life among you Has been without reproach until this day. Is it not true 1 Deacon. So much we re bound to own ; And say it frankly, and without reserve. Martha. I ve heard the idle tales that are abroad ; I ve heard it whispered that I am a Witch ; I cannot help it. I do not believe In any Witchcraft. It is a delusion. Deacon. How can you say that it i s a delusion, When all our learned and good men believe it Oar Ministers and worshipful Magis trates ? Martha. Their eyes are blinded, and see not the truth. Perhaps one day they will be open to it. Deacon. You answer boldly. The Afflicted Children Say you appeared to them. Martha. And did they say What clothes I came in? Deacon. No, they could not tell. They said that you foresaw our visit here, And blinded them, so that they could not see The clothes you wore. Martha. The cunning, crafty girls ! I say to you, in all sincerity, I never have appeared to any one In my own person. If the Devil takes My shape to hurt these children, or afflict them, I am not guilty of it. And I say It s all a mere delusion of the senses. Deacon. I greatly fear that you will find too late It is not so. Martha (rising}. They do accuse me falsely. It is delusion, or it is deceit. There is a story in the ancient Scriptures Which much I wonder comes not to your minds. Let me repeat it to you. Deacon. We will hear it. Martha. It came to pass that Na- both had a vineyard Hard by the palace of the King called Ahab. And Ahab, King of Israel, spake to Naboth, And said to him, Give unto me thy vineyard, That I may have it for a garden of herbs, And I will give a better vineyard for it, Or, if it seerneth good to thee, its worth In money. And then Naboth said to Ahab, The Lord forbid it me that I should give The inheritance of my fathers unto thee. And Ahab came into his house dis pleased Arid heavy at the words which Naboth spake, And laid him down upon his bed, and turned His face away; and he would eat no bread. And Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, came And said to him, Why is thy spirit sad? And he said unto her, Because I spake To jSTaboth, to the Jezreelite, and said, Give me thy vineyard ; and he answered, saying, T will not give my vineyard unto thee. And Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, said, Dost thou not rule the realm of Israel ? Arise, eat bread, and let thy heart be merry ; I will give jSTaboth s vineyard unto thee. So she wrote letters in King Ahab s name, And sealed them with his seal, and sent the letters Unto the elders that were in his city Dwelling with Naboth, and unto the nobles ; And in the letters wrote, Proclaim a fast; And set this Naboth high among the people, And set two men, the sons of Belial, 4 i TIIK NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Before him, to bear witness and to say, Thou didst blaspheme against God and the King ; And carry him out and stone him, that he die ! And the elders and the nobles of the city Did even as Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, Had sent to them and written in the letters. And then it came to pass, when Ahab heard Naboth was dead, that Ahab rose to go Down unto Xaboth s vineyard, and to take Possession of it. And the word of God Came to Elijah, saying to him, Arise, Go down to meet the King of Israel In JSTaboth s vineyard, whither he hath gone To take possession. Thou shalt speak to him, Saying, Thus saith the Lord ! What ! hast thou killed And also taken possession ? In the place Wherein the dogs have licked the blood of Xaboth Shall the dogs lick thy blood, ay, even thine ! [Both of the Deacons start from their seats. And Ahab then, the King of Israel, Said, Hast thou found me, mine enemy ? Elijah the prophet answered, I have found thee ! So will it be with those who have stirred np The Sons of Belial here to bear false witness And swear away the lives of innocent people ; Their enemy will find them out at last, The Prophet s voice will thunder, I have found thee ! [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Meadows on Ipswich River. COREY and his men mowing ; COKEY in advance. Corey. Well done, my men. You see I lead the field f I m an old man, but I can swing a scythe Better than most of you, though you be younger. [Hangs his scythe upon a tree. Gloyd (aside to the others). How strong he is ! It s supernatural. ]STo man so old as he is has such strength. The Devil helps him ! Corey (wiping Ids forehead}. Now we ll rest a while, And take our nooning. What s the matter with you ? You are not angry with me, are you, Gloyd? " Come, come, we will not quarrel. Let s be friends. It s an old story, that the Raven paid, "Read the Third of Colossians and fifteenth." Gloyd. You re handier at the scythe, but I can beat you At wrestling. Corey. Well, perhaps so. I don t know. I never wrestled with you. Why, you re vexed ! Come, come, don t bear a grudge. Gloyd. You are afraid. Corey. What should I be afraid of? All bear witness The challenge comes from him. Now then, my man. [They wrestle, and GLOYD is thrown. One of the Men. That s a fair fall. Another. J Twas nothing but a foil ! Others. You ve hurt him ! GILES COKEY. 613 Corey (helping Gloyd rise). No ; this meadow-land is soft. You re not hurt, are you, Gloyd? Gloyd (risiny). No, not much hurt ! Corey. Well, then, shake hands ; and there s an end of it. How do you like that Cornish hug, my lad? And now we ll see what s in our basket here. Gloyd (aside). The Devil and all his imps are in that man ! The clutch of his ten fingers burns like fire! Corey (reverentially taking off his hat). God bless the food he hath provided for us, And make us thankful for it, for Christ s sake ! [He lifts up a keg of cider, and drinks from it. Gloyd. Do you see that 1 Don t tell me it s not Witchcraft. Two of us could not lift that cask as he does ! COIIEY puts down the keg, and opens a basket. A voice is heard calling. Voice. Ho! Corey, Corey ! Corey. What is that 1 I surely Heard some one calling me by name ! Voice. v Giles Corey ! Enter a bov, running, and out of breath. Boy. Is Master Corey here 1 Corey. Yes, here I am. Boy. Master Corey ! Corey. Well ? Boy. Your wife your wife Corey. What s happened to my wife 1 Boy. She s sent to prison ! Corey. The dream ! the dream ! God, be merciful ! Ttoy. She sent me here to tell you. Corey (putting on his jacket). Where s my horse? Don t stand there staring, fellows. Where s my horse ? [Exit COKEY. Gloyd. Under the trees there. Run, old man, run, run ! You ve got some one to wrestle with you now Who ll trip your heels up, with your Cornish hug. If there s a Devil, he has got you now. Ah, there he goes ! His horse is snort ing fire ! One of the Men. John Gloyd, don t talk so ! It s a shame to talk so ! He s a good master, though you quarrel with him. Gloyd. If hard work and low wages make good masters, Then he is one. But I think otherwise. Come, let us have our dinner and be merry, And talk about the old man and the Witches. I know some stories that will make you laugh. [They sit down on the grass, and CM t. Now there are Goody Cloyse and Goody Good, Who have not got a decent tooth be tween them, And yet these children the Afflicted Children Say that they bite them, and show marks of teeth Upon their arms ! One of the Men. That makes the wonder greater. That s Witchcraft. Why, if they had teeth like yours, 614 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Twould be no wonder if the girls were bitten ! Gloyd. And then those ghosts that come out of their graves, And cry, " You murdered us ! you murdered us !" One of the Men. And all those Appa ritions that stick pins Into the flesh of the Afflicted Children ! Gloyd. those Afflicted Children ! They know well Where the pins come from. I can tell you that. And there s old Corey, he has got a horse-shoe Nailed on his doorstep to keep off the Witches, And all the same his wife has gone to prison. One of the Men. Oh, she s no Witch. I ll swear that Goodwife Corey Never did harm to any living creature. She s a good woman, if there ever was one. Gloyd. Well, we shall see. As for that Bridget Bishop, She has been tried before; some years ago A negro testified he saw her shape Sitting upon the rafters in a barn, And holding in its hand an egg ; and while He went to fetch his pitchfork, she had vanished. And now be quiet, will you? I am tired, Arid want to sleep here on the grass a little. [They stretch themselves on the grass. One of the Men. There may be Witches riding through the air Over our heads on broomsticks at this moment, Bound for some Satan s Sabbath in the woods To be baptized. Gloyd. I wish they d take you with them, And hold you underwater, head and ears, Till you were drowned; and that would stop your talking, If nothing else will. Let me sleep, I say. END OF ACT III. ACT IV. SCENE I. The Green in front of the village Meeting-house. An excited crowd gathering. Enter JOHN GLOYD. A Farmer. Who will be tried to-day ? A Second. I do not know. Here is John Gloyd. Ask him ; he knows. Farmer. John Gloyd, Whose turn is it to day 1 Gloyd. It s Goodwife Corey s. Farmer. Giles Corey s wife 1 Gloyd. The same. She is not mine. It will go hard with her with all her praying. The hypocrite ! She s always on her knees ; But she prays to the Devil when she prays. Let us go in. [^ trumpet Uows, Farmer. Here come the Magistrates. Second Farmer. Who s the tall man in front ? Gloyd. Oh, that is Hathorne, A Justice of the Court, and Quarter master In the Three County Troop. He ll sift the matter. That s Corwin with him ; and the man in black Is Cotton Mather, Minister of Boston. GILES COREY. 615 Enter HATHORNE and other Magistrates on horseback, followed by the Sheriff, constables, and attendants on foot. The Magistrates dismount, and enter the Meeting-house, with the rest. Farmer. The Meeting-house is full. I never saw So great a crowd before. Gloyd. No matter. Come. We shall find room enough by elbowing Our way among them. Put your shoul der to it. Farmer. There were not half so many at the trial Of Goodwife Bishop. Gloyd. Keep close after me. I ll find a place for you. They ll want me there. I am a friend of Corey s, as you know, And he can t do without me just at present. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Interior of the Meeting-house. MATHER and the Magistrates seated in front of the pulpit. Before them a raised platform. MARTHA in chains. COREY near her. MARY WALCOT in a chair. A crowd of spectators, among them GLOYD. Confusion and murmurs during the scene. Hathorne. Call Martha Corey. Martha. I am here. Hathorne. Come forward. [She ascends the platform. The Jurors of our Sovereign Lord and Lady The King and Queen, here present, do accuse you Of having on the tenth of June last past, And divers other times before and after, Wickedly used and practised certain arts Called Witchcrafts, Sorceries, and In cantations, Against one Mary Walcot, single woman, Of Salem Village ; by which wicked arts The aforesaid Mary Walcot was tor mented, Tortured, afflicted, pined, consumed, and wasted, Against the peace of our Sovereign Lord and Lady The King and Queen, as well as of the Statute Made and provided in that case. What say you 1 Martha. Before I answer, give me leave to pray. Hathorne. We have not sent for you, nor are we here, To hear you pray, but to examine you In whatsoever is alleged against you. Why do you hurt this person % Martha. I do not. I am not guilty of the charge against me. Mary. Avoid, she-devil ! You tor ment me now Avoid, avoid, Witch ! Martha. I am innocent. I never had to do with any Witchcraft Since I was born. I am a gospel woman. Mary. You are a gospel Witch ! Martha (clasping her Jxinds). Ah me ! ah me ! Oh, give me leave to pray ! Mary (stretching out her hands). She hurts me now. See, she has pinched my hands ! Hathorne. Who made these marks Upon her hands ? Martha. I do not know. I stand Apart from her. I did not touch her hands. Hathorne. Who hurt her then ? Martha. I know not. 616 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Hathorne. Do you think She is bewitched 1 Martha. Indeed I do not think so. I am no Witch, and have no faith in Witches. Hathorne, Then answer me. When certain persons came To see you yesterday, how did you know Beforehand why they came ? Martha. I had had speech The children said I hurt them, and I thought These people came to question me about it. Hathorne. How did you know the children had been told To note the clothes you wore 1 Martha. My husband told me What others said about it. Hathorne. Goodman Corey, Say, did you tell her 1 Corey. I must speak the truth ; I did not tell her. It was some one else. HatJwrne. Did you not say your husband told you so 1 How dare you tell a lie in this assembly 1 Who told you of the clothes ? Confess the truth. [MARTHA bites her lips, and is silent. You bite your lips, but do not answer me ! Mary. Ah, she is biting me ! Avoid, avoid ! Hathorne. You said your husband told you. Martha. Yes, he told me The children said I troubled them. Hathorne. Then tell me Why do you trouble them 1 Martha. I have denied it. Mary. She threatened me ; stabbed at me with her spindle ; And, when my brother thrust her with his sword, He tore her gown, and cut a piece away. Here are they both, the spindle and the cloth. [Shows than. Hathorne. And there are persons here who know the truth Of what has now been said. What answer make you ? Martha. I make no answer. Give me leave to pray. Hathorne. Whom would you pray to ? Martha. To my God and Father. Hathorne. Who is your God and Father ? Martha. The Almighty ! Hathorne. Doth he you pray to say that he is God 1 It is the Prince of Darkness, and not God. Mary. There is a dark shape whis pering in her ear. Hathorne. What does he say to you 1 Martha. I see no shape. Hathorne. Did you not hear it whisper 1 Martlia. I heard nothing. Mary. What torture ! Ah, what agony I suffer ! [Falls into a swoon. Hathorne. You see this woman can not stand before you. If you would look for mercy, you must look In God s way, by confession of your guilt. Why does your spectre haunt arid hurt this person? GILES COREY. 617 Martha. I do not know. He who appeared of old In Samuel s shape, a saint and glorified, May come in whatsoever shape he chooses. I cannot help it. I am sick at heart ! Corey. Martha, Martha! let me hold your hand. Hathorne. No ; stand aside, old man. Mary (starting up). Look there ! Look there ! I see a little bird, a yellow bird, Perched onher finger; and it pecks at me. Ah, it will tear mine eyes out ! Martha. I see nothing. Hathorne. Tis the Familiar Spirit that attends her. Mary. Now it has flown away. It sits up there Upon the rafters. It is gone ; is vanished. Martha. Giles, wipe these tears of anger from mine eyes. Wipe the sweat from my forehead. I am faint. [She leans against the railing. Mary. Oh, she is crushing me with all her weight ! Hathorne. Did you not carry once the Devil s Book To this young woman 1 Martha. Never. Hathorne. Have you signed it, Or touched it 1 Martha. No; I never saw it. Hathorne. Did you not scourge her with an iron rod 1 Martha. No, I did not. If any Evil Spirit Has taken my shape to do these evil deeds, I cannot help it. I am innocent. Hathorne. Did you not say the Magistrates were blind ? That you would open their eyes 1 Martha (with a scornful laugh). Yes, I said that ; If you call me a sorceress, you are blind ! If you accuse the innocent, you are blind ! Can the innocent be guilty 1 Hathorne. Did you not On one occasion hide your husband s saddle To hinder him from coming to the Sessions 1 Martha. I thought it was a folly in a farmer To waste his time pursuing such illu sions. Hathorne. What was the bird that this young woman saw Just now upon your hand 1 Martha. I know no bird. Hathorne. Have you not dealt with a familiar spirit ? Martha. No, never, never ! Hathorne. What then was the Book You showed to this young woman, and besought her To write in it ? Martha. Where should I have a book? I showed her none, nor have none. Mary. The next Sabbath Is the Communion-Day, but Martha Corey Will not be there ! Martha. Ah, you are all against me. What can I do or say 1 Hathorne. You can confess. Martha. No I cannot, for I am inno cent. 618 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Hatliorne. We have the proof of many witnesses That you are guilty. Martha. Give me leave to speak. Will you condemn me on such evidence, You who have known me for so many years 1 Will you condemn me in this house of God, Where I so long have worshipped with you all ? AVhere I have eaten the bread and drunk the wine So many times at our Lord s Table with you? Bear witness, you that hear me ; you all know That I have led a blameless life among you, That never any whisper of suspicion Was breathed against me till this accu sation. And shall this count for nothing 1 Will you take My life away from me, because this girl, Who is distraught, and not in her right mind, Accuses me of things I blush to name 1 Hathorne. What ! is it not enough ? Would you hear more % Giles Corey ! Corey. I am here. HatJiorne. Come forward then. [COREY ascends the platform. Is it not true, that on a certain night You were impeded strangely in your prayers ? That something hindered you ? and that you left This woman here, your wife, kneeling alone Upon the hearth ? Corey. Yes ! I cannot deny it. Hatliorne. Did you not say the Devil hindered you 1 Corey. I think I said some words to that effect. Hatliorne. Is it not true, that four teen head of cattle, To you belonging, broke from their enclosure And leaped into the river, and were drowned 1 Corey. It is most true. Hathorne. And did you not then say That they were over-looked 1 Corey. So much I said. I see ; they re drawing round me closer, closer, A net I cannot break, cannot escape from ! (Aside.) Hathorne. Who did these things 1 Corey. I do not know who did them. Hathorne. Then I will tell you. It is some one near you ; You see her now ; this woman, your own wife. Corey. I call the heavens to witness, it is false ! She never harmed me, never hindered me In anything but what I should not do. And I bear witness in the sight of heaven, And in God s house here, that I never knew her As otherwise than patient, brave, and true, Faithful, forgiving, full of charity, A virtuous and industrious and good wife ! Hathorne. Tut, tut, man ; do not rant so in your speech ; You are a witness, not an advocate ; GILES COREY. 619 Here, Sheriff, take this woman back to prison. Martha. Giles, this day you ve sworn away my life ! Mary. Go, go and join the Witches at the door. Do you not hear the drum ? Do you not see them 1 Go quick. They re waiting for you. You are late. [Exit MARTHA ; COREY following. Corey. The dream! the dream! the dream ! Hathorne. "What does he say 1 Giles Corey, go not hence. You are yourself Accused of Witchcraft and of Sorcery By many witnesses. Say, are you guilty 1 Corey. I know my death is fore ordained by you, Mine and my wife s. Therefore I will not answer. [During the rest of the scene he remains silent. Hathorne. Do you refuse to plead ? Twere better for you To make confession, or to plead Not Guilty. Do you not hear me 1 Answer, are you guilty ? Do you not know a heavier doom awaits you, If you refuse to plead, than if found guilty ? Where is John Gloyd 1 Gloyd (coming forward). Here am I. Hathorne. Tell the Court ; Have you not seen the supernatural power Of this old man 1 Have you not seen him do Strange feats of strength ? Gloyd. I ve seen him lead the field. On a hot day, in mowing, and against Us younger men ; and I have wrestled with him. He threw me like a feather. I have seen him Lift up a barrel with his single hands, Which two strong men could hardly lift together, And, holding it above his head, drink from it. Hathorne. That is enough ; we need not question further. What answer do you make to this, Giles Corey 1 Mary. See there ! See there ! Hathorne. What is it 1 I see nothing. Mary. Look ! look ! It is the ghost of Eobert Goodell, Whom fifteen years ago this man did murder By stamping on his body ! In his shroud He comes here to bear witness to the crime ! [The crowd shrink back from COREY in Jwrror. Hathorne. Ghosts of the dead and voices of the living Bear witness to your guilt, and you must die ! It might have been an easier death. Your doom Will be on your own head, and not on ours. Twice more will you be questioned of these things ; Twice more have room to plead or to confess. If you are contumacious to the Court, And if, when questioned, you refuse to answer, Then by the Statute you will be condemned 4 K THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. To the peine forte et dure ! To have your body Pressed by great weights until you shall be dead ! And may the Lord have mercy on your soul ! END OF ACT IV. ACT V. SCENE I. COREY S farm as in Act II. Scene 1. Enter RICHARD GARDNER, looking round him. Gardner. Here stands the house as I remember it, The four tall poplar- trees before the door ; The house, the barn, the orchard, and the well, With its moss-covered bucket and its trough ! The garden, with its hedge of currant- bushes ; The woods, the harvest-fields ; and, far beyond, The pleasant landscape stretching to the sea. But everything is silent and deserted ! No bleat of flocks, no bellowing of herds, No sound of flails, that should be beating now; No man nor beast astir. What can this mean 1 [Knocks at the door, What ho ! Giles Corey ! Hillo-ho ! Giles Corey ! No answer but the echo from the barn, And the ill-omened cawing of the crow That yonder wings his flight across the fields, As if he scented carrion in the air. Enter TITUBA with a lasTcet. What woman s this, that, like an appa rition, Haunts this deserted homestead in broad day? Woman, who are you ? Tituba. I am Tituba. I am John Indian s wife. I am a Witch. Gardner. What are doing here ? Tituba. I m gathering herbs, Cinquefoil, and saxifrage, and penny royal. Gardner (looking at the herbs). This is not cinquefoil, it is deadly nightshade ! This is not saxifrage, but hellebore ! This is not pennyroyal, it is henbane ! Do you come here to poison these good people ? Tituba. I get these for the Doctor in the Village. Beware of Tituba. I pinch the chil dren ; Make little poppets and stick pins in them, And then the children cry out they are pricked. The Black Dog came to me, and said, " Serve me ! " I was afraid. He made me hurt the children. Gardner. Poor soul ! She s crazed, with all these Devil s doings. Tituba. Will you, sir, sign the Book ? Gardner. No, I ll not sign it. Where is Giles Corey ? Do you know Giles Corey ? Tituba. He s safe enough. He s down there in the prison. Gardner. Corey in prison ! What is he accused of? Tituba. Giles Corey and Martha Corey are in prison Down there in Salem Village. Both are Witches. GILES COKEY. 621 She came to me and whispered, "Kill the children ! " Both signed the Book ! Gardner. Begone, you imp of darkness ! You Devil s dam ! Titula. Beware of Tituba ! [Exit. Gardner. How often out at sea on stormy nights, When the waves thundered round me, and the wind Bellowed, and beat the canvas, and my ship Clove through the solid darkness, like a wedge, I ve thought of him, upon his pleasant farm, Living in quiet with his thrifty house wife, And envied him, and wished his fate were mine ! And now I find him shipwrecked utterly, Drifting upon this sea of sorceries, And lost, perhaps, beyond all aid of man ! [Exit. SCENE II. The prison. GILES COREY at a table on which are some papers. Corey. Now I have done with earth and all its cares ; I give my worldly goods to my dear children ; My body I bequeath to my tormentors, And my immortal soul to Him who made it. God ! who in Thy wisdom dost afflict me With an affliction greater than most men Have ever yet endured or shall endure, Suffer me not in this last bitter hour For any pains of death to fall from thee ! Martha is heard singing. Arise, righteous Lord ! And disappoint my foes ; They are but Thine avenging sword, Whose wounds are swift to close. Corey. Hark, hark ! it is her voice ! She is not dead ! She lives ! I am not utterly forsaken ! Martha (singing). By Thine abounding grace, And mercies multiplied, I shall awake, and see Thy face ; I shall be satisfied. COREY hides his face in his hands. Enter the JAILER, followed ly RICHARD GARDNER. Jailer. Here s a seafaring man, one Eichard Gardner, A friend of yours, who asks to speak with you. [CoREY rises. They embrace. Corey. I m glad to see you, ay, right glad to see you. Gardner. And I most sorely grieved to see you thus. Corey. Of all the friends I had in happier days, You are the first, ay, and the only one, That comes to seek me out in my disgrace ! And you but come in time to say farewell. They ve dug my grave already in the field. I thank you. There is something in your presence, I know not what it is, that gives me strength. Perhaps it is the bearing of a man Familiar with all dangers of the deep, Familiar with the cries of drowning men, With fire, and wreck, and foundering ships at sea ! 622 THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. Gardner. Ah, I have never known a wreck like yours ! Would I could save you ! Corey. Do not speak like that. It is too late. I am resolved to die. Gardner. Why would you die who have so much to live for 1 Your daughters, and Corey. You cannot say the word. My daughters have gone from me. They are married ; They have their homes, their thoughts, apart from me ; I will not say their hearts, that were too cruel. What would you have me do ? Gardner. Confess and live. Corey. That s what they said who came here yesterday To lay a heavy weight upon my con science, By telling me that I was driven forth As an unworthy member of their church. Gardner. It is an awful death. Corey. Tis but to drown, And have the weight of all the seas upon you. Gardner. Say something ; say enough to fend oif death Till this tornado of fanaticism Blows itself out. Let me come in between you And your severer self, with my plain sense ; Do not be obstinate. Corey. I will not plead. If I deny, I am condemned already, In courts where ghosts appear as wit nesses, And swear men s lives away. If I confess, Then I confess a lie, to buv a life Which is not life, but only death in life. I will not bear false witness against any, Not even against myself, whom I count least. Gardner (aside). Ah, what a noble character is this ! Coret/. I pray you, do not urge me to do that You would not do yourself. I have already The bitter taste of death upon my lips ! I feel the pressure of the heavy weight That will crush out my life within this hour ; But if a word could save me, and that word Were not the Truth ; nay, if it did but swerve A hair s-breadth from the Truth, I would not say it ! Gardner (aside). How mean I seem beside a man like this ! Corei/. As for my wife, my Martha and my Martyr, Whose virtues, like the stars, unseen by day, Though numberless, do but await the dark To manifest themselves unto all eyes, She who first won me from my evil ways, And taught me how to live by her example, By her example teaches me to die, And leads me onward to the better life ! Sheriff (without). Giles Corey ! Come! The hour has struck ! Corei/. I come j Here is my body ; ye may torture it, But the immortal soul ye cannot crush! [Exeunt. GILES C011EY. 623 SCENE III. A street in the Village. Enter GLOTD and others. Gloyd. Quick, or we shall be late ! A Man. That s not the way. Come here ; come up this lane. Gloyd. I wonder now If the old man will die, and will not speak ? He s obstinate enough and tough enough For anything on earth. \_A bell tolls. Hark! What is that? A Man. The passing bell. He s dead ! Gloyd. We are too late. [Exeunt in haste. SCENE IV. A field near the graveyard. GILKS COREY lying dead, with a, great stone on his breast. Tlie Sheriff at his head, KICHARD GARDNER at his feet. A crowd behind. The bell tolling. Enter HATHORNE and MATHER. Hathorne. This is the Potter s Field. Behold the fate Of those who deal in Witchcrafts, and> when questioned, Refuse to plead their guilt or innocence, And stubbornly drag death upon them selves. Mather. O sight most horrible ! In a land like this, Spangled with Churches Evangelical, Inwrapped in our salvations, must we seek In mouldering statute-books of English Courts Some old forgotten law, to do such deeds 1 Those who lie buried in the Potter s Field Will rise again, as surely as ourselves That sleep in honored graves with epitaphs ; And this poor man, whom we have made a victim. Hereafter will be counted as a martyr ! THE END. LurMon.- li. L lay, Sons, and Taylor, Printers. 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