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| INTO the open air John Alden, perplexed and bewildered, | |
| Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone by the sea-side; | |
| 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, | 5 |
| Sank the City of God, in the vision of John the Apostle, | |
| So, with its cloudy walls of chrysolite, jasper, and sapphire, | |
| Sank the broad red sun, and over its turrets uplifted | |
| Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who measured the city. | |
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| “Welcome, O wind of the East!” he exclaimed in his wild exultation, | 10 |
| “Welcome, O 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!” | 15 |
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| 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! | 20 |
| “Is it my fault,” he said, “that the maiden has chosen between us? | |
| Is it my fault that he failed,—my fault that I am the victor?” | |
| Then within him there thundered a voice, like the voice of the Prophet: | |
| “It hath displeased the Lord!”—and he thought of David’s transgression, | |
| Bathsheba’s beautiful face, and his friend in the front of the battle! | 25 |
| 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!” | |
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| Then, uplifting his head, he looked at the sea, and beheld there | |
| Dimly the shadowy form of the Mayflower riding at anchor, | 30 |
| Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on the morrow; | |
| Heard the voices of men through the mist, the rattle of cordage | |
| Thrown on the deck, the shouts of the mate, and the sailors’ “Ay, ay, Sir!” | |
| Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the dripping air of the twilight. | |
| Still for a moment he stood, and listened, and stared at the vessel, | 35 |
| Then went hurriedly on, as one who, seeing a phantom, | |
| Stops, then quickens his pace, and follows the beckoning shadow. | |
| “Yes, it is plain to me now,” he murmured; “the hand of the Lord is | |
| Leading me out of the land of darkness, the bondage of error, | |
| Through the sea, that shall lift the walls of its waters around me, | 40 |
| 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; | 45 |
| 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!” | 50 |
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| Thus as he spake, he 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. | 55 |
| Soon he entered his door, and found the redoubtable Captain | |
| Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pages of Cæsar, | |
| 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. | 60 |
| “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.” | |
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| Then John Alden spake, and related the wondrous adventure, | 65 |
| 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?” | 70 |
| Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped on the floor, till his armor | |
| Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound of sinister omen. | |
| All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden explosion, | |
| E’en as a hand-grenade, that scatters destruction around it. | |
| Wildly he shouted, and loud: “John Alden! you have betrayed me! | 75 |
| 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? | |
| 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; | 80 |
| You, who have fed at my board, and drunk at my cup, to whose keeping | |
| I have intrusted my honor, my thoughts the most sacred and secret,— | |
| You too, Brutus! ah woe to the name of friendship hereafter! | |
| Brutus was Cæsar’s friend, and you were mine, but henceforward | |
| Let there be nothing between us save war, and implacable hatred!” | 85 |
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| So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode about in the chamber, | |
| Chafing and choking with rage; like cords were the veins on his temples. | |
| But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at the doorway, | |
| Bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent importance, | |
| Rumors of danger and war and hostile incursions of Indians! | 90 |
| 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. | 95 |
| 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. | |
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| Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful away to the council, | 100 |
| 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. | |
| God had sifted three kingdoms to find the wheat for this planting, | 105 |
| Then had sifted the wheat, as the living seed of a nation; | |
| So say the chronicles old, and such is the faith of the people! | |
| Near them was standing an Indian, in attitude stern and defiant, | |
| Naked down to the waist, and grim and ferocious in aspect; | |
| While on the table before them was lying unopened a Bible, | 110 |
| 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 | 115 |
| 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! | 120 |
| Then out spake Miles Standish, the stalwart Captain of Plymouth, | |
| Muttering deep in his throat, for his voice was husky with anger, | |
| “What! do you mean to make war with milk and the water of roses? | |
| 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? | 125 |
| 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 St. Paul, nor yet the other Apostles; | 130 |
| Not from the cannon’s mouth were the tongues of fire they spake with!” | |
| But unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the Captain, | |
| Who had advanced to the table, and thus 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, | 135 |
| Sweet is the smell of powder; and thus I answer the challenge!” | |
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| 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!” | 140 |
| 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. | |
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