Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Delphi Poets Series Book 13)

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand;

  Crossing the brook at the ford, where it brawled over pebble and shallow, 25

  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! 30

  So I will take them to her; to Priscilla the Mayflower 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; 35

  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, 40

  Music that Luther sang to the sacred words of the Psalmist,

  Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and comforting many.

  Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of the maiden

  Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift

  Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous spindle, 45

  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 the verses. 50

  Such was the book from whose pages she sang the old Puritan anthem,

  She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the forest,

  Making the humble house and the modest apparel of homespun

  Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the wealth of her being!

  Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and cold and relentless, 55

  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, 60

  “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 endureth forever!”

  So he entered the house: and the hum of the wheel and the singing 65

  Suddenly ceased; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the threshold,

  Rose as he entered, and gave him her hand in signal of welcome,

  Saying, “I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the passage;

  For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and spinning.”

  Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought of him had been mingled 70

  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,

  Reeling and plunging along through the drifts that encumbered the doorway, 75

  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 fireside,

  Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of her in the snow-storm.

  Had he but spoken then! perhaps not in vain had he spoken;

  Now it was all too late; the golden moment had vanished! 80

  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 Mayflower 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, — 85

  They are 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 90

  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.” 95

  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!” 100

  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 school-boy;

  Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it more bluntly.

  Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan maiden 105

  Looked into Alden’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? 110

  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: 115

  “Has he no time for such things, as you call it, before he is married,

  Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after the wedding?

  That is the way with you men; you don’t 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, 120

  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 125

  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? — at last might h
ave won me,

  Old and rough as he is; but now it never can happen.” 130

  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; 135

  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, 140

  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, 145

  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! 150

  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?”

  John Alden

  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.

  “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

  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!”

  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

  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.”

  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

  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.

  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.