Narrative Poems, part 6, Pennsylvania Pilgrim | Page 3

on the people, have been those of the Puritan and the Quaker. The strength of the one was in the confession of an invisible Presence, a righteous, eternal Will, which would establish righteousness on earth; and thence arose the conviction of a direct personal responsibility, which could be tempted by no external splendor and could be shaken by no internal agitation, and could not be evaded or transferred. The strength of the other was the witness in the human spirit to an eternal Word, an Inner Voice which spoke to each alone, while yet it spoke to every man; a Light which each was to follow, and which yet was the light of the world; and all other voices were silent before this, and the solitary path whither it led was more sacred than the worn ways of cathedral-aisles." It will be sufficiently apparent to the reader that, in the poem which follows, I have attempted nothing beyond a study of the life and times of the Pennsylvania colonist,--a simple picture of a noteworthy man and his locality. The colors of my sketch are all very sober, toned down to the quiet and dreamy atmosphere through which its subject is visible. Whether, in the glare and tumult of the present time, such a picture will find favor may well be questioned. I only know that it has beguiled for me some hours of weariness, and that, whatever may be its measure of public appreciation, it has been to me its own reward."
J. G. W.?AMESBURY, 5th mo., 1872.
HAIL to posterity!?Hail, future men of Germanopolis!?Let the young generations yet to be?Look kindly upon this.?Think how your fathers left their native land,--?Dear German-land! O sacred hearths and homes!--
And, where the wild beast roams,?In patience planned?New forest-homes beyond the mighty sea,?There undisturbed and free?To live as brothers of one family.?What pains and cares befell,?What trials and what fears,?Remember, and wherein we have done well?Follow our footsteps, men of coming years!?Where we have failed to do?Aright, or wisely live,?Be warned by us, the better way pursue,?And, knowing we were human, even as you,?Pity us and forgive!?Farewell, Posterity!?Farewell, dear Germany?Forevermore farewell!
[From the Latin of Francis DANIEL PASTORIUS in?the Germantown Records. 1688.]
PRELUDE.?I SING the Pilgrim of a softer clime?And milder speech than those brave men's who brought?To the ice and iron of our winter time?A will as firm, a creed as stern, and wrought?With one mailed hand, and with the other fought.?Simply, as fits my theme, in homely rhyme?I sing the blue-eyed German Spener taught,?Through whose veiled, mystic faith the Inward Light,?Steady and still, an easy brightness, shone,?Transfiguring all things in its radiance white.?The garland which his meekness never sought?I bring him; over fields of harvest sown?With seeds of blessing, now to ripeness grown,?I bid the sower pass before the reapers' sight.
. . . . . . . . . .
Never in tenderer quiet lapsed the day?From Pennsylvania's vales of spring away,?Where, forest-walled, the scattered hamlets lay
Along the wedded rivers. One long bar?Of purple cloud, on which the evening star?Shone like a jewel on a scimitar,
Held the sky's golden gateway. Through the deep?Hush of the woods a murmur seemed to creep,?The Schuylkill whispering in a voice of sleep.
All else was still. The oxen from their ploughs?Rested at last, and from their long day's browse?Came the dun files of Krisheim's home-bound cows.
And the young city, round whose virgin zone?The rivers like two mighty arms were thrown,?Marked by the smoke of evening fires alone,
Lay in the distance, lovely even then?With its fair women and its stately men?Gracing the forest court of William Penn,
Urban yet sylvan; in its rough-hewn frames?Of oak and pine the dryads held their claims,?And lent its streets their pleasant woodland names.
Anna Pastorius down the leafy lane?Looked city-ward, then stooped to prune again?Her vines and simples, with a sigh of pain.
For fast the streaks of ruddy sunset paled?In the oak clearing, and, as daylight failed,?Slow, overhead, the dusky night-birds sailed.
Again she looked: between green walls of shade,?With low-bent head as if with sorrow weighed,?Daniel Pastorius slowly came and said,
"God's peace be with thee, Anna!" Then he stood?Silent before her, wrestling with the mood?Of one who sees the evil and not good.
"What is it, my Pastorius?" As she spoke,?A slow, faint smile across his features broke,?Sadder than tears. "Dear heart," he said, "our folk
"Are even as others. Yea, our goodliest Friends?Are frail; our elders have their selfish ends,?And few dare trust the Lord to make amends
"For duty's loss. So even our feeble word?For the dumb slaves the startled meeting heard?As if a stone its quiet waters stirred;
"And, as the clerk ceased reading, there began?A ripple of dissent which downward ran?In widening circles, as from man to man.
"Somewhat was said of running before sent,?Of tender fear that some their guide outwent,?Troublers of Israel. I was scarce intent
"On hearing, for