Narrative Poems, part 6, Pennsylvania Pilgrim | Page 9

little Elsie beside my plough will walk."
"You must take from out your cellar cask of wine?and flask and can;?The homely mead I brew you may serve a peasant.?man."?"Most willingly, fair Elsie, I'll drink that mead?of thine,?And leave my minstrel's thirsty throat to drain?my generous wine."
"Now break your shield asunder, and shatter sign?and boss,?Unmeet for peasant-wedded arms, your knightly?knee across.?And pull me down your castle from top to basement?wall,?And let your plough trace furrows in the ruins of?your hall!"
Then smiled he with a lofty pride; right well at?last he knew?The maiden of the spinning-wheel was to her troth.?plight true.?"Ah, roguish little Elsie! you act your part full?well?You know that I must bear my shield and in my?castle dwell!
"The lions ramping on that shield between the?hearts aflame?Keep watch o'er Denmark's honor, and guard her?ancient name.
"For know that I am Volmer; I dwell in yonder?towers,?Who ploughs them ploughs up Denmark, this?goodly home of ours'.
"I tempt no more, fair Elsie! your heart I know?is true;?Would God that all our maidens were good and?pure as you!?Well have you pleased your monarch, and he shall?well repay;?God's peace! Farewell! To-morrow will bring?another day!"
He lifted up his bridle hand, he spurred his good?steed then,?And like a whirl-blast swept away with all his?gallant men.?The steel hoofs beat the rocky path; again on?winds of morn?The wood resounds with cry of hounds and blare?of hunter's horn.
"Thou true and ever faithful!" the listening?Henrik cried;?And, leaping o'er the green hedge, he stood by?Elsie's side.?None saw the fond embracing, save, shining from?afar,?The Golden Goose that watched them from the?tower of Valdemar.
O darling girls of Denmark! of all the flowers?that throng?Her vales of spring the fairest, I sing for you my?song.?No praise as yours so bravely rewards the singer's?skill;?Thank God! of maids like Elsie the land has?plenty still!?1872.
THE THREE BELLS.
BENEATH the low-hung night cloud?That raked her splintering mast?The good ship settled slowly,?The cruel leak gained fast.
Over the awful ocean?Her signal guns pealed out.?Dear God! was that Thy answer?From the horror round about?
A voice came down the wild wind,?"Ho! ship ahoy!" its cry?"Our stout Three Bells of Glasgow?Shall lay till daylight by!"
Hour after hour crept slowly,?Yet on the heaving swells?Tossed up and down the ship-lights,?The lights of the Three Bells!
And ship to ship made signals,?Man answered back to man,?While oft, to cheer and hearten,?The Three Bells nearer ran;
And the captain from her taffrail?Sent down his hopeful cry?"Take heart! Hold on!" he shouted;?"The Three Bells shall lay by!"
All night across the waters?The tossing lights shone clear;?All night from reeling taffrail?The Three Bells sent her cheer.
And when the dreary watches?Of storm and darkness passed,?Just as the wreck lurched under,?All souls were saved at last.
Sail on, Three Bells, forever,?In grateful memory sail!?Ring on, Three Bells of rescue,?Above the wave and gale!
Type of the Love eternal,?Repeat the Master's cry,?As tossing through our darkness?The lights of God draw nigh!?1872.
JOHN UNDERHILL.
A SCORE of years had come and gone?Since the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth stone,?When Captain Underhill, bearing scars?From Indian ambush and Flemish wars,?Left three-hilled Boston and wandered down,?East by north, to Cocheco town.
With Vane the younger, in counsel sweet,?He had sat at Anna Hutchinson's feet,?And, when the bolt of banishment fell?On the head of his saintly oracle,?He had shared her ill as her good report,?And braved the wrath of the General Court.
He shook from his feet as he rode away?The dust of the Massachusetts Bay.?The world might bless and the world might ban,?What did it matter the perfect man,?To whom the freedom of earth was given,?Proof against sin, and sure of heaven?
He cheered his heart as he rode along?With screed of Scripture and holy song,?Or thought how he rode with his lances free?By the Lower Rhine and the Zuyder-Zee,?Till his wood-path grew to a trodden road,?And Hilton Point in the distance showed.
He saw the church with the block-house nigh,?The two fair rivers, the flakes thereby,?And, tacking to windward, low and crank,?The little shallop from Strawberry Bank;?And he rose in his stirrups and looked abroad?Over land and water, and praised the Lord.
Goodly and stately and grave to see,?Into the clearing's space rode he,?With the sun on the hilt of his sword in sheath,?And his silver buckles and spurs beneath,?And the settlers welcomed him, one and all,?From swift Quampeagan to Gonic Fall.
And he said to the elders: "Lo, I come?As the way seemed open to seek a home.?Somewhat the Lord hath wrought by my hands?In the Narragansett and Netherlands,?And if here ye have work for a Christian man,?I will tarry, and serve ye as best I can.
"I boast not of gifts, but fain would own?The wonderful favor God hath shown,?The special mercy vouchsafed one day?On the shore of Narragansett Bay,?As I sat, with my pipe, from the camp aside,?And mused like Isaac at eventide.
"A sudden sweetness of peace I found,?A garment of gladness wrapped me round;?I felt from the law of works released,?The strife