Told the purport of his mission,

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Then the joyous Hiawatha

Cried aloud and spake in this wise: 'Beautiful is the sun, O 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,

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For the heart's right hand we give you.

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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, O 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

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Whom the Master of Life had sent them From the shining land of Wabun.

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Heavy with the heat and silence

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!'
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! westward!'
And with speed it darted forward.
And the evening sun descending
Set the clouds on fire 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,
Westward, 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.

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215

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225

THE COURTSHIP OF MILES

STANDISH

V

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, march slowly out of the village. ·

5

Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of

15

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; and slowly the smoke from the chimneys

Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed stead

ily 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; 20

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;

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But his pride overmastered the nobler na ture within him,—

Pride, and the sense of his wrong, and the burning fire of the insult.

So he beheld his 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 65

the people were saying,

Joined in the talk at the door, with Stephen and Richard and Gilbert,

Joined in the morning prayer, and in the reading of Scripture,

And, with the others, in haste went hurrying down to the sea-shore,

Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to their feet as a doorstep Into a world unknown,- the corner-stone of a nation!

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Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rocks, and above them Bowed and whispered the wheat on the hill of death, and their kindred Seemed to awake in their graves, and to

join in the prayer that they uttered. 135 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 forever 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,

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60

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 Old North
Church,
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As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and somber and still.
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,

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But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns!