No More Learning

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.
And they said, "Farewell forever! "
Said, "Farewell, O Hiawatha! "
And the forests, dark and lonely,
Moved through all their depths of darkness,
Sighed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha! "
And the waves upon the margin
Rising, rippling on the pebbles,
Sobbed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha! "
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
From her haunts among the fen-lands,
Screamed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha! "
Thus departed Hiawatha,
Hiawatha the Beloved,
In the glory of the sunset,.
In the purple mists of evening,
To the regions of the home-wind,
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the Kingdom of Ponemah,
To the Land of the Hereafter!



NOTES
THE SONG OF HIAWATHA.

This Indian Edda--if I may so call it--is founded on a tradition
prevalent among the North American Indians, of a personage of
miraculous birth, who was sent among them to clear their rivers,
forests, and fishing-grounds, and to teach them the arts of
peace.

He was known among different tribes by the several names of
Michabou, Chiabo, Manabozo, Tarenyawagon, and Hiawatha. Mr.
Schoolcraft gives an account of him in his Algic Researches, Vol. I.
p. 134; and in his History, Condition, and Prospects of the Indian
Tribes of the United States, Part III. p. 314, may be found the
Iroquois form of the tradition, derived from the verbal narrations
of an Onondaga chief.

Into this old tradition I have woven other curious Indian legends,
drawn chiefly from the various and valuable writings of Mr.
Schoolcraft, to whom the literary world is greatly indebted for his
indefatigable zeal in rescuing from oblivion so much of the
legendary lore of the Indians.

The scene of the poem is among the Ojibways on the southern shore of
Lake Superior, in the region between the Pictured Rocks and the
Grand Sable.

VOCABULARY

Adjidau'mo, the red squirrel.
Ahdeek', the reindeer.
Ahkose'win, fever.
Ahmeek', the beaver.
Algon'quin, Ojibway.
Annemee'kee, the thunder.
Apuk'wa. a bulrush.
Baim-wa'wa, the sound of the thunder.
Bemah'gut, the grapevine.
Be'na, the pheasant.
Big-Sea-Water, Lake Superior.
Bukada'win, famine.
Chemaun', a birch canoe.
Chetowaik', the plover.
Chibia'bos, a musician; friend of Hiawatha; ruler in the Land of Spirits.
Dahin'da, the bull frog.
Dush-kwo-ne'she or Kwo-ne'she, the dragon fly.
Esa, shame upon you.
Ewa-yea', lullaby.
Ghee'zis, the sun.
Gitche Gu'mee, The Big-Sea-Water, Lake Superior.
Gitche Man'ito, the Great Spirit, the Master of Life.
Gushkewau', the darkness.
Hiawa'tha, the Wise Man, the Teacher, son of Mudjekeewis, the
WestWind and Wenonah, daughter of Nokomis.
Ia'goo, a great boaster and story-teller.
Inin'ewug, men, or pawns in the Game of the Bowl.
Ishkoodah', fire, a comet.
Jee'bi, a ghost, a spirit.
Joss'akeed, a prophet.
Kabibonok'ka, the North-Wind.
Kagh, the hedge-hog.
Ka'go, do not.
Kahgahgee', the raven.
Kaw, no.
Kaween', no indeed.
Kayoshk', the sea-gull.
Kee'go, a fish.
Keeway'din, the Northwest wind, the Home-wind.
Kena'beek, a serpent.
Keneu', the great war-eagle.
Keno'zha, the pickerel.
Ko'ko-ko'ho, the owl.
Kuntasoo', the Game of Plum-stones.
Kwa'sind, the Strong Man.
Kwo-ne'she, or Dush-kwo-ne'she, the dragon-fly.
Mahnahbe'zee, the swan.
Mahng, the loon.
Mahn-go-tay'see, loon-hearted, brave.
Mahnomo'nee, wild rice.
Ma'ma, the woodpecker.
Maskeno'zha, the pike.
Me'da, a medicine-man.
Meenah'ga, the blueberry.
Megissog'won, the great Pearl-Feather, a magician, and the Manito
of Wealth.
Meshinau'wa, a pipe-bearer.
Minjekah'wun, Hiawatha's mittens.
Minneha'ha, Laughing Water; wife of Hiawatha; a water-fall in a
stream running into the Mississippi between Fort Snelling and the
Falls of St. Anthony.
Minne-wa'wa, a pleasant sound, as of the wind in the trees.
Mishe-Mo'kwa, the Great Bear.
Mishe-Nah'ma, the Great Sturgeon.
Miskodeed', the Spring-Beauty, the Claytonia Virginica.
Monda'min, Indian corn.
Moon of Bright Nights, April.
Moon of Leaves, May.
Moon of Strawberries, June.
Moon of the Falling Leaves, September.
Moon of Snow-shoes, November.
Mudjekee'wis, the West-Wind; father of Hiawatha.
Mudway-aush'ka, sound of waves on a shore.
Mushkoda'sa, the grouse.
Nah'ma, the sturgeon.
Nah'ma-wusk, spearmint.
Na'gow Wudj'oo, the Sand Dunes of Lake Superior.
Nee-ba-naw'-baigs, water-spirits.
Nenemoo'sha, sweetheart.
Nepah'win, sleep.
Noko'mis, a grandmother, mother of Wenonah.
No'sa, my father.
Nush'ka, look! look!
Odah'min, the strawberry.
Okahah'wis, the fresh-water herring.
Ome'me, the pigeon.
Ona'gon, a bowl.
Onaway', awake.
Ope'chee, the robin.
Osse'o, Son of the Evening Star.
Owais'sa, the bluebird.
Oweenee', wife of Osseo.
Ozawa'beek, a round piece of brass or copper in the Game of the
Bowl.
Pah-puk-kee'na, the grasshopper.
Pau'guk, death.
Pau-Puk-Kee'wis, the handsome Yenadizze, the son of Storm Fool.
Pauwa'ting, Saut Sainte Marie.
Pe'boan, Winter.
Pem'ican, meat of the deer or buffalo dried and pounded.
Pezhekee', the bison.
Pishnekuh', the brant.
Pone'mah, hereafter.
Pugasaing', Game of the Bowl.
Puggawau'gun, a war-club.
Puk-Wudj'ies, little wild men of the woods; pygmies.
Sah-sah-je'wun, rapids.
Sah'wa, the perch.
Segwun', Spring.
Sha'da, the pelican.
Shahbo'min, the gooseberry.
Shah-shah, long ago.
Shaugoda'ya, a coward.
Shawgashee', the craw-fish.
Shawonda'see, the South-Wind.
Shaw-shaw, the swallow.
Shesh'ebwug, ducks; pieces in the Game of the Bowl.
Shin'gebis, the diver, or grebe.
Showain' neme'shin, pity me.
Shuh-shuh'gah, the blue heron.
Soan-ge-ta'ha, strong-hearted.
Subbeka'she, the spider.
Sugge'me, the mosquito.
To'tem, family coat-of-arms.
Ugh, yes.
Ugudwash', the sun-fish.
Unktahee', the God of Water.
Wabas'so, the rabbit, the North.
Wabe'no, a magician, a juggler.
Wabe'no-wusk, yarrow.
Wa'bun, the East-Wind.
Wa'bun An'nung, the Star of the East, the Morning Star.
Wahono'win, a cry of lamentation.
Wah-wah-tay'see, the fire-fly.
Wam'pum, beads of shell.
Waubewy'on, a white skin wrapper.
Wa'wa, the wild goose.
Waw'beek, a rock.
Waw-be-wa'wa, the white goose.
Wawonais'sa, the whippoorwill.
Way-muk-kwa'na, the caterpillar.
Wen'digoes, giants.
Weno'nah, Hiawatha's mother, daughter of Nokomis.
Yenadiz'ze, an idler and gambler; an Indian dandy.


In the Vale of Tawasentha.

This valley, now called Norman's Kill; is in Albany County, New
York.


On the Mountains of the Prairie.

Mr. Catlin, in his Letters and Notes on the Manners, Customs, and

Condition of the North American Indians, Vol. II p. 160, gives an
interesting account of the Coteau des Prairies, and the Red
Pipestone Quarry. He says:--

"Here (according to their traditions) happened the mysterious birth
of the red pipe, which has blown its fumes of peace and war to the
remotest corners of the continent; which has visited every warrior,
and passed through its reddened stem the irrevocable oath of war and
desolation. And here, also, the peace-breathing calumet was born,
and fringed with the eagle's quills, which has shed its thrilling
fumes over the land, and soothed the fury of the relentless savage.

"The Great Spirit at an ancient period here called the Indian
nations together, and, standing on the precipice of the red pipe-
stone rock, broke from its wall a piece, and made a huge pipe by
turning it in his hand, which he smoked over them, and to the North,
the South, the East, and the West, and told them that this stone was
red,--that it was their flesh,--that they must use it for their
pipes of peace,--that it belonged to them all, and that the war-club
and scalping-knife must not be raised on its ground. At the last
whiff of his pipe his head went into a great cloud, and the whole
surface of the rock for several miles was melted and glazed; two
great ovens were opened beneath, and two women (guardian spirits of
the place) entered them in a blaze of fire; and they are heard there
yet (Tso-mec-cos-tee aud Tso-me-cos-te-won-dee), answering to the
invocations of the high-priests or medicine-men, who consult them
when they are visitors to this sacred place. "


Hark you, Bear! you are a coward.

This anecdote is from Heckewelder. In his account of the Indian
Nations, he describes an Indian hunter as addressing a bear in
nearly these words. "I was present," he says, "at the delivery of
this curious invective; when the hunter had despatched the bear, I
asked him how he thought that poor animal could understand what he
said to it. 'O,' said he in answer, 'the bear understood me very
well; did you not observe how ashamed he looked while I was
upbraiding him? "'--Transactions of the American Philosophical
Society, Vol. I. p. 240.


Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!

Heckewelder, in a letter published in the Transactions of the
American Philosophical Society, Vol. IV. p. 260, speaks of this
tradition as prevalent among the Mohicans and Delawares.

"Their reports," he says, "run thus: that among all animals that had
been formerly in this country, this was the most ferocious; that it
was much larger than the largest of the common bears, and remarkably
long-bodied; all over (except a spot of hair on its back of a white
color) naked. . . . .

"The history of this animal used to be a subject of conversation
among the Indians, especially when in the woods a hunting.
I have
also heard them say to their children when crying: 'Hush! the naked
bear will hear you, be upon you, and devour you,'"


Where the Falls of Minnehaha, etc.

"The scenery about Fort Snelling is rich in beauty. The Falls of
St. Anthony are familiar to travellers, and to readers of Indian
sketches. Between the fort and these falls are the 'Little Falls,'
forty feet in height, on a stream that empties into the Mississippi.
The Indians called them Mine-hah-hah, or 'laughing waters. '"
-- MRS. EASTMAN'S Dacotah, or Legends of the Sioux, Introd. , p. ii.


Sand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo.

A description of the Grand Sable, or great sand-dunes of Lake
Superior, is given in Foster and Whitney's Report on the Geology of
the Lake Superior Land District, Part II. p. 131.

"The Grand Sable possesses a scenic interest little inferior to that
of the Pictured Rocks. The explorer passes abruptly from a coast of
consolidated sand to one of loose materials; and although in the one
case the cliffs are less precipitous, yet in the other they attain a
higher altitude. He sees before him a long reach of coast,
resembling a vast sand-bank, more than three hundred and fifty feet
in height, without a trace of vegetation. Ascending to the top,
rounded hillocks of blown sand are observed, with occasional clumps
of trees standing out like oases in the desert. "


Onaway! Awake, beloved!

The original of this song may be found in Littell's Living Age,
Vol. XXV. p. 45.


On the Red Swan floating, flying.

The fanciful tradition of the Red Swan may be found in Schoolcraft's
Algic Researches, Vol. II. p. 9. Three brothers were hunting on a
wager to see who would bring home the first game.

"They were to shoot no other animal," so the legend says, "but such
as each was in the habit of killing. They set out different ways:
Odjibwa, the youngest, had not gone far before he saw a bear, an
animal he was not to kill, by the agreement. He followed him close,
and drove an arrow through him, which brought him to the ground.
Although contrary to the bet, he immediately commenced skinning him,
when suddenly something red tinged all the air around him. He
rubbed his eyes, thinking he was perhaps deceived; but without
effect, for the red hue continued. At length he heard a strange
noise at a distance. It first appeared like a human voice, but
after following the sound for some distance, he reached the shores
of a lake, and soon saw the object he was looking for. At a
distance out in the lake sat a most beautiful Red Swan, whose
plumage glittered in the sun, and who would now and then make the
same noise he had heard. He was within long bow-shot, and, pulling
the arrow from the bowstring up to his ear, took deliberate aim and
shot. The arrow took no effect; and he shot and shot again till his
quiver was empty. Still the swan remained, moving round and round,
stretching its long neck and dipping its bill into the water, as if
heedless of the arrows shot at it. Odjibwa ran home, and got all
his own and his brother's arrows and shot them all away. He then
stood and gazed at the beautiful bird. While standing, he
remembered his brother's saying that in their deceased father's
medicine-sack were three magic arrows. Off he started, his anxiety
to kill the swan overcoming all scruples. At any other time, he
would have deemed it sacrilege to open his father's medicine-sack;
but now he hastily seized the three arrows and ran back, leaving the
other contents of the sack scattered over the lodge. The swan was
still there. He shot the first arrow with great precision, and came
very near to it. The second came still closer; as he took the last
arrow, he felt his arm firmer, and, drawing it up with vigor, saw it
pass through the neck of the swan a little above the breast. Still
it did not prevent the bird from flying off, which it did, however,
at first slowly, flapping its wings and rising gradually into the
airs and teen flying off toward the sinking of the sun. "
-- pp. 10-12.


When I think of my beloved.

The original of this song may be found in Oneota, p. 15.


Sing the mysteries of Mondamin.
The Indians hold the maize, or Indian corn, in great veneration.

"They esteem it so important and divine a grain," says Schoolcraft,
"that their story-tellers invented various tales, in which this idea
is symbolized under the form of a special gift from the Great
Spirit. The Odjibwa-Algonquins, who call it Mon-da-min, that is,
the Spirit's grain or berry, have a pretty story of this kind, in
which the stalk in full tassel is represented as descending from the
sky, under the guise of a handsome youth, in answer to the prayers
of a young man at his fast of virility, or coming to manhood.

"It is well known that corn-planting and corn-gathering, at least
among all the still uncolonized tribes, are left entirely to the
females and children, and a few superannuated old men. It is not
generally known, perhaps, that this labor is not compulsory, and
that it is assumed by the females as a just equivalent, in their
view, for the onerous and continuous labor of the other sex, in
providing meats, and skins for clothing, by the chase, and in
defending their villages against their enemies, and keeping
intruders off their territories. A good Indian housewife deems this
a part of her prerogative, and prides herself to have a store of
corn to exercise her hospitality, or duly honor her husband's
hospitality, in the entertainment of the lodge guests. "
-- Oneota, p. 82.


Thus the fields shall be more fruitful.

"A singular proof of this belief, in both sexes, of the mysterious
influence of the steps of a woman on the vegetable and in sect
creation, is found in an ancient custom, which was related to me,
respecting corn-planting. It was the practice of the hunter's wife,
when the field of corn had been planted, to choose the first dark or
overclouded evening to perform a secret circuit, sans habillement,
around the field. For this purpose she slipped out of the lodge in
the evening, unobserved, to some obscure nook, where she completely
disrobed. Then, taking her matchecota, or principal garment, in one
hand, she dragged it around the field. This was thought to insure a
prolific crop, and to prevent the assaults of insects and worms upon
the grain. It was supposed they could not creep over the charmed
line. " -- Oneota, p. 83.


With his prisoner-string he bound him.

"These cords," says Mr. Tanner "are made of the bark of the elm-
tree, by boiling and then immersing it in cold water. . . . The
leader of a war party commonly carries several fastened about his
waist, and if, in the course of the fight, any one of his young men
take a prisoner, it is his duty to bring him immediately to the
chief, to be tied, and the latter is responsible for his safe
keeping. " -- Narrative of Captivity and Adventures, p. 412.


Wagemin, the thief of cornfields,
Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear.

"If one of the young female huskers finds a red ear of corn, it is
typical of a brave admirer, and is regarded as a fitting present to
some young warrior. But if the ear be crooked, and tapering to a
point, no matter what color, the whole circle is set in a roar, and
wa-ge-min is the word shouted aloud. It is the symbol of a thief in
the cornfield. It is considered as the image of an old man stooping
as he enters the lot. Had the chisel of Praxiteles been employed to
produce this image, it could not more vividly bring to the minds of
the merry group the idea of a pilferer of their favorite
mondamin. . . .

"The literal meaning of the term is, a mass, or crooked ear of
grain; but the ear of corn so called is a conventional type of a
little old man pilfering ears of corn in a cornfield. It is in this
manner that a single word or term, in these curious languages,
becomes the fruitful parent of many ideas. And we can thus perceive
why it is that the word wagemin is alone competent to excite
merriment in the husking circle.

"This term is taken as the basis of the cereal chorus, or corn song,
as sung by the Northern Algonquin tribes. It is coupled with the
phrase Paimosaid,--a permutative form of the Indian substantive,
made from the verb pim-o-sa, to walk. Its literal meaning is, he
who walks, or the walker; but the ideas conveyed by it are, he who
walks by night to pilfer corn. It offers, therefore, a kind of
parallelism in expression to the preceding term. " -- Oneota, p.
254.


Pugasaing, with thirteen pieces.

This Game of the Bowl is the principal game of hazard among the
Northern tribes of Indians. Mr. Schoolcraft gives a particular
account of it in Oneota, p. 85. "This game," he says, "is very
fascinating to some portions of the Indians. They stake at it their
ornaments, weapons, clothing, canoes, horses, everything in fact
they possess; and have been known, it is said, to set up their wives
and children and even to forfeit their own liberty. Of such
desperate stakes I have seen no examples, nor do I think the game
itself in common use. It is rather confined to certain persons, who
hold the relative rank of gamblers in Indian society,--men who are
not noted as hunters or warriors, or steady providers for their
families. Among these are persons who bear the term of Iena-dizze-
wug, that is, wanderers about the country, braggadocios, or fops.
It can hardly be classed with the popular games of amusement, by
which skill and dexterity are acquired. I have generally found the
chiefs and graver men of the tribes, who encouraged the young men to
play ball, and are sure to be present at the customary sports, to
witness, and sanction, and applaud them, speak lightly and
disparagingly of this game of hazard. Yet it cannot be denied that
some of the chiefs, distinguished in war and the chase, at the West,
can be referred to as lending their example to its fascinating power. "

See also his history, Condition, and Prospects of the Indian
Tribes, Part II, p. 72.


To the Pictured Rocks of sandstone.

The reader will find a long description of the Pictured Rocks in
Foster and Whitney's Report on the Geology of the Lake Superior Land
District, Part II. p. 124. From this I make the following extract:--

"The Pictured Rocks may be described, in general terms, as a series
of sandstone bluffs extending along the shore of Lake Superior for
about five miles, and rising, in most places, vertically from the
water, without any beach at the base, to a height varying from fifty
to nearly two hundred feet. Were they simply a line of cliffs, they
might not, so far as relates to height or extent, be worthy of a
rank among great natural curiosities, although such an assemblage of
rocky strata, washed by the waves of the great lake, would not,
under any circumstances, be destitute of grandeur. To the voyager,
coasting along their base in his frail canoe, they would, at all
times, be an object of dread; the recoil of the surf, the rock-bound
coast, affording, for miles, no place of refuge,--the lowering sky,
the rising wind,--all these would excite his apprehension, and
induce him to ply a vigorous oar until the dreaded wall was passed.
But in the Pictured Rocks there are two features which communicate
to the scenery a wonderful and almost unique character. These are,
first, the curious manner in which the cliffs have been excavated
and worn away by the action of the lake, which, for centuries, has
dashed an ocean-like surf against their base; and, second, the
equally curious manner in which large portions of the surface have
been colored by bands of brilliant hues.

"It is from the latter circumstance that the name, by which these
cliffs are known to the American traveller, is derived; while that
applied to them by the French voyageurs ('Les Portails') is derived
from the former, and by far the most striking peculiarity.

"The term Pictured Rocks has been in use for a great length of time;
but when it was first applied, we have been unable to discover. It
would seem that the first travellers were more impressed with the
novel and striking distribution of colors on the surface than with
the astonishing variety of form into which the cliffs themselves
have been worn. . . .

"Our voyageurs had many legends to relate of the pranks of the
Menni-bojou in these caverns, and, in answer to our inquiries,
seemed disposed to fabricate stories, without end, of the
achievements of this Indian deity. "


Toward the Sun his hands were lifted.

In this manner, and with such salutations, was Father Marquette
received by the Illinois. See his Voyages et Decouvertes,
Section V.

<END HIAWATHA NOTES>


*************


THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH

I

MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims,
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber,--
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend, and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window;
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels. "
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the warlike weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once saved my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses. "
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon! "
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers! "
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
High on the roof of the church, a preacher who speaks to the purpose,
Steady, straight-forward, and strong, with irresistible logic,
Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of the heathen.
Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the Indians;
Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it the better,--
Let them come if they like, be it sagamore, sachem, or pow-wow,
Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Tokamahamon! "

Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on the landscape,
Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath of the east-wind,
Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue rim of the ocean,
Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and sunshine.
Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those on the landscape,
Gloom intermingled with light; and his voice was subdued with emotion,
Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he proceeded:
"Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Rose Standish;
Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by the wayside!
She was the first to die of all who came in the Mayflower!
Green above her is growing the field of wheat we have sown there,
Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our people,
Lest they should count them and see how many already have perished! "
Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and was thoughtful.

Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and among them
Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for binding;
Bariffe's Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries of Caesar,
Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge of London,
And, as if guarded by these, between them was standing the Bible.
Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, as if doubtful
Which of the three he should choose for his consolation and comfort,
Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous campaigns of the Romans,
Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent Christians.
Finally down from its shelf he dragged the ponderous Roman,
Seated himself at the window, and opened the book, and in silence
Turned o'er the well-worn leaves, where thumb-marks thick on the margin,
Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle was hottest.
Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling,
Busily writing epistles important, to go by the Mayflower,
Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, God willing!
Homeward bound with the tidings of all that terrible winter,
Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of Priscilla,
Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla!



II

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling,
Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the Captain,
Reading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius Caesar.
After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand, palm downwards,
Heavily on the page: "A wonderful man was this Caesar!
You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is a fellow
Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally skilful! "
Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the comely, the youthful:
"Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen and his weapons.
Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he could dictate
Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his memoirs. "
"Truly," continued the Captain, not heeding or hearing the other,
"Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius Caesar!
Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village,
Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right when he said it.
Twice was he married before he was twenty, and many times after;
Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand cities he conquered;
He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has recorded;
Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator Brutus!
Now, do you know what he did on a certain occasion in Flanders,
When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front giving way too,
And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded so closely together
There was no room for their swords? Why, he seized a shield from a soldier,
Put himself straight at the head of his troops, and commanded the captains,
Calling on each by his name, to order forward the ensigns;
Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for their weapons;
So he won the day, the battle of something-or-other.
That's what I always say; if you wish a thing to be well done,
You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others! "

All was silent again; the Captain continued his reading.
Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling
Writing epistles important to go next day by the Mayflower,
Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla;
Every sentence began or closed with the name of Priscilla,
Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the secret,
Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of Priscilla!
Finally closing his book, with a bang of the ponderous cover,
Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier grounding his musket,
Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth:
"When you have finished your work, I have something important to tell you.
Be not however in haste; I can wait; I shall not be impatient! "
Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last of his letters,
Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful attention:
"Speak; for whenever you speak, I am always ready to listen,
Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles Standish. "
Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and culling his phrases:
"'T is not good for a man to be alone, say the Scriptures.
This I have said before, and again and again I repeat it;
Every hour in the day, I think it, and feel it, and say it.
Since Rose Standish died, my life has been weary and dreary;
Sick at heart have I been, beyond the healing of friendship.
Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the maiden Priscilla.
She is alone in the world; her father and mother and brother
Died in the winter together; I saw her going and coming,
Now to the grave of the dead, and now to the bed of the dying,
Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to myself, that if ever
There were angels on earth, as there are angels in heaven,
Two have I seen and known; and the angel whose name is Priscilla
Holds in my desolate life the place which the other abandoned.
Long have I cherished the thought, but never have dared to reveal it,
Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for the most part.
Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth,
Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but of actions,
Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier.
Not in these words, you know, but this in short is my meaning;
I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases.
You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in elegant language,
Such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings of lovers,
Such as you think best adapted to win the heart of a maiden. "

When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair-haired, taciturn stripling,
All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewildered,
Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject with lightness,
Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still in his bosom,
Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is stricken by lightning,
Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered than answered:
"Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle and mar it;
If you would have it well done,--I am only repeating your maxim,--
You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others! "
But with the air of a man whom nothing can turn from his purpose,
Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Captain of Plymouth:
"Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to gainsay it;
But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder for nothing.
Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of phrases.
I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to surrender,
But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare not.
I'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth of a cannon,
But of a thundering "No! " point-blank from the mouth of a woman,
That I confess I'm afraid of, nor am I ashamed to confess it!
So you must grant my request, for you are an elegant scholar,
Having the graces of speech, and skill in the turning of phrases. "
Taking the hand of his friend, who still was reluctant and doubtful,
Holding it long in his own, and pressing it kindly, he added:
"Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep is the feeling that prompts me;
Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name of our friendship! "
Then made answer John Alden: "The name of friendship is sacred;
What you demand in that name, I have not the power to deny you! "
So the strong will prevailed, subduing and moulding the gentler,
Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on his errand.



III

THE LOVER'S ERRAND

So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on his errand,
Out of the street of the village, and into the paths of the forest,
Into the tranquil woods, where blue-birds and robins were building
Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gardens of verdure,
Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and freedom.
All around him was calm, but within him commotion and conflict,
Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse.
To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing,
As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the vessel,
Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of the ocean!