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 wist

fully gazed on the landscape, Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath of the east-wind,

Forest and meadow and hill, and the steelblue 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

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 Cæsar.

After a while he exclaimed, as he smote
with his hand, palm downwards,
Heavily on the page:
A wonderful man

was this Cæsar ! You are a writer, and I am a fighter, bat 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 Cæsar!

Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village,

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 somethingor-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!"

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: ""Tis 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

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 bluebirds and robins were building

Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gardens of verdure,

Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and freedom.

All Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse. To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing,

around him was calm, but within him commotion and conflict,

As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the vessel,

Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of the ocean!

"Must I relinquish it all," he cried with a wild lamentation,

"Must I relinquish it all, the joy, the hope, the illusion?

Was it for this I have loved, and waited, and worshipped in silence?

Was it for this I have followed the flying feet and the shadow

Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of New England?

Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its depths of corruption

Rise,

like an exhalation, the misty phan toms of passion;

Angels

of light they seem, but are only delusions of Satan.

Worshipping Astaroth blindly, and impious idols of Baal.

This is the cross I must bear ; the sin and the swift retribution."

So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand; Crossing the brook at the ford, where it

brawled over pebble and shallow, 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 !

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;
Came to an open space, and saw the disk
of the ocean,

Sailless, sombre and cold with the comfort-
less 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,

Music that Luther sang to the sacred words

of the Psalmist,

music together,

Rough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of a churchyard,

Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the verses.

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,

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,

"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 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 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,

Thus he delivered his message, the des terous writer of letters, Did not embellish the theme, nor array i 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

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? 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 :

"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,

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

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.