| |
| 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, | 5 |
| 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, | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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, | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| 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. | 30 |
| |
| 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, | 35 |
| 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, | 40 |
| 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 | 45 |
| 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; | 50 |
| I felt from the law of works released, | |
| The strife of the flesh and spirit ceased, | |
| My faith to a full assurance grew, | |
| And all I had hoped for myself I knew. | |
| |
| “Now, as God appointeth, I keep my way, | 55 |
| I shall not stumble, I shall not stray; | |
| He hath taken away my fig-leaf dress, | |
| I wear the robe of his righteousness; | |
| And the shafts of Satan no more avail | |
| Than Pequot arrows on Christian mail.” | 60 |
| |
| “Tarry with us,” the settlers cried, | |
| “Thou man of God, as our ruler and guide.” | |
| And Captain Underhill bowed his head. | |
| “The will of the Lord be done!” he said. | |
| And the morrow beheld him sitting down | 65 |
| In the ruler’s seat in Cocheco town. | |
| |
| And he judged therein as a just man should; | |
| His words were wise and his rule was good; | |
| He coveted not his neighbor’s land, | |
| From the holding of bribes he shook his hand; | 70 |
| And through the camps of the heathen ran | |
| A wholesome fear of the valiant man. | |
| |
| But the heart is deceitful, the good Book saith, | |
| And life hath ever a savor of death. | |
| Through hymns of triumph the tempter calls, | 75 |
| And whoso thinketh he standeth falls. | |
| Alas! ere their round the seasons ran, | |
| There was grief in the soul of the saintly man. | |
| |
| The tempter’s arrows that rarely fail | |
| Had found the joints of his spiritual mail; | 80 |
| And men took note of his gloomy air, | |
| The shame in his eye, the halt in his prayer, | |
| The signs of a battle lost within, | |
| The pain of a soul in the coils of sin. | |
| |
| Then a whisper of scandal linked his name | 85 |
| With broken vows and a life of blame; | |
| And the people looked askance on him | |
| As he walked among them sullen and grim, | |
| Ill at ease, and bitter of word, | |
| And prompt of quarrel with hand or sword. | 90 |
| |
| None knew how, with prayer and fasting still, | |
| He strove in the bonds of his evil will; | |
| But he shook himself like Samson at length, | |
| And girded anew his loins of strength, | |
| And bade the crier go up and down | 95 |
| And call together the wondering town. | |
| |
| Jeer and murmur and shaking of head | |
| Ceased as he rose in his place and said: | |
| “Men, brethren, and fathers, well ye know | |
| How I came among you a year ago, | 100 |
| Strong in the faith that my soul was freed | |
| From sin of feeling, or thought, or deed. | |
| |
| “I have sinned, I own it with grief and shame, | |
| But not with a lie on my lips I came. | |
| In my blindness I verily thought my heart | 105 |
| Swept and garnished in every part. | |
| He chargeth His angels with folly; He sees | |
| The heavens unclean. Was I more than these? | |
| |
| “I urge no plea. At your feet I lay | |
| The trust you gave me, and go my way. | 110 |
| Hate me or pity me, as you will, | |
| The Lord will have mercy on sinners still; | |
| And I, who am chiefest, say to all, | |
| Watch and pray, lest ye also fall.” | |
| |
| No voice made answer: a sob so low | 115 |
| That only his quickened ear could know | |
| Smote his heart with a bitter pain, | |
| As into the forest he rode again, | |
| And the veil of its oaken leaves shut down | |
| On his latest glimpse of Cocheco town. | 120 |
| |
| Crystal-clear on the man of sin | |
| The streams flashed up, and the sky shone in; | |
| On his cheek of fever the cool wind blew, | |
| The leaves dropped on him their tears of dew, | |
| And angels of God, in the pure, sweet guise | 125 |
| Of flowers, looked on him with sad surprise. | |
| |
| Was his ear at fault that brook and breeze | |
| Sang in their saddest of minor keys? | |
| What was it the mournful wood-thrush said? | |
| What whispered the pine-trees overhead? | 130 |
| Did he hear the Voice on his lonely way | |
| That Adam heard in the cool of day? | |
| |
| Into the desert alone rode he, | |
| Alone with the Infinite Purity; | |
| And, bowing his soul to its tender rebuke, | 135 |
| As Peter did to the Master’s look, | |
| He measured his path with prayers of pain | |
| For peace with God and nature again. | |
| |
| And in after years to Cocheco came | |
| The bruit of a once familiar name; | 140 |
| How among the Dutch of New Netherlands, | |
| From wild Danskamer to Haarlem sands, | |
| A penitent soldier preached the Word, | |
| And smote the heathen with Gideon’s sword! | |
| |
| And the heart of Boston was glad to hear | 145 |
| How he harried the foe on the long frontier, | |
| And heaped on the land against him barred | |
| The coals of his generous watch and ward. | |
| Frailest and bravest! the Bay State still | |
| Counts with her worthies John Underhill. | 150 |
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