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1647
“TO the winds give our banner! | |
| Bear homeward again!” | |
| Cried the Lord of Acadia, | |
| Cried Charles of Estienne; | |
| From the prow of his shallop | 5 |
| He gazed, as the sun, | |
| From its bed in the ocean, | |
| Streamed up the St. John. | |
| |
| O’er the blue western waters | |
| That shallop had passed, | 10 |
| Where the mists of Penobscot | |
| Clung damp on her mast. | |
| St. Saviour had looked | |
| On the heretic sail, | |
| As the songs of the Huguenot | 15 |
| Rose on the gale. | |
| |
| The pale, ghostly fathers | |
| Remembered her well, | |
| And had cursed her, while passing, | |
| With taper and bell, | 20 |
| But the men of Monhegan, | |
| Of Papists abhorred, | |
| Had welcomed and feasted | |
| The heretic Lord. | |
| |
| They had loaded his shallop | 25 |
| With dun-fish and ball, | |
| With stores for his larder, | |
| And steel for his wall. | |
| Pemequid, from her bastions | |
| And turrets of stone, | 30 |
| Had welcomed his coming | |
| With banner and gun. | |
| |
| And the prayers of the elders | |
| Had followed his way, | |
| As homeward he glided, | 35 |
| Down Pentecost Bay. | |
| Oh, well sped La Tour! | |
| For, in peril and pain, | |
| His lady kept watch | |
| For his coming again. | 40 |
| |
| O’er the Isle of the Pheasant | |
| The morning sun shone, | |
| On the plane-trees which shaded | |
| The shores of St. John. | |
| “Now, why from yon battlements | 45 |
| Speaks not my love! | |
| Why waves there no banner | |
| My fortress above?” | |
| |
| Dark and wild, from his deck | |
| St. Estienne gazed about, | 50 |
| On fire-wasted dwellings | |
| And silent redoubt; | |
| From the low, shattered walls | |
| Which the flame had o’errun, | |
| There floated no banner, | 55 |
| There thundered no gun! | |
| |
| But beneath the low arch | |
| Of its doorway there stood | |
| A pale priest of Rome, | |
| In his cloak and his hood. | 60 |
| With the bound of a lion | |
| La Tour sprang to land, | |
| On the throat of the Papist | |
| He fastened his hand. | |
| |
| “Speak, son of the Woman | 65 |
| Of scarlet and sin! | |
| What wolf has been prowling | |
| My castle within?” | |
| From the grasp of the soldier | |
| The Jesuit broke, | 70 |
| Half in scorn, half in sorrow, | |
| He smiled as he spoke: | |
| |
| “No wolf, Lord of Estienne, | |
| Has ravaged thy hall, | |
| But thy red-handed rival, | 75 |
| With fire, steel, and ball! | |
| On an errand of mercy | |
| I hitherward came, | |
| While the walls of thy castle | |
| Yet spouted with flame. | 80 |
| |
| Pentagoet’s dark vessels | |
| Were moored in the bay, | |
| Grim sea-lions, roaring | |
| Aloud for their prey.” | |
| “But what of my lady?” | 85 |
| Cried Charles of Estienne: | |
| “On the shot-crumbled turret | |
| Thy lady was seen; | |
| |
| “Half veiled in the smoke-cloud, | |
| Her hand grasped thy pennon, | 90 |
| While her dark tresses swayed | |
| In the hot breath of cannon! | |
| But woe to the heretic, | |
| Evermore woe! | |
| When the son of the church | 95 |
| And the cross is his foe! | |
| |
| “In the track of the shell, | |
| In the path of the ball, | |
| Pentagoet swept over | |
| The breach of the wall! | 100 |
| Steel to steel, gun to gun, | |
| One moment,—and then | |
| Alone stood the victor, | |
| Alone with his men! | |
| |
| “Of its sturdy defenders, | 105 |
| Thy lady alone | |
| Saw the cross-blazoned banner | |
| Float over St. John.” | |
| “Let the dastard look to it!” | |
| Cried fiery Estienne, | 110 |
| “Were D’Aulney King Louis, | |
| I ’d free her again!” | |
| |
| “Alas for thy lady! | |
| No service from thee | |
| Is needed by her | 115 |
| Whom the Lord hath set free: | |
| Nine days, in stern silence, | |
| Her thraldom she bore, | |
| But the tenth morning came, | |
| And Death opened her door!” | 120 |
| |
| As if suddenly smitten | |
| La Tour staggered back; | |
| His hand grasped his sword-hilt, | |
| His forehead grew black. | |
| He sprang on the deck | 125 |
| Of his shallop again. | |
| “We cruise now for vengeance! | |
| Give way!” cried Estienne. | |
| |
| “Massachusetts shall hear | |
| Of the Huguenot’s wrong, | 130 |
| And from island and creekside | |
| Her fishers shall throng! | |
| Pentagoet shall rue | |
| What his Papists have done, | |
| When his palisades echo | 135 |
| The Puritan’s gun!” | |
| |
| Oh, the loveliest of heavens | |
| Hung tenderly o’er him; | |
| There were waves in the sunshine, | |
| And green isles before him: | 140 |
| But a pale hand was beckoning | |
| The Huguenot on; | |
| And in blackness and ashes | |
| Behind was St. John! | |
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