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| 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, marched slowly out of the village. | 5 |
| Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of his valorous army, | |
| Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend of the white men, | |
| Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the savage. | |
| Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty men of King David; | |
| Giants in heart they were, who believed in God and the Bible,— | 10 |
| Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites and Philistines. | |
| Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of morning; | |
| Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, advancing, | |
| Fired along the line, and in regular order retreated. | |
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| Many a mile had they marched, when at length the village of Plymouth | 15 |
| 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 steadily 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 Mayflower; | 20 |
| Talked of their Captain’s departure, and all the dangers that menaced, | |
| He being gone, the town, and what should be done in his absence. | |
| Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of women | |
| Consecrated with hymns the common cares of the household. | |
| Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows rejoiced at his coming; | 25 |
| Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of the mountains; | |
| Beautiful on the sails of the Mayflower riding at anchor, | |
| Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms of the winter. | |
| Loosely against her masts was hanging and flapping her canvas, | |
| Rent by so many gales, and patched by the hands of the sailors. | 30 |
| Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over the ocean, | |
| Darted a puff of smoke, and floated seaward; anon rang | |
| Loud over field and forest the cannon’s roar, and the echoes | |
| Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of departure! | |
| Ah! but with louder echoes replied the hearts of the people! | 35 |
| Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read from the Bible, | |
| Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fervent entreaty! | |
| Then from their houses in haste came forth the Pilgrims of Plymouth, | |
| Men and women and children, all hurrying down to the sea-shore, | |
| Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the Mayflower, | 40 |
| Homeward bound o’er the sea, and leaving them here in the desert. | |
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| Foremost among them was Alden. All night he had lain without slumber, | |
| Turning and tossing about in the heat and unrest of his fever. | |
| He had beheld Miles Standish, who came back late from the council, | |
| Stalking into the room, and heard him mutter and murmur; | 45 |
| Sometimes it seemed a prayer, and sometimes it sounded like swearing. | |
| Once he had come to the bed, and stood there a moment in silence; | |
| Then he had turned away, and said: “I will not awake him; | |
| Let him sleep on, it is best; for what is the use of more talking!” | |
| Then he extinguished the light, and threw himself down on his pallet, | 50 |
| Dressed as he was, and ready to start at the break of the morning,— | |
| Covered himself with the cloak he had worn in his campaigns in Flanders,— | |
| Slept as a soldier sleeps in his bivouac, ready for action. | |
| But with the dawn he arose; in the twilight Alden beheld him | |
| Put on his corselet of steel, and all the rest of his armor, | 55 |
| Buckle about his waist his trusty blade of Damascus, | |
| Take from the corner his musket, and so stride out of the chamber. | |
| 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; | 60 |
| But his pride overmastered the nobler nature 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 the people were saying, | 65 |
| 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! | 70 |
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| There with his boat was the Master, already a little impatient | |
| Lest he should lose the tide, or the wind might shift to the eastward, | |
| Square-built, hearty, and strong, with an odor of ocean about him, | |
| Speaking with this one and that, and cramming letters and parcels | |
| Into his pockets capacious, and messages mingled together | 75 |
| Into his narrow brain, till at last he was wholly bewildered. | |
| Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot placed on the gunwale, | |
| One still firm on the rock, and talking at times with the sailors, | |
| Seated erect on the thwarts, all ready and eager for starting. | |
| He too was eager to go, and thus put an end to his anguish, | 80 |
| Thinking to fly from despair, that swifter than keel is or canvas, | |
| Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that would rise and pursue him. | |
| But as he gazed on the crowd, he beheld the form of Priscilla | |
| Standing dejected among them, unconscious of all that was passing. | |
| Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined his intention, | 85 |
| Fixed with a look so sad, so reproachful, imploring, and patient, | |
| That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled from its purpose, | |
| As from the verge of a crag, where one step more is destruction. | |
| Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, mysterious instincts! | |
| Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated are moments, | 90 |
| Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the wall adamantine! | |
| “Here I remain!” he exclaimed, as he looked at the heavens above him, | |
| Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the mist and the madness, | |
| Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was staggering headlong. | |
| “Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether above me, | 95 |
| Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning over the ocean. | |
| There is another hand, that is not so spectral and ghost-like, | |
| Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for protection. | |
| Float, O hand of cloud, and vanish away in the ether! | |
| Roll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt me; I heed not | 100 |
| Either your warning or menace, or any omen of evil! | |
| There is no land so sacred, no air so pure and so wholesome, | |
| As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is pressed by her footsteps. | |
| Here for her sake will I stay, and like an invisible presence | |
| Hover around her forever, protecting, supporting her weakness; | 105 |
| Yes! as my foot was the first that stepped on this rock at the landing, | |
| So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the leaving!” | |
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| Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified air and important, | |
| Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the wind and the weather, | |
| Walked about on the sands, and the people crowded around him | 110 |
| Saying a few last words, and enforcing his careful remembrance. | |
| Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were grasping a tiller, | |
| Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off to his vessel, | |
| Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry and flurry, | |
| Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sickness and sorrow, | 115 |
| Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing but Gospel! | |
| Lost in the sound of the oars was the last farewell of the Pilgrims. | |
| O strong hearts and true! not one went back in the Mayflower! | |
| No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to this ploughing! | |
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| Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs of the sailors | 120 |
| Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the ponderous anchor. | |
| Then the yards were braced, and all sails set to the west-wind, | |
| Blowing steady and strong; and the Mayflower sailed from the harbor, | |
| Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far to the southward | |
| Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the First Encounter, | 125 |
| Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open Atlantic, | |
| Borne on the send of the sea, and the swelling hearts of the Pilgrims. | |
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| Long in silence they watched the receding sail of the vessel, | |
| Much endeared to them all, as something living and human; | |
| Then, as if filled with the spirit, and wrapt in a vision prophetic, | 130 |
| Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of Plymouth | |
| Said, “Let us pray!” and they prayed, and thanked the Lord and took courage. | |
| Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rock, 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, | 140 |
| Pointing with outstretched hands, and saying, “Look!” he had vanished. | |
| So they returned to their homes; but Alden lingered a little, | |
| Musing alone on the shore, and watching the wash of the billows | |
| Round the base of the rock, and the sparkle and flash of the sunshine, | |
| Like the spirit of God, moving visibly over the waters. | 145 |
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