  I 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 Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain. Buried in thought he seemed, with hands behind him, and pausing Ever and anon to behold the glittering weapons of warfare, Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber,— Cutlass and corslet of steel, and his trusty 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, Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion. Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the May Flower. (Standish takes up a book and reads a moment.) 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. Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish Would at this moment be mold, in the 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; 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 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!” 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 May Flower, Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, God willing, Letters written by Alden and full of the name of Priscilla, Full of 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 its 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, 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, 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. 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.” When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair-haired, 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, 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, “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 am afraid of, nor am I ashamed to confess it! 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 molding the gentler, Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on his errand. II With conflicting feelings of love for Priscilla and duty to his friend, Miles Standish, John Alden does not “speak for himself,” but returns to Plymouth to tell Standish the result of the interview. Then John Alden spake, and related the wondrous adventure, From beginning to end, minutely, just as it happened; How he had seen Priscilla, and how he had sped in his courtship, Only smoothing a little and softening down her refusal. But when he came at length to the words Priscilla had spoken, Words so tender and cruel: “Why don’t you speak for yourself, John?” Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound of sinister omen. All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden explosion, E’en as a hand grenade, that scatters destruction around it. Wildly he shouted and loud: “John Alden! you have betrayed me! Me, Miles Standish, your friend! have supplanted, defrauded, betrayed me! You, who lived under my roof, whom I cherished and loved as a brother; Henceforth let there be nothing between us save war, and implacable hatred!” So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode about in the chamber, Chafing and choking with rage; like cords were the veins on his temples. But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at the doorway, Bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent importance, Rumors of danger and war and hostile incursions of Indians! Straightway the Captain paused, and, without further question or parley, Buckled the belt round his waist, and, frowning fiercely, departed. Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of the scabbard Growing fainter and fainter, and dying away in the distance. Then he arose from his seat, and looked forth into the darkness, Felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was hot with the insult, Lifted his eyes to the heavens and, folding his hands as in childhood, Prayed in the silence of night to the Father who seeth in secret. III. A report comes to the settlement that Miles Standish has been killed in a fight with the Indians. John Alden, feeling that Standish’s death has freed him from the need of keeping his own love for Priscilla silent, woos and wins her. At last the wedding-day arrives. This was the wedding-morn of Priscilla the Puritan maiden. Friends were assembled together; the Elder and Magistrate also Graced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Law and the Gospel, Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth and of Boaz. Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of betrothal, Taking each other for husband and wife in the Magistrate’s presence, After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of Holland. Fervently then, and devoutly, the excellent Elder of Plymouth Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were founded that day in affection, Speaking of life and death, and imploring Divine benedictions. Lo! when the service was ended, a form appeared on the threshold, Clad in armor of steel, a somber and sorrowful figure! Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange apparition? Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on his shoulder? Is it a phantom of air,—a bodiless, spectral illusion? Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the betrothal? Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, unwelcomed; Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden beneath them. Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, but was silent, As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting intention; But when were ended the troth and the prayer and the last benediction, Into the room it strode, and the people beheld with amazement Bodily there in his armor Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth! Grasping the bridegroom’s hand, he said with emotion, “Forgive me! I have been angry and hurt,—too long have I cherished the feeling; I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God! it is ended. Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of Hugh Standish, Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for error. Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John Alden.” Thereupon answered the bridegroom: “Let all be forgotten between us,— Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Priscilla, Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly lauding her husband. Then he said with a smile: “I should have remembered the adage,— If you would be well served, you must serve yourself; and, moreover, No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of Christmas!” Great was the people’s amazement, and greater yet their rejoicing, Thus to behold once more the sunburnt face of their Captain, Whom they had mourned as dead; and they gathered and crowded about him, Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of bride and of bridegroom, Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupting the other, Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpowered and bewildered, He had rather by far break into an Indian encampment, Than come again to a wedding to which he had not been invited. Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morning. Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in the sunshine, Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation; But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden of Eden, Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the sound of the ocean. Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and stir of departure, Friends coming forth from the house, and impatient of longer delaying. Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder, Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla, Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand of its master, Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils, Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle. She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the noonday; Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others, Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her husband, Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey. Onward the bridal procession now moved to the new habitation, Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together. Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring his splendors, Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above them suspended, Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the pine and the fir-tree, Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages, Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca and Isaac, Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers, So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal procession. Henry W. Longfellow. HELPS TO STUDY Miles Standish was one of the early settlers of Plymouth colony. He came over soon after the landing of the Mayflower and was made captain of the colony because of his military experience. The feeble settlement was in danger from the Indians, and Standish’s services were of great importance. He was one of the leaders of Plymouth for a number of years. Longfellow shaped the legend of his courtship into one of the most beautiful poems of American literature, vividly describing the hardships and perils of the early life of New England. I. Where is the scene of the story laid? At what time did it begin? What is the first impression you get of Miles Standish? of John Alden? Read the lines that bring out the soldierly qualities of the one and the studious nature of the other. What lines show that Standish had fought on foreign soil? Read the lines that show John Alden’s interest in Priscilla. What request did Standish make of Alden? How was it received? Why did Alden accept the task? II. What time of the year was it? How do you know? Contrast Alden’s feelings with the scene around him. What were Priscilla’s feelings toward Alden? Quote lines that show this. How did he fulfill his task? With what question did Priscilla finally meet his eloquent appeal in behalf of his friend? How did Standish receive Alden’s report? What interruption occurred? III. What report brought about the marriage of John Alden and Priscilla? Read the lines that describe the beauty of their wedding-day. What time of year was it? How do you know? What custom was followed in the marriage ceremony? Look in the Bible for a description of the marriage of Ruth and Boaz. Find other biblical references in the poem. Who appeared at the end of the ceremony? How was he received? Contrast his mood now with the mood when he left to fight the Indians. What adage did he use to show the difference between his age and Priscilla’s? Describe the final scene of the wedding—the procession to the new home. Tell what you know of early life in Massachusetts. SUPPLEMENTARY READING
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