  BY ERASTUS W. ELLSWORTH.
I. The memory of Nathan Hale, Who, in the days of strife, For freedom of our native land, Laid down his noble life. Lord Howe, Cornwallis, Percy earl Were come in wide array, And from Long Island to New York Had pushed our guns away. Our Father looked across the Sound, Disaster groaned behind, And many dubious, anxious thoughts Were labouring in his mind. "Knowlton," said he, "I need a man, Such as is hard to meet, A trusty, brave, and loyal man, And skilful in deceit. "The British, now in Brooklyn lodged, May divers plans pursue: Find me a man to go and spy What Howe intends to do." Said Knowlton, "Sir, I make no doubt Many apt men have we." He went. At nightfall he returned With Hale in company. 2. "Young friend," said Washington to Hale, "It much imports to know What mischief Howe is brooding on; Which way intends to go. "But though you might, with help of Grace, Unmask his schemes of ill, I will not risk your generous blood Without your perfect will." "Grave Sir," said Hale, "I left my home, Not for the love of strife, But for my country's cause resolved, Knowing I risked my life. "Between my duty and my will, In service light or sore, It is not now for me to choose, For that was done before. "Let not your Excellency poise What may to me ensue; But weigh the service to be done, And judge my power to do." "Well said; then briefly thus:—Put on Some other self-disguise— And by to-morrow morning be Among our enemies. "Go safely curious how you will, And spy whate'er you may, Of how their troops have borne the bruise They gave us yesterday. "And deeper else—our chief concern, And study at this hour— Find if their guns are hither aimed; Or, with divided power, "Cleft from the rearward of their force, While we stand here attent; Or farther south, or farther north, They mean to make descent. "Brooklyn to them is vantage-ground. Find what you can. To know The mischief in a foeman's thought Is half to foil a foe. "The moon goes down"—"By nine," said Hale. Said Knowlton: "Nay, at ten." "Can you be off so soon as that?" "I hardly think by then: "Nor would—for let me plead that I, Herein, may yield my breath; And mine affairs I would devise As if before my death. "God knows what hearts may crack for this. But failure, or no fail, To-morrow morning I'll be there, As I am Nathan Hale." "Bravely, my boy! Such soul as this Is better than a host. To dare is little, if to dare Unmindful of the cost." 3. The night was broadly overcast, And the scant moon and stars, From the dim dungeons of the clouds, Looked through their iron bars. "My worthy lad," said Washington, "We seek without despair, Although we find, in all yon arch, No sign of morning there." "And know whose gracious hand it is That times the darkest sky," Said Hale. "Adieu!" said Washington, "God keep you,—go,—good-bye!" II. The flitting Hours, with golden brands Once more adorned with flame, Beheld our land in busy act, Where war was all the game. Out of his cups of deep carouse, That reeled till morning shine, The Provost of the Lion camp Came forth the tented line. An ugly man,—a tiger soul, Lodged in a human house,— With whiskey fuming from his hide, And hair about his brows. And Hale had hid his skiff, and now Was coming by the shore, Thinking of many serious things He never thought before. He mused of all the hard assays Of this our mortal state; The bitter bruise, and bloody blows Of Virtue matched with Fate. He heard the larks and robins sing, And tears came in his eyes, To think how man, and man alone, Was cast from Paradise. 2. "Well Hodge, how's turnips? What's in this?" "Now who be you?" said Hale, "I aint no Hodge,—taint turnips,—stop,— Let go,—this here's for sale." "Powder and grog! be quiet, lad. Tobacco! by my soul! Rebel, we've come to take the land,— Hands off!—I seize the whole." The Provost wheeled towards the camp. Hale followed with a cry: "Give me my pack—now—come—you sir!" "Clod-shoes, get home!—not I." But epaulettes were on the road.— The trick was getting worse. The Provost dumped the pack aside, With a substantial curse. "Wa'al, mister, that's the han'some thing! That are tobaker's prime. I knowed you didn't mean to grab,— I knowed it all the time. "I'm goin' to peddle, up to camp, And if you only would Go snacks, and help me sell, you might. Come, I should say you could." "Yorky, pick up your pack, hook on, Hook on, we'll make it even." The lines were passed, the countersign,— "Whither away,"—was given. "I see," said Hale, within himself, "This man's internal shape,— The Devil can do a gracious turn, To shy a graceless scrape." 3. Gay was the camp with liveried men; Some trimmed the gun and blade, Some chatted in the morning sun, Some slept along the shade. And some bore out the soldier dead On his unfollowed bier— The soldier dead, the hapless dead, Who died without a tear. So lately wept from England's shore, And winged with prayers afar, To feel the piercing thunder-shock, Gored by the horns of War. 4. Cried Hale, "Who buys? who buys? who buys? Hearts! Boys! My lads! Hooraw! Thrippence a junk, Britannia rule— Don't any of you chaw?" And all the while his wily eye Was taking curious notes Of men, and arms, and sheeted carts, And guns with stoppered throats. "Boys, what you goin' to doin' on? Hello!—this way that beer. You goin' to captivate New York? Pine-shillin' piece—look here—" "Sing us a song." "'Bout what?" said Hale. "Sing us 'All in the Doons'— 'Britannia Rule'—'God save the King'"— Said Hale, "Don't know the tunes." Cornwallis now came walking by,— "The Capting, hey?" "It is." Hale folded up an ample slice: "D'ye s'pose he'd 'xcept of this?" Mad with the thought, to see the clown Break his own pate with fun, "Do it," said they. Said Hale, "I will." "Jerry's respects"—'twas done. And back he came with open grin; "Took it like ile!" said he. "I swow! I done the handsome thing— He done it, too, to me." III. Sins are like waters in a gap; Like flames to leap a check; If cable Conscience crack a strand, A man may go to wreck. Sins never shut the doors of hearts That give good cheer to sin, But always leave them open wide, For others to come in. Disdaining ours, for England's camp, There lurked a man about, Who, flushed with shame and rage of heart, Like Judas, had gone out. He left us, and he swore revenge, And vengeance did not fail. The courteous fiend, who led his steps, Conducted him to Hale— His kinsman—one whose generous hand, Impelled by bold desire, Had saved him once, and still endured The seal of it in fire. He met him coming from the camp; He saw—he knew the hand— He saw the whole—and in the road He made a sudden stand. "Hum! ha!—It's Captain Hale, I think. Nathan, how do you do? Sorry I am to see you here— Sorry I am for you." Off from the sudden heart of Hale All his disguises fell: "Cousin! good God!—go back with me. And all shall yet be well." "It cannot be. You came to dare, And you must take the rod." Said Hale, "This hand, at Judgment day, Will fan the wrath of God." "Speak not of God," the traitor said; "A good French faith have I— 'No man hath seen Him,' Scripture saith, And 'all is vanity.'" Hale, finding how the scoundrel feared Nor God's nor man's award, Looked for a handy stick or stone, To quicken his regard. But, tiger-soon, the renegade Had gripped his arms around: "Ah, ha!—yes, yes—help! help!" he cried, And crushed him to the ground. 2. Fettered on straw, with soldier guards, The tent-lamp trembling low, The morrow was his day of doom, That night a night of woe. And half the night the gallows sound Of hammers filled his ears, Like strokes upon a passing-bell, Telling his numbered years. His numbered years—alas! how brief! And Memory searched them back, Like one who searches, with a light, Upon a midnight track. The fields, the woods, the humming school, The idly-pondered lore, And the fair-fingered girl that shared His dinner at the door; His room, beneath the homestead eaves, Wherein he laid his head; His mother, come to take the light, And see him warm in bed. These, and their like, distinct and bright, Came back, and fired his brain With visions, all whose sweetness now Was but exalted pain. IV. Ere silence droops her fluttering wing, The pang may all be past; And oft, of good men's latter hours, The easiest is their last. The morn was up, the flickering morn Of summer, towards the fall. "Bravely is all," the guardsman said; Said Hale, "God's grace is all." And now the Provost-Marshal came With soldiers—all was ripe; But out of Hale's tobacco, first, He filled and smoked a pipe. Forth passed the man, through all disguise, With look so sweet and high; He showed no sort of dread, at all, Of what it was to die. Come to the cart, whose doleful planks Beneath his feet did creak, He bowed, and looked about, and stood In attitude to speak. "Holloa! hoa! drummer, bring your drum, Play Yankee Doodle here— Play, while we crack the rebel's neck." Earl Percy then drew near: "Provost," said he, "I shame at this. Let the lad have his say, Or you shall find who rules the camp;" And so he walked away. 2. "Soldiers," said Hale, "you see a man Whom Death must have and keep; And things there are, if I should think, I could not help but weep. "But since in darkness, evermore, God's providences hide, The bravely good, in every age, By faith have bravely died. "That man who scorns his present case, For glorious things to be, I hold that in his scorn he shows His soul's nobility. "Though George the Third completely scourge Our groaning lives away, It cannot, shall not be in vain That I stand here to-day. "Oh take the wings of noble thought! Run out the shapes of Time, To where these clouds shall lift, nor leave A stain upon the clime. "Behold the crown of ages gone, Sublime and self-possessed; In empire of the floods and shores None so completely blest. "This land shall come to vast estate, In freedom vastly grow, And I shall have a name to live, Who helped to build it so. "Ye patriots, true and sorely tried, When the dark days assail, I seem to see what tears ye shed, At thought of Nathan Hale. "Where is that man among ye all, Who come to see me die, That would not glory in his soul, If he had done as I? "Judge, then, how I have wrecked my life. And in what cause begun. I sorrow but in one regret, That I can lose but one. "In Thee, O Christ! I now repose— Thou art my All to me; And unto Thee, thou Triune God— Oh make my country free!" Then turning to a guard, who wept Like sudden April rain, And scattered from his generous eyes The drops of holy pain. "Unto your honest tears I trust These letters to convey." Then, to the Provost-Marshal, Hale Did mildly turn, and say: "Before from underneath my feet The fatal cart is gone, I fain would hear the chaplain pray; Sir Provost have you none?" As when a dreadful lion roams The torrid sands, and sees A fawn among the valleys drink, Beneath the tuneful trees; If, 'chance, he sees the tender hind Just move behind an oak, He snaps his teeth, and snaps his tail, And makes the desert smoke. So, when the Provost witnessed Hale To softer hands convey His parting love, and heard him ask To hear the chaplain pray, He jumped like mad, he danced about, Did dance, and roar, and swear— The furies in his furnace eyes, And in his rampant hair. "Dog of a thief! ere you shall have Priest, book, or passing-bell, Your rebel hide shall rot in air, Your soul shall roast in hell!" "God's will be done!" said Nathan Hale: "Farewell to life and light!" They pulled the cloth about his eyes, And the slack cord was tight. V. Once more the rack, along the Sound, Curled to the mounting sun, That kissed, with mercy's beams, a world Where such strange things are done. Along our lines the sentry walked; The dew was on his hair; He felt the night in every limb, But kept his station there; And watched the shimmering spires, and saw The swallows slide away; When, o'er the fields, there came a man, Rough, and in rough array. "Holla, you Yankee scout!" said he, "They've caught your Captain Hale, And choked him for a traitor spy, Dead as a dead door-nail. "Run—use your rebel soldier legs— Tell General Washington. Don't wait—you'll be promoted for't— I'll stand and hold your gun." Out spake the guard—"You British crow, Curse on your croaking head! Move off, or else, I swear, you'll get The cartridge and the lead." 2. Full of his news, the sentry soon To Knowlton told the same. Knowlton, with tears in either eye, To the head-quarters came, And told to General Washington Poor Hale's unhappy case. Nought answered he, but bowed awhile, With hands upon his face. Then rising, steadfast and serene, The same great master still— Curbing a noble sorrow down With a more noble will— "Bring me," said he, "my writing-desk, And maps last night begun; Send hither Putnam, Lee, and Greene, For much is to be done." So perished Nathan Hale. God grant Us not to die as he; But, for the glorious Stripes and Stars, Such iron loyalty.
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