"Come back,--come back!" the parson cried, "The church's curse beware."
"Curse, an' thou wilt," said Macy, "but Thy blessing prithee spare."
"Vile scoffer!" cried the baffled priest, "Thou 'lt yet the gallows see."
"Who's born to be hanged will not be drowned,"
Quoth Macy, merrily;
"And so, sir sheriff and priest, good-by!"
He bent him to his oar, And the small boat glided quietly From the twain upon the shore.
Now in the west, the heavy clouds Scattered and fell asunder, While feebler came the rush of rain, And fainter growled the thunder.
And through the broken clouds, the sun Looked out serene and warm, Painting its holy symbol-light Upon the passing storm.
Oh, beautiful! that rainbow span, O'er dim Crane-neck was bended; One bright foot touched the eastern hills, And one with ocean blended.
By green Pentucket's southern'slope The small boat glided fast; The watchers of the Block-house saw The strangers as they passed.
That night a stalwart garrison Sat shaking in their shoes, To hear the dip of Indian oars, The glide of birch canoes.
The fisher-wives of Salisbury-- The men were all away-- Looked out to see the stranger oar Upon their waters play.
Deer-Island's rocks and fir-trees threw Their sunset-shadows o'er them, And Newbury's spire and weathercock Peered o'er the pines before them.
Around the Black Rocks, on their left, The marsh lay broad and green; And on their right, with dwarf shrubs crowned, Plum Island's hills were seen.
With skilful hand and wary eye The harbor-bar was crossed; A plaything of the restless wave, The boat on ocean tossed.
The glory of the sunset heaven On land and water lay; On the steep hills of Agawam, On cape, and bluff, and bay.
They passed the gray rocks of Cape Ann, And Gloucester's harbor-bar; The watch-fire of the garrison Shone like a setting star.
How brightly broke the morning On Massachusetts Bay!
Blue wave, and bright green island, Rejoicing in the day.
On passed the bark in safety Round isle and headland steep; No tempest broke above them, No fog-cloud veiled the deep.
Far round the bleak and stormy Cape The venturous Macy passed, And on Nantucket's naked isle Drew up his boat at last.
And how, in log-built cabin, They braved the rough sea-weather; And there, in peace and quietness, Went down life's vale together;
How others drew around them, And how their fishing sped, Until to every wind of heaven Nantucket's sails were spread;
How pale Want alternated With Plenty's golden smile; Behold, is it not written In the annals of the isle?
And yet that isle remaineth A refuge of the free, As when true-hearted Macy Beheld it from the sea.
Free as the winds that winnow Her shrubless hills of sand, Free as the waves that batter Along her yielding land.
Than hers, at duty's summons, No loftier spirit stirs, Nor falls o'er human suffering A readier tear then hers.
God bless the sea-beat island!
And grant forevermore, That charity and freedom dwell As now upon her shore!
1841.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
ERE down yon blue Carpathian hills The sun shall sink again, Farewell to life and all its ills, Farewell to cell and chain!
These prison shades are dark and cold, But, darker far than they, The shadow of a sorrow old Is on my heart alway.
For since the day when Warkworth wood Closed o'er my steed, and I, An alien from my name and blood, A weed cast out to die,--
When, looking back in sunset light, I saw her turret gleam, And from its casement, far and white, Her sign of farewell stream,
Like one who, from some desert shore, Doth home's green isles descry, And, vainly longing, gazes o'er The waste of wave and sky;
So from the desert of my fate I gaze across the past; Forever on life's dial-plate The shade is backward cast!
I've wandered wide from shore to shore, I've knelt at many a shrine; And bowed me to the rocky floor Where Bethlehem's tapers shine;
And by the Holy Sepulchre I've pledged my knightly sword To Christ, His blessed Church, and her, The Mother of our Lord.
Oh, vain the vow, and vain the strife!
How vain do all things seem!
My soul is in the past, and life To-day is but a dream.
In vain the penance strange and long, And hard for flesh to bear; The prayer, the fasting, and the thong, And sackcloth shirt of hair.
The eyes of memory will not sleep, Its ears are open still; And vigils with the past they keep Against my feeble will.
And still the loves and joys of old Do evermore uprise; I see the flow of locks of gold, The shine of loving eyes!
Ah me! upon another's breast Those golden locks recline; I see upon another rest The glance that once was mine.
"O faithless priest! O perjured knight!"
I hear the Master cry; "Shut out the vision from thy sight, Let Earth and Nature die.
"The Church of God is now thy spouse, And thou the bridegroom art; Then let the burden of thy vows Crush down thy human heart!"
In vain! This heart its grief must know, Till life itself hath ceased, And falls beneath the self-same blow The lover and the priest!
O pitying Mother! souls of light, And saints and martyrs old!
Pray for a weak and sinful knight, A suffering man uphold.