Part 15 (1/2)

Ay, call it holy ground, the soil where first they trod: They left unstained, what there they found, Freedom to wors.h.i.+p G.o.d.

--_Mrs. Hemans._

HE PRAYETH BEST.

”He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear G.o.d who loveth us, He made and loveth all.”

--_Coleridge._

EACH AND ALL.

Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown, Of thee from the hilltop looking down; The heifer that lows in the upland farm, Far heard, lows not thine ear to charm, The s.e.xton, tolling his bell at noon, Deems not that great Napoleon Stops his horse, and lists with delight, Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height; Nor knowest thou what argument Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent.

All are needed by each one; Nothing is fair or good alone.

I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, Singing at dawn on the alder bough; I brought him home, in his nest, at even, He sings the song, but it cheers not now, For I did not bring the river and sky; He sang to my ear, they sang to my eye.

The delicate sh.e.l.ls lay on the sh.o.r.e; The bubbles of the latest wave Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, And the bellowing of the savage sea Greeted their safe escape to me.

I wiped away the weeds and foam, I fetched my sea-born treasures home; But the poor, unsightly, noisome things Had left their beauty on the sh.o.r.e With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.

The lover watched his graceful maid, As mid the virgin train she strayed, Nor knew her beauty's best attire Was woven still by the snow-white quire.

At last she came to his hermitage, Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage; The gay enchantment was undone, A gentle wife, but fairy none.

When I said, ”I covet truth; Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat; I leave it behind with the games of youth.”

As I spoke, beneath my feet The ground pine curled its pretty leaf, Running over the club-moss burrs; I inhaled the violet's breath; Around me stood the oaks and firs, Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground.

Over me soared the eternal sky, Full of light and of deity; Again I saw, again I heard, The rolling river, the morning bird; Beauty through my senses stole: I yielded myself to the perfect whole.

--_Emerson._

PAUL REVERE'S RIDE.

Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.

On the eighteenth of April in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, ”If the British march By land or sea from the town[21] to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light-- One if by land, and two if by sea, And I on the opposite sh.o.r.e[22] will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middles.e.x village and farm, For the country folk to be up and to arm.”

Then he said ”Good-night!” and with m.u.f.fled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown sh.o.r.e, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war; A phantom s.h.i.+p, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar, And a huge black hulk that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, Wanders and watches with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, And the measured tread of the grenadiers[23]

Marching down to their boats on the sh.o.r.e.

Then he climbed to the tower of the church, Up the wooden stairs with stealthy tread, To the belfry chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch, On the sombre rafters, that round him made Ma.s.ses and moving shapes of shade-- Up the light ladder, slender and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town, And the moonlight flowing over all.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite sh.o.r.e walked Paul Revere Now he patted his horse's side, Now gazed at the landscape far and near, Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, And turned and tightened his saddle girth; But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry-tower of the old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.

And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!

He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A _second_ lamp in the belfry burns!