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So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on his errand, Out of the street of the village, and into the paths of the forest, Into the tranquil woods, where blue-birds and robins were building Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gardens of verdure, Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and freedom. All around him was calm, but within him com

motion and conflict,

Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse. To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing, As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the vessel, Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of the ocean “Must I relinquish it all,” he cried with a wild lamentation, “Must I relinquish it all, the joy, the hope, the illusion ? Was it for this I have loved, and waited, and worshipped in silence? Was it for this I have followed the flying feet and the shadow Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of New England? Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its depths of corruption

Rise, like an exhalation, the misty phantoms of passion ; Angels of light they seem, but are only delusions of Satan. All is clear to me now ; I feel it, I see it distinctly This is the hand of the Lord; it is laid upon me in anger, For I have followed too much the heart's desires and devices, Worshipping Astaroth blindly, and impious idols of Baal. This is the cross I must bear; the sin and the

swift retribution.”

So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand ; Crossing the brook at the ford, where it brawled over pebble and shallow, Gathering still, as he went, the May-flowers

blooming around him,

Fragrant, filling the air with a strange and wonderful sweetness, Children lost in the woods, and covered with leaves in their slumber. “Puritan flowers,” he said, “and the type of Puritan maidens, Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla So I will take them to her; to Priscilla the - May-flower of Plymouth, Modest and simple and sweet, as a parting gift will I take them; Breathing their silent farewells, as they fade and wither and perish, Soon to be thrown away as is the heart of the giver.” So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand ; Came to an open space, and saw the disk of the ocean,

Sailless, sombre and cold with the comfortless breath of the east-wind; Saw the new-built house, and people at work in a meadow; Heard, as he drew near the door, the musical voice of Priscilla Singing the hundredth Psalm, the grand old Puritan anthem, Music that Luther sang to the sacred words of the Psalmist, Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and comforting many. Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of the maiden Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the Ira Wenous spindle, While with her foot on the treadle she guided

the wheel in its motion.

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