Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and

placable always,

Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he

was little of stature;

For he was great of heart, magnanimous, court

ly, courageous;

Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman

in England,

Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of Miles Standish!

But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language,

Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of

his rival,

Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes over

running with laughter,

Said, in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak for yourself, John?"

IV.

JOHN ALDEN.

INTO the open air John Alden, perplexed and

bewildered,

Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone

by the sea-side;

Paced up and down the sands, and bared his

head to the east-wind,

Cooling his heated brow, and the fire and

fever within him.

Slowly as out of the heavens, with apocalypti

cal splendors,

Sank the City of God, in the vision of John the Apostle,

So, with its cloudy walls of chrysolite, jasper,

and sapphire,

Sank the broad red sun, and over its turrets

uplifted

Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who

measured the city.

“Welcome, Ο wind of the East!" he exclaimed in his wild exultation,

"Welcome, O wind of the East, from the caves of the misty Atlantic!

Blowing o'er fields of dulse, and measureless

meadows of sea-grass,

Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottos and

gardens of ocean!

Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning fore

head, and wrap me

Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the

fever within me!"

Like an awakened conscience, the sea was moaning and tossing,

Beating remorseful and loud the mutable sands of the sea-shore.

Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult

of passions contending;

Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded and bleeding,

Passionate cries of desire, and importunate

pleadings of duty!

"Is it my fault," he said, "that the maiden

has chosen between us?

Is it my fault that he failed, - my fault that I

am the victor?"

Then within him there thundered a voice, like the voice of the Prophet:

"It hath displeased the Lord!" - and he thought of David's transgression, Bathsheba's beautiful face, and his friend in the front of the battle!

Shame and confusion of guilt, and abasement

and self-condemnation,

Overwhelmed him at once; and he cried in the

deepest contrition:

"It hath displeased the Lord! It is the temp

tation of Satan!"

Then, uplifting his head, he looked at the

sea, and beheld there

Dimly the shadowy form of the May Flower

riding at anchor,

Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on

the morrow;

Heard the voices of men through the mist, the

rattle of cordage

Thrown on the deck, the shouts of the mate, and the sailors' "Ay, ay, Sir!"

Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the dripping

air of the twilight.

Still for a moment he stood, and listened, and

stared at the vessel,