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III.

THE LOVER'S ERRAND.

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 bluebirds and robins were

building

Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gardens' of ver

dure,

Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and freedom. 5 All around him was calm, but within him commotion and

conflict,

Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse.

To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dash

ing,

10

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 lamenta

tion,

"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? 15 Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its depths of corrup

tion

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!

1 The hanging gardens of Babylon were regarded as one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. They were a mass of terraces supported by pillars and elaborate masonry, forming an artificial hill of pyramidal shape in the vast plain of the Euphrates. They had an area of four acres, and were covered with luxuriant vegetation of all kinds, which was irrigated from a reservoir at the summit of the whole.

This is the hand of the Lord; it is laid upon me in anger, 20 For I have followed too much the heart's desires and de

2

vices, 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, 25 Gathering still, as he went, the Mayflowers blooming around him,

Fragrant, filling the air with a strange and wonderful sweet

ness,

Children lost in the woods, and covered with leaves in their slumber.

3

"Puritan flowers," he said, "and the type of Puritan maidens,

30

Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla!
So I will take them to her; to Priscilla the Mayflower of

Plymouth,

1 More properly Ashtoreth, the goddess of love, and principal female divinity of the Phenicians. Like the Greek Astarte, she is identified with the moon, and is represented under the symbol of the crescent. Groves were favorite places of her worship, which is denounced in the Old Testament. See Judges, ii. 13, 1 Samuel, xii. 10, and 1 Kings, xi. 5, 43.

2 The supreme male deity of the Phenicians, representing the fertility and productive power of nature. He was worshipped as the sun-god, and incense, bulls, and human sacrifices, especially children, were offered to him. His worship, like that of Ashtoreth, was attended by wild and licentious orgies. See Joshua, xi. 17, Jeremiah, xxxii. 29, and 1 Kings, xvi. 32, and xviii. 26.

3 Children in the wood, or babes in the wood. An old English ballad of unknown authorship, preserved in Ritson's, Percy's, and other collections. The ballad was entered in the Stationer's Register, in 1595. In 1601 a play was published "of a young child murthered in a wood by two ruffins with the consent of his unkle." The plot of this play was undoubtedly derived from the Italian, and the ballad may have been produced from the same source. - Child.

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;

35

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 an

them,1

40

Music that Luther sang to the sacred words of the Psalm

ist,

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 ravenous

spindle,

45

While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion.

1 The tune sung by Priscilla is now familiarly known as Old Hundred; the version was the translation of Psalm c. by Ainsworth:

"Bow to Jehovah all the earth.

Serve ye Jehovah with gladness; before him come with singing mirth.

Know that Jehovah he God is. It's he that made us and not we, his flock and sheep of his feeding.

Oh, with confession enter ye his gates, his courtyard with praising. Confess to him, bless ye his name.

Because Jehovah he good is; his mercy ever is the same, and his faith unto all ages."

2 Martin Luther, a German reformer and translator of the Bible. He was born at Eisleben, Prussian Saxony, Nov. 10, 1483, and died in the same place, Feb. 18, 1546. He translated the Psalms in 1524, and in the same year appeared his hymn-book.

Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm-book of Ainsworth,1

Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music together, Rough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of a churchyard,

Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the verses. 50 Such was the book from whose pages she sang the old Puritan

anthem,

She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the forest,
Making the humble house and the modest apparel of home-

spun

Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the wealth of her being!

Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and cold and relentless, 55

Thoughts of what might have been, and the weight and woe of his errand;

All the dreams that had faded, and all the hopes that had

vanished,

All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless mansion,
Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrowful faces.
Still he said to himself, and almost fiercely he said it,
"Let not him that putteth his hand to the plough look back-

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60

Though the ploughshare cut through the flowers of life to its fountains,

Though it pass o'er the graves of the dead and the hearths of the living,

It is the will of the Lord; and his mercy endureth forever!". So he entered the house; and the hum of the wheel and the

1 Henry Ainsworth, an English separatist clergyman, controversialist, and rabbinical scholar. Born at Pleasington, Lancashire, England, 1571; died at Amsterdam about 1622. 2 The chief commercial city of Holland, to which Ainsworth fled from the persecution of the Brownists. There he became porter to a bookseller and later pastor to a congregation.

3 Luke, ix. 62.

4 Jeremiah, xxxiii. 11.

singing

65

Suddenly ceased; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the threshold,

Rose as he entered and gave him her hand, in signal of welcome,

Saying, "I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the passage;

For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and spinning."

Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought of him had been mingled 70

Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart of the maiden,

Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for an answer,

Finding no words for his thought. He remembered that day in the winter,

After the first great snow, when he broke a path from the village,

Reeling and plunging along through the drifts that encum75

bered the doorway, Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered the house, and Priscilla

Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave him a seat by the fireside,

Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of her in the snow-storm.

Had he but spoken then! perhaps not in vain had he spoken; Now it was all too late; the golden moment had vanished! 80 So he stood there abashed, and gave her the flowers for an

answer.

Then they sat down and talked of the birds and the beauti

ful springtime;

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