I. MILES STANDISH. In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims, To and fro in a room of his simple and primi tive dwelling, Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordo van leather, Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain. Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare, Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, Cutlass and corslet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus, Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence, While underneath, in a corner, were fowlingpiece, musket, and matchlock. Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic, Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron ; Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges some times in November. Near him was seated John Alden, his friend, and household companion, Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window; |