Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for the most

part.

Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth, Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but of

actions,

Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. Not in these words, you know, but this in short is my mean

ing;

65

I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases.
You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in elegant language,
Such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings

of lovers,

Such as you think best adapted to win the heart of a maiden."

When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair-haired, taciturn stripling,

70

All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewildered, Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject with light

ness,

Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still in his bosom,

Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is stricken by lightning,

Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered than answered: 75 "Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle and mar it;

If you would have it well done,-I am only repeating your maxim,

You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others!" But with the air of a man whom nothing can turn from his

purpose,

Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Captain of Plym

outh:

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"Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to gainsay it; But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder for

nothing.

Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of phrases.
I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to sur-

render,

But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare not. 85 I'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth of a can

non,

But of a thundering 'No!' point-blank from the mouth of

a woman,

That I confess I'm afraid of, nor am I ashamed to confess it! So you must grant my request, for you are an elegant

scholar,

Having the graces of speech, and skill in the turning of phrases."

90

Taking the hand of his friend, who still was reluctant and doubtful,

Holding it long in his own, and pressing it kindly, he added: "Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep is the feeling

that prompts me;

Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name of our friendship!"

95

Then made answer John Alden: "The name of friendship is sacred; What you demand in that name, I have not the power to deny you!"

So the strong will prevailed, subduing and moulding the gentler,

Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on his errand.

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

dūre,

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!

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

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,

Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla! 30 So I will take them to her; to Priscilla the Mayflower of

Plymouth,