 | Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) |  |
117
ARNOLD'S TREASON.
Night upon the Highland hills,
Night upon the mighty river,
Darkly in the witching calm
Did the breezeless aspen shiver;
Darkly o'er the shrouded moon,
Where the misty vapors flying,
Sadly down the hollow pass
Sighed the night air, softly dying.
Night upon the mighty river,
Darkly in the witching calm
Did the breezeless aspen shiver;
Darkly o'er the shrouded moon,
Where the misty vapors flying,
Sadly down the hollow pass
Sighed the night air, softly dying.
Silence, like a heavy shadow,
Brooded over Hudson's breast—
Brooded over Beacon hoary,
Brooded over huge Crow-nest:
Save when, as the tide was making,
Faintly rose its fitful dash;
Save when, all the echoes waking,
Rose the leaping sturgeon's flash.
Brooded over Hudson's breast—
Brooded over Beacon hoary,
Brooded over huge Crow-nest:
Save when, as the tide was making,
Faintly rose its fitful dash;
Save when, all the echoes waking,
Rose the leaping sturgeon's flash.
Once and oft the katydid
Shrilled upon the mountain side,
Once and oft from shoal and shadow
Deep the bullfrog's bass replied.
Mute was all beside and solemn;
Tread of brute, or wild-fowl's flight,
Sounded none i' the stilly woods,
Sounded none i' the starless night.
Shrilled upon the mountain side,
Once and oft from shoal and shadow
Deep the bullfrog's bass replied.
Mute was all beside and solemn;
Tread of brute, or wild-fowl's flight,
Sounded none i' the stilly woods,
Sounded none i' the starless night.
118
Leagues of wilderness and river,
Countless leagues, lay hushed in sleep;
Scarce a rustle in the trees,
Scarce a ripple on the deep.
Not a sign was there or token,
Not a sign of human life,
Yet those woods and waters lonely
All with armèd foes were rife.
Countless leagues, lay hushed in sleep;
Scarce a rustle in the trees,
Scarce a ripple on the deep.
Not a sign was there or token,
Not a sign of human life,
Yet those woods and waters lonely
All with armèd foes were rife.
Floated o'er the fortress northward
New-born freedom's clustered stars,
Soon to rank with flags that numbered
Centuries of glorious scars;
Southward o'er the vulture's pinion,
Meteor of a thousand years,
Gleamed old England's red cross glorious,
Known wherever pilot steers.
New-born freedom's clustered stars,
Soon to rank with flags that numbered
Centuries of glorious scars;
Southward o'er the vulture's pinion,
Meteor of a thousand years,
Gleamed old England's red cross glorious,
Known wherever pilot steers.
Noble foemen, southward, northward;
Noble foemen, noble cause:
These for loyalty and fame,
Those for liberty and laws.
Long had been the strife between them,
Long and hard 'twas like to be,
Those the tamers of the forest,
These the rulers of the sea.
Noble foemen, noble cause:
These for loyalty and fame,
Those for liberty and laws.
Long had been the strife between them,
Long and hard 'twas like to be,
Those the tamers of the forest,
These the rulers of the sea.
Yet was treason in the camp,
Where no treason should have been.
But it has been so forever,
So forever 'twill be seen,
That the highest, holiest cause,
And the purest patriot band,
Number with the good and great
Still the traitor's heart and hand.
Where no treason should have been.
But it has been so forever,
So forever 'twill be seen,
That the highest, holiest cause,
And the purest patriot band,
Number with the good and great
Still the traitor's heart and hand.
119
When the Persian myriads quailed,
Quailed before the hundreds three,
Of the glorious Spartans one
Died not at Thermopylæ:
When the consuls yet were new,
And the Tarquins hardly down,
One in Rome, a Brutus too,
Sold his country to the crown.
Quailed before the hundreds three,
Of the glorious Spartans one
Died not at Thermopylæ:
When the consuls yet were new,
And the Tarquins hardly down,
One in Rome, a Brutus too,
Sold his country to the crown.
And if man the foulest treason
Plot against his fellow clay,
How shall we presume to murmur,
Things whose life is but a day,
When the Lord of earth and heaven
Counted in his chosen fold
Judas, who betrayed his Master
For the filthy lust of gold?
Plot against his fellow clay,
How shall we presume to murmur,
Things whose life is but a day,
When the Lord of earth and heaven
Counted in his chosen fold
Judas, who betrayed his Master
For the filthy lust of gold?
Mark the bullfrog's startled croak,
Mark the teal on sudden pinion
Springing from her watery roost:
What invades their wild dominion?
Lo! with noiseless motion stealing,
In the shadow of the shore,
Not a star its course revealing,
Crawls a boat with muffled oar.
Mark the teal on sudden pinion
Springing from her watery roost:
What invades their wild dominion?
Lo! with noiseless motion stealing,
In the shadow of the shore,
Not a star its course revealing,
Crawls a boat with muffled oar.
Crawls a boat with muffled oar
Slowly toward an inlet deep,
Where the Long-clove frowns above,
And dark below the eddies sleep.
Not an eagle's eye could pierce
That recess of utter gloom,
Suited well for treason's cradle,
Suited well for a traitor's tomb.
Slowly toward an inlet deep,
Where the Long-clove frowns above,
And dark below the eddies sleep.
Not an eagle's eye could pierce
That recess of utter gloom,
Suited well for treason's cradle,
Suited well for a traitor's tomb.
120
Grated on the rocks the keel,
Stepped a stately form to land;
Well could rein the dashing war-horse,
Well could wield the mortal brand.
Nobler spirit, braver hand,
Warmer heart have never met;
Woe betide the wicked hour
When ashore his foot he set!
Stepped a stately form to land;
Well could rein the dashing war-horse,
Well could wield the mortal brand.
Nobler spirit, braver hand,
Warmer heart have never met;
Woe betide the wicked hour
When ashore his foot he set!
Not a word had yet been spoken,
For the rowers knew him not;
Knew him not the man who steered him
To that gloomy, guilty spot.
But there waited one ashore,
Shrouded in the shades of night,
Shrouded in the thickest covert—
His were deeds that shun the light.
For the rowers knew him not;
Knew him not the man who steered him
To that gloomy, guilty spot.
But there waited one ashore,
Shrouded in the shades of night,
Shrouded in the thickest covert—
His were deeds that shun the light.
Yet had he a glorious name:
Deeds of his i' the face of day
Had outgrown all rival laurels,
None so daring-bold as they;
By the wild Dead River's course,
On Megantic's stormy lake,
On the Chaudières's boiling rapids,
In morass, ravine, and brake;
Deeds of his i' the face of day
Had outgrown all rival laurels,
None so daring-bold as they;
By the wild Dead River's course,
On Megantic's stormy lake,
On the Chaudières's boiling rapids,
In morass, ravine, and brake;
On the plains of Abram glorious,
All beneath the battled wall,
That beheld young Wolfe victorious
In the arms of glory fall
In the weary, weary march
Up the wintry Kennebec,
In the fight where fell Montgomery
By the ramparts of Quebec.
All beneath the battled wall,
That beheld young Wolfe victorious
In the arms of glory fall
In the weary, weary march
Up the wintry Kennebec,
In the fight where fell Montgomery
By the ramparts of Quebec.
121
Upon Bemis' bloody height,
And the field of grounded arms,
Foremost he, though not their leader,
Led the men i' the fierce alarms;
Foremost when the works were taken,
When the Hessian lines were won,
Fell he, horse and man, i' the port,
Wounded fell, when his work was done.
And the field of grounded arms,
Foremost he, though not their leader,
Led the men i' the fierce alarms;
Foremost when the works were taken,
When the Hessian lines were won,
Fell he, horse and man, i' the port,
Wounded fell, when his work was done.
But it galled his haughty spirit,
And it rankled in his heart:
Others won the meed of praise,
Only he had played the part;
Fame deferred and rank denied
Turned his very soul to gall;
Pride it was that conquered him—
Pride which made an angel fall.
And it rankled in his heart:
Others won the meed of praise,
Only he had played the part;
Fame deferred and rank denied
Turned his very soul to gall;
Pride it was that conquered him—
Pride which made an angel fall.
Heavy debt oppressed him too:
Oh! but he was sorely tried!
Oh! that in the battle's hurly
Young and honored he had died!
But he hedged aside from truth,
Held not honor in his eye;
Pray we, then, for grace to fall not,—
Fall not thus, but rather die!
Oh! but he was sorely tried!
Oh! that in the battle's hurly
Young and honored he had died!
But he hedged aside from truth,
Held not honor in his eye;
Pray we, then, for grace to fall not,—
Fall not thus, but rather die!
Partly spurred by bitter hate,
Partly driven by sordid need,
He his patriot laurels bartered
Basely for a traitor's meed;
He, in falling, by his sin
Dragged a loftier spirit down—
Spirit that stooped not to treason,
Would not stoop to win a crown.
Partly driven by sordid need,
He his patriot laurels bartered
Basely for a traitor's meed;
He, in falling, by his sin
Dragged a loftier spirit down—
Spirit that stooped not to treason,
Would not stoop to win a crown.
122
No man knows the words they said,
No man knows the villain's suit;
For the knave escaped his doom,
And the martyr perished mute.
No man knows but only this,
That his post he should betray;—
Near the sun! the work not done!
And they mounted and away.
No man knows the villain's suit;
For the knave escaped his doom,
And the martyr perished mute.
No man knows but only this,
That his post he should betray;—
Near the sun! the work not done!
And they mounted and away.
Hard they galloped up the road;
Up the road through Haverstraw:
Through the village, o'er the bridge;
Their approach the sentry saw,—
Challenged loud—advanced his arms;
“Congress” is the countersign;
“Pass—all's well!” the sentry cried;
He is in the foeman's line.
Up the road through Haverstraw:
Through the village, o'er the bridge;
Their approach the sentry saw,—
Challenged loud—advanced his arms;
“Congress” is the countersign;
“Pass—all's well!” the sentry cried;
He is in the foeman's line.
Heavily it smote his heart!
He, a Briton, thus betrayed;
He, who loathed the name of baseness,
Basely thus a prisoner made!
He had risked his person boldly;
He was clad in his martial dress!
He was perilled, oh, how coldly!
By the traitor knave's address.
He, a Briton, thus betrayed;
He, who loathed the name of baseness,
Basely thus a prisoner made!
He had risked his person boldly;
He was clad in his martial dress!
He was perilled, oh, how coldly!
By the traitor knave's address.
To a lonely house was he taken;
Never told he what passed there,
Though he tarried till the morning,
Till the sun shone broad and fair.
Then the traitor turned him home,—
Turned him home, his treason planned:
Little recked he what fell out,
So the guerdon reached his hand.
Never told he what passed there,
Though he tarried till the morning,
Till the sun shone broad and fair.
Then the traitor turned him home,—
Turned him home, his treason planned:
Little recked he what fell out,
So the guerdon reached his hand.
123
Turned and left his victim there,
Cheated by a specious lie!
Left the true and noble-hearted
By a felon's doom to die!
Sent him not in safety back
To the Vulture, whence he came;
But by dastard artifice
Left him to a death of shame.
Cheated by a specious lie!
Left the true and noble-hearted
By a felon's doom to die!
Sent him not in safety back
To the Vulture, whence he came;
But by dastard artifice
Left him to a death of shame.
Oh! but he resisted strongly,
Ere he laid his dress aside;
Oh! but he consented wrongly,
Or he never so had died.
He had passed the farthest post,
He was riding free from fear;
And the foe was far behind,
And the English lines were near;
Ere he laid his dress aside;
Oh! but he consented wrongly,
Or he never so had died.
He had passed the farthest post,
He was riding free from fear;
And the foe was far behind,
And the English lines were near;
When beside a little brook,
Three who lay in ambush nigh
Bade him stand—he 'lighted down,
And they took him for a spy!
Then to Northcastle they led him:
Sheldon's horsemen there they lay,
And his hours they were numbered—
They were numbered on that day.
Three who lay in ambush nigh
Bade him stand—he 'lighted down,
And they took him for a spy!
Then to Northcastle they led him:
Sheldon's horsemen there they lay,
And his hours they were numbered—
They were numbered on that day.
For the papers they were found,
And the traitor he had fled,
And the victim would not lie!
Lie? no! not to save his head!
Would not lie to save his head!
Would not lie to save his fame!
He had risked his person fairly,—
Never risked his soldier name!
And the traitor he had fled,
And the victim would not lie!
Lie? no! not to save his head!
Would not lie to save his head!
Would not lie to save his fame!
He had risked his person fairly,—
Never risked his soldier name!
124
Dying, 'twas his only fear
Lest his leader should suppose
That obedience to his orders
Had betrayed him to his foes;
And the fondest, latest wish
Of his noble, noble heart,
Was to save Sir Henry's soul
From that unavailing smart.
Lest his leader should suppose
That obedience to his orders
Had betrayed him to his foes;
And the fondest, latest wish
Of his noble, noble heart,
Was to save Sir Henry's soul
From that unavailing smart.
Then to his doom they led him,
In a sunny morning's light,
When the muffled drums were beating,
And the bayonets glancing bright;
To his bitter doom they led him;
He had asked a soldier's death—
But he saw the shameful tree,
And the cursèd rope beneath.
In a sunny morning's light,
When the muffled drums were beating,
And the bayonets glancing bright;
To his bitter doom they led him;
He had asked a soldier's death—
But he saw the shameful tree,
And the cursèd rope beneath.
Back he started—“Why this shrinking?
And what shakes thy gallant breast?”
“To my death I go all fearless,
But the manner I detest!”
To his death he went all fearless,
With a cheerful heart and high;
Not an eye of all the host,
Not an eye but his, was dry.
And what shakes thy gallant breast?”
“To my death I go all fearless,
But the manner I detest!”
To his death he went all fearless,
With a cheerful heart and high;
Not an eye of all the host,
Not an eye but his, was dry.
Better, better was it far,
So like André to be dying,
With his country mourning o'er him,
And his foemen round him sighing,
Than like Arnold to live on,
Scorn of his adopted land,
Loathed of every noble heart,
Shunned of every honest hand!
So like André to be dying,
With his country mourning o'er him,
And his foemen round him sighing,
Than like Arnold to live on,
Scorn of his adopted land,
Loathed of every noble heart,
Shunned of every honest hand!
125
Heard ye not how England's king,
With his peers in circled state,
Would have made him known to one
Who in every deed was great?
“No, my liege,” the earl replied,
“Rank, and lands, and life are thine;
But no traitor's touch may sully
This untainted hand of mine.”
With his peers in circled state,
Would have made him known to one
Who in every deed was great?
“No, my liege,” the earl replied,
“Rank, and lands, and life are thine;
But no traitor's touch may sully
This untainted hand of mine.”
But the traitor still was brave,
Quailed not he to the old lord's scorn;
Quailed not he to the bravest man
That was e'er of woman born;
Challenged him to deadly field;
Met him sternly face to face;
Levelled, fired,—but erred his ball,—
It may be his soul was touched of grace!
Quailed not he to the old lord's scorn;
Quailed not he to the bravest man
That was e'er of woman born;
Challenged him to deadly field;
Met him sternly face to face;
Levelled, fired,—but erred his ball,—
It may be his soul was touched of grace!
Proudly, coldly stood the peer,—
Proudly, coldly turned away.
“Stand and fire!” the traitor cried;
“Yours, my lord, is the luck to-day!”
“No! I leave you,” sternly spake—
Spake the old and haughty lord;
“Leave you to a fitter doom,—
To the hangman and the cord.”
Proudly, coldly turned away.
“Stand and fire!” the traitor cried;
“Yours, my lord, is the luck to-day!”
“No! I leave you,” sternly spake—
Spake the old and haughty lord;
“Leave you to a fitter doom,—
To the hangman and the cord.”
| Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) | |