 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
CANTO FIRST.
THE CAMP.
Lighting up garden, park and pasture green;
Wrecks of monastic pomp, and castle grand,
Forever hallowed features of the scene!
But lovelier look the nymph puts on, I ween,
Amid lone forests of the Western World,
Though brown of visage and untamed of mien—
Moss-fringed her robe—her ringlets all uncurled
With dew in leafy halls, at noontide hour impearled.
In rustic legend and in polished lay;
Mort on the horn her early monarchs wound,
While bled the stag, beneath their branches gray,
And still their iron trunks defy decay—
But rugged woods of our Hesperian clime
Have wider empire:—clothed in dark array
That graced their arches at the birth of Time,
When new-born spheres, with song, began their march sublime.
I.
Through pines that crowned the wooded steep,Winds, freshened by the lake, were sighing,
And in his basin, broad and deep,
Irondequoit was darkly lying.
A deeper, more luxuriant green,
In grassy spire and wood-plant seen;
A clearer tinkle in the rill,
And light more lustrous on the hill,
A richer fragrance in the breeze,
And wilder, sweeter melodies,
Told that serene and happy May
To summer had resigned her sway;
That arching sky had caught its hue
From June's clear orb of radiant blue.
II.
Earth was in gala dress arrayed,And blushed with flowers the forest mould,
While stately tulip trees displayed
Their honeyed cups of glistening gold;
Rich robe was over maple flung;
On chestnut golden tassel hung;
Light airs a slumberous tune evoked
From leaves that trembling poplar cloaked,
And oaks a thicker foliage bore,
To canopy the forest floor;
Where open space on hill side lay,
Exposed to ripening warmth of day,
The sod, with strawberries bestrown,
Was tinted like the ruby-stone.
III.
Far up the reedy bay were seenBright upland swells with vales between,
The lily-stem its silver cup
Above the water lifted up,
And throwing on deep pool a shade,
Waved the long flag its emerald blade;
To crumbling marge, with eager cries,
The heron bore his dripping prize,
And down the rough uneven bank
The snorting wild deer came and drank;
Amid the reeds that fringed the shore
The water-rat and otter swam,
And fearlessly the beaver bore
His tooth-hewn timber to the dam.
Wild was the scene!—his ragged cone,
A mossy hemlock reared on high,
The forest eagle's lofty throne
When tired of circling in the sky.
The mock-bird, perched on bending spray,
Woke his sweet, imitative lay;
With arching neck and air of pride,
The white swan floated on the tide;
The author's father, a pioneer of Western New York, informed him, that in the first settlement of the country, he saw a flock of twenty swans “spreading their snowy sails” in the Bay of Irondequoit. Two or three summers since, a brother of the author shot a swan, of large dimensions, while flying over a pond in the vicinity of Avon; and more recently, one was killed in Irondequoit Bay, by a gentleman of Rochester.
And gabbling in sequestered cove,
The black duck oiled her breast, and dove.
IV.
East of Irondequoit the sceneWas rich in robes of living green,
But ruder charm romantic gaze
Found on the western shore to praise;
For the huge monarchs of the wood
In straggling groups disparted stood,
As if they did not wish to break
The broad blue prospect of the Lake,
Their playmate when the rugged earth
Gave stem and leaf a hardy birth;
Had wet them many a summer day;
Whose surge kept time upon the shore
When night-blast woke their branches hoar,
In concert with the hollow roar.
On naked point of table-land
That, beetling o'er the polished strand,
Commanded view of wave and wood
Two natives of the region stood;
And crouching fondly at their feet
Gaunt wolf dogs panted with the heat.
V.
Knives in their braided girdles hung,To which the purple stain yet clung,
And pouches grim with dangling claws,
Bead-broidered tail and grinning jaws.
Rude jewels in the shape of globes,
And rings depended from their ears,
Slit lengthwise to the pliant lobes;
And twinkled like resplendent tears
That morning finds upon the leaf,
Drops from the urn of joy, not grief.
Thongs to the graceful limbs made fast,
The scarlet leggin laced with quills,
By bird and bristling hedge-hog cast,
And edged with long and gaudy frills.
Adorned with feathers brightly dyed,
And ornaments of bone and shell;
Trim hunting frock of smoke-tann'd hide
Their manly forms befitted well.
Light hoofs of deer on sinew strung
Were closely to the ankle bound,
And when the foot was lifted, rung
With a low, strange, and rattling sound;
Save cherished tufts of streaming hair,
Left for the grasp of mortal foe,
If destiny should aid his blow
When meet wild warriors of the wood
To quench Hate's ghastly torch in blood.
Bard would have said with kindling brain,
Could he have gazed upon the twain,
“Behold, reposing from the chase,
The guardian spirits of the place,
And study for inspired hour
When bosom thrills with sense of power;”
Would sculptor in their forms have found,
Full of wild energy and grace,
And the marked features of their race
By Nature's brush embrowned.
VI.
Tone, dignity of step and mien,Apart from flaunting pomp of dress,
In courtly hall and forest green,
Denote high birth and kingliness:
Brow, lip and haughty glance betray
A personage of kingly sway,
Though no dread symbol of command
Is flashing in the jewelled hand;
And persons of monarchal mould
Were those dark hunters of the wold;
And likeness to each other bore
Observable to careless eye,
Not only in the garb they wore,
But bearing resolute and high.
VII.
The senior of the two was tall,But in his frame symmetrical,
On brow and breast in “glorious scars.”
Though seventy vanished years to white
Had scalp lock changed, once black as night,
Still could his eye direct the shaft,
His hand the whirling hatchet guide,
Or knife-blade redden to the haft,
When close encounter prowess tried.
Hours lapsed away, and neither broke
The silence of the place or spoke,
But stood in attitude to hear
Sounds only caught by tutored ear,
While looked they forth with searching glance
On Cadaracqui's calm expanse,
Cadaracqui is the aboriginal name of Ontario. “The Senecas (whom the French call Sonontouons) are situated between Lake Erie and Cadaracqui Lake, near the great fall of Iagara (sometimes called Oniagira, Ochniagara,) by which all the Indians that live round Lake Erie, round the Lake of the Hurons, round the Lake of the Illinois, or Michigan, and round the great Upper Lake, generally pass in their way to Canada.”
Smith's History of New York.For floating on his bosom blue
Large objects slowly loomed to view.
VIII.
At last the younger woodman cried,For weapon feeling at his side,
“Look, Father!—gleaming in the sun,
Are pointed spear, long knife, and gun,
While hither, on the swelling waves,
Float Yonnondio's hostile braves!”
“Yes, boy!—those war-canoes are mann'd
By foemen to our native land;
They hope to wrap our huts in flame,
And blot from memory our name;
My people unprepared assail,
Change the light laugh to dying wail,
And flowers tread down that fragrance shed
On grave-mounds of our honored dead.
I fear them not!—three moons ago
My warriors laid their bravest low,
And gory scalps, on homeward track,
To shrivel in the smoke bore back.
The coward Hurons guide them here,
And fondly hope, in lucky hour,
To crush the Aganuschian power;
“The Five Nations were the Mohawks, the Oneidas, the Cayugas, the Onondagas, and the Senecas. The Virginian Indians gave them the name of Massowamokes; the Dutch called them Maquas, or Makakuase; and the French, Iroquois. Their appellation at home was the Mingoes, and sometimes the Aganuschion, or United People.”
Thatcher.“When the Dutch began the settlement of this country, all the Indians on Long Island and the northern shore of the sound, on the banks of the Connecticut, Hudson, Delaware, and Susquehanna rivers, were in subjection to the Five Nations, and acknowledged it by the payment of tribute. The French historians of Canada, both ancient and modern, agree that the more northern Indians were driven before the superior martial prowess of the confederates. The author of the book entitled, ‘Relation de ce qui s'est passe de plus remarquable aux missions de peres, de la compagnie de Jesus en la nouvelle France,’ published with the privilege of the French King, at Paris, in 1661, informs us that all the Northern Indians were harassed by the Five Nations. ‘Partout, (says he, speaking in the name of the missionaries,) nous trouvons Iroquois, qui comme un fantôme importun, nous obséde en tous lieux.’”
Smith's History of New York.But will they find a dreaming foe?
No, thanks to Ou-we-nee-you, no!
When hunters for the panther search
They never find their game asleep,
But watchful on his lofty perch,
And crouching for the deadly leap.
IX.
Their dangerous post those warriors kept,Until they heard the plash of oar,
While heavily the blade was swept,
Affrighting wild fowl on the shore;
Then the loud, startling war-whoop raised,
One moment on the pageant gazed,
And sought, with footstep quick and light,
Screen in thick wilderness from sight.
X.
The proud flotilla in the bayCast anchor near the close of day,
Scaring the wild-wolf, grim and gaunt,
From old, hereditary haunt,
And startling in his mossy lair,
With iron clang of arms, the bear.
The sun descending, bathed in light,
Steep, naked bluff and pine-capped height,
And varied tints of lustrous glow
Flung on the lucent waves below,
That kissed, by gentle south wind fann'd,
With murmur soft the glittering strand.
XI.
It would have been a thrilling sightTroops to have seen in trappings bright—
Whose guns had poured the leaden rain
On storied fields across the main,
And heard the trumpet's martial call
Sound triump-note for brave old Gaul,
By hundreds landed on a shore
Where sabre never rang before—
By leaders who had freely bled
In wars of mighty Louis, led—
Chiefs who on Steenkirk's plain had fought,
And battle's heart at Landen sought.
XII.
De Nonville with an eye of skillTook measurement of slope and hill,
De la Barre was succeeded by the Marquis De Nonville, colonel of the dragoons, who arrived with a reinforcement in 1685. In the preceding year the French availed themselves of a peace with the Five Nations, to build fortifications on the northern waters, and extending their fur trade among the northern and western Indians. They were opposed by the Iroquois. The Senecas, who were the most numerous of the allied tribes, and nearest the theatre of action, annoyed the French, by cutting off trading parties laden with ammunition and arms for the tribes who hunted for them.
De la Barre collected at Cadaracqui Fort (now Kingston,) the forces of Canada, but sickness in his camp compelled him to abandon his military operations against the Five Nations, and resort to negotiation. A treaty was held at Kaihohage, between Indian deputies, with Garangula at their head, and the Canadian Governor. It was on this occasion that the Onondaga chief in a harangue that has been pronounced by the lamented Clinton equal in oratorical merit to Logan's famous speech, exclaimed:— “Yonnondio!—you must have believed when you left Quebec, that the sun had burnt up all the forests which render our country inaccessible to the French, or that the lakes had so far overflown the banks, that they had surrounded our castles, and that it was impossible for us to get out of them. Yes, surely you must have dreamed so, and the curiosity of seeing so great a wonder, has brought you so far. Now you are undeceived. I and the warriors here present, are come to assure you, that the Senecas, Cayugas, Onondagas, Oneidas, and Mohawks are yet alive. I thank you in their name, for bringing back into their country the calumet, which you predecessor received from their hands. It was happy for you, that you left underground that murdering hatchet so often dyed in the blood of the French.
“Hear, Yonnondio! I do not sleep. I have my eyes open. The sun which enlightens me, discovers to me a great captain at the head of a company of soldiers, who speaks as if he were dreaming. He says, that he only came to the lake to smoke on the great calumet with the Onondagas. But Garangula says he sees the contrary; that it was to knock them on the head, if sickness had not weakened the arms of the French. I see Yonnondio raving in the camp of sick men, whose lives the Great Spirit has saved by inflicting this sickness on them.
“Hear, Yonnondio! our women had taken their clubs, our children and old men had carried their bows and arrows into the heart of your camp, if our warriors had not disarmed them, and kept them back, when your messenger came to our castles. It is done, and I have said it.
“Hear, Yonnondio!—We plundered none of the French, but those that carried guns, powder and balls to the Twightwies and Chictaghicks, because those arms might have cost us our lives. Herein we follow the example of the Jesuits, who break all the kegs of rum brought to our castles, lest the drunken Indians should knock them on the head. Our warriors have not beaver enough to pay for all the arms they have taken, and our old men are not afraid of the war. This belt preserves my words. We carried the English into our Lakes to trade there with the Utawawas and Anatoyhies, as the Adirondacks brought the French to our castles to carry on a trade which the English say is theirs. We are born free. We neither depend on Yonnondio or Corlear (name given to the Governors of New York). We may go where we please, and carry with us whom we please, and buy and sell what we please. If your allies be your slaves, use them as such, command them to receive no other but your people.” When the words of Garangula were interpreted to De La Barre, stung with shame and incensed, he left the council. Soon after, his troops disbanded, and the haughty Iroquois exulted in this signal overthrow of the Governor's schemes.
The Marquis De Nonville, says Smith in his history, was a man of courage and of an enterprising spirit, and not a little animated by the consideration that he was sent over to repair the disgrace which his predecessor had brought upon the French Colony. By Charlevoix he is thus eulogized—“Egalement estimable pour sa valeur, sa droiture et sa piété.” La Hontan censures his acts while administering the government of New France, in violating the treaty of Whitehall, by invading the country of the Senecas, and denying the British title to the command of the Lake. In the language of Smith, “De Nonville, to prevent the interruption of the French trade with the Twightwies, determined to carry the war into the country of the Five Nations. To that end he collected, in 1687, two thousand troops and six hundred Indians at Montreal, and issued orders to all the officers in the more westerly country to meet him at Niagara, on an expedition against the Senecas. * * * * * * * The Five Nations, in the mean time, were preparing to give the French army a suitable reception.
The Marquis having embarked his whole army in canoes, set out from the fort at Cadaracqui, on the 23d of June, one-half of them passing along the north and the other on the south side of the lake, and both arrived at the same time at Irondequoit, and shortly after set out on their march towards the chief village of the Senecas, at about seven leagues' distance. The main body was composed of the regulars and militia, the front and rear of the Indians and traders. The scouts advanced the second day of their march, as far as the corn of the village, and within pistol shot of five hundred Senecas who lay upon their bellies undiscovered. The French who imagined the enemy were all fled, quickened their march to overtake the women and old men. But no sooner had they reached the foot of a hill, about a mile from the village, than the Senecas raised a war-shout, and in the same instant charged upon the whole army, both in the front and rear. Universal confusion ensued. The battalions divided, fired upon each other and flew into the wood.
The Senecas improved the disorder of the enemy, till they were overpowered by the force of numbers and compelled to retreat. The Marquis was so much dispirited that he could not be persuaded to pursue the enemy that day; which gave the Senecas an opportunity to burn their village and get off. Traces of De Nonville's invasion are still visible upon the banks of the Genesee. Near the village of West Rush, Monroe County, the traveller and tourist can still see the ruins of a fortified encampment. Outlines of mortar bed, trench and mound are well defined. The author is in possession of fragments of gun and blade, picked up on the old battle-field which lies at the foot of a hill on which the present village of Avon is situated.
It is a favorite haunt and play-place of the school-boy, who is lured thither by the hope of finding flint or musket-ball, hatchet or arrow-heads, disinterred by the plough, or washed to view by the drenching shower.
And tents were pitched, by his command,
On swells of undulating land,
Well guarded on the weaker flanks,
By water and opposing banks;
While open front, or esplanade,
Was wisely left for prompt parade,
If chance the tocsin of alarm
Should call upon the host ‘to arm!’
The pickets, helmeted and mailed,
For nightly vigil were detailed;
The sentinel was shown the bounds,
Wherein to pace his lonely rounds,
And in advance, the tried vidette,
To guard each pass to camp, was set.
XIII.
Their savage allies plumed for strife,And armed with hatchet, club and knife,
Their sylvan lodge and watch-fire made,
Or ranged the copse with ready bow,
To spy out trace of lurking foe;
For the fierce Huron of Lorette,
And stern Algonquin of the north,
The Hurons of Lorette were likewise called Onatoghies. The Adirondacks, or Algonquins drove the Iroquois from their hunting-grounds around Montreal, to the borders of the Lakes.
The latter having conquered the Satanas, under wise and warlike sachems adopted the plan of fighting their old enemies in small bands, instead of trusting the issue of war to a general engagement.
In turn the Adirondacks were conquered, though aided by the French arms, and the war-whoop of the Five Nations became the knell of the surrounding tribes. The Niperceneans were nearly exterminated, and a wretched remnant of them fled for safety to Hudson's Bay. “The borders of Outawas which were once thickly peopled, became almost deserted.” West of the Alleghanies they carried their arms, and warred against most of the nations of the south. See Herriot, Canada, Smith, Thatcher, &c.
Whose soil the Seneca had wet
With blood and tears, were going forth
To crush the conqueror, and leave
No mourner for the slain to grieve,
If vengeance could the task achieve.
XIV.
Nose, ear and neck, with jewels hung,And wild words of their forest tongue;
Rude quivers on the shoulder borne,
From spotted fawn and wild-cat torn;
The gleaming cincture round the waist
Prized ornament of savage taste;
Paint on their scowling faces spread,
In horrid streaks of black and red—
Their bucklers of defensive form,
Frail guardians in the battle storm,
Bore strange unlikeness to the dress,
Bright armor, martial haughtiness,
And discipline of soldiers, famed
Whenever ‘warrior’ is named;
Whose charge had strewn the earth with dead
While Luxemburgh and Vauban led,
Or in the combat, man to man,
Had seen with hardihood unshrinking
The plume of Conde in the van,
Where Death his reddest draught was drinking.
XV.
Tribes, who with Yonnondio cameHereditary wrongs to right,
For issues of the doubtful fight,
Were under conduct of D'Lisle,
A man of energy and wile;
And priest of that strange order known
From clime to clime, and zone to zone—
The immediate design of other religious societies was to separate their members from the world; that of the Jesuits, to render themselves masters of it. They were exempt from the usual functions of other monks, and were not required to spend their time in ceremonial offices and mummeries. The meanest talents were in requisition, and according to their own expression “the Jesuits have missionaries for the villages and martyrs for the Indians.” Thus a peculiar energy was infused into their operations; which has been compared to a system of mechanism containing the greatest quality of power distributed to the greatest possible advantage. “The Jesuits,” it was said with justice, “are a naked sword whose hilt is Rome.” They propagated a system of the most relaxed morality, which accommodated itself to the passions of men, justified their vices, tolerated their imperfections. To persons of the stricter principles they studied to recommend themselves by the purity of their lives. While looking with a lenient eye on immoral practices, they were severe in exacting a strict orthodoxy in opinions. “They are a set of people,” said the Abbe Boileau, “who lengthen the creed, and shorten the decalogue.” One of their cardinal precepts was as follows: “Princes and distinguished persons must by all means be so managed that their ears may be gained, which will secure their hearts.” They neither chaunted nor prayed. “They cannot sing,” said their enemies—“for birds of prey never do.”
D'Alembert, Mosheim, &c.Whose pilgrims in the world of thought
The secret springs of knowledge sought,
And deemed it feminine to dwell,
Monastic drones, in convent cell:
Whose members, by ambition fired,
Forged fetters of religious thrall,
And tyranny o'er minds acquired
In savage hut and lordly hall:
Braved, to extend their mystic league,
Dark peril, hunger and fatigue,
Upraised the rod of mystic sway
In distant Ind and Paragua,
“In the beginning of the 17th century they obtained from the court of Madrid, the grant of the large and fertile Province of Paragua, which stretches across the southern continent of America, from the mountains of Potosi to the banks of the river La Plata; and after every deduction which can reasonably be made from their own accounts, enough will remain, to excite the astonishment and applause of mankind. By wise and humane policy they attracted converts, till at last they formed a powerful and well organized state of 300,000 families.
“Industry was universal, want was unknown. Even the elegant arts began by degrees to appear, and full protection was provided against any invasion. An army of 60,000 men was completely armed, and regularly disciplined, consisting of cavalry, infantry and artillery, and well provided with magazines and munitions of war. It would be in vain to deny that mankind derived advantages from the labors of the Jesuits. Their ardor in improving the healing art, their skill in the instruction of youth and love of ancient literature, contributed to the progress of polite learning. Even the debased species of Christianity which they introduced, was superior to the bloody rites of the savage.”
Edinburg Encyclopedia, vol. xi, p. 170.Sought with the vesper hymn and psalm
Saint Lawrence and his isles of balm—
Made voluble the wooing air,
Round holy Horicon with prayer,
Nor scrupled with the cross and sword,
To head a wild, barbaric horde.
XVI.
D'Lisle made use of subtle artsTo graft his creed on savage hearts,
And won, by gift and gilded bribe,
Esteem of many a forest tribe.
Like them, he painted face and lip,
And robed his limbs in skin of beast,
The success of the Jesuits in making converts among the aboriginal population of this continent was owing to a compliance, on their part, with savage customs. France, in extending her empire in America, was more aided by Jesuitical intrigue than force of arms. Notwithstanding the friendly relations that existed between the major portion of the Five Nations and the English, the crafty Jesuits made a diversion in favor of the crown of France, by sending their emissaries among them. “Divide et impera,” was the French motto.
Father Joucaire was adopted by the Senecas, and was esteemed by the Onondagas. He lived among them after their manner, and spoke the Indian language, as Charlevoix informs us, “avec la plus sublime eloquence Iroquoise.”
And sate, in joyous fellowship,
With quivered warriors at the feast;
Dark, floating Rumor linked his name,
Among his countrymen, with shame—
In terror from his native clime,
And bore a keen stiletto, red
From point to hilt with crime;
And many hinted that his soul
Was far too proud for priestly stole,
And that his broad and iron hand
Could better clutch the heavy brand,
Than grasp with meek, uplifted eye,
The sacred vase or rosary.
XVII.
Night with her sombre shadows came,And on the waters dark and still,
Was flung the ruddy light of flame,
By beacon kindled on the hill;
The muffled owl, foreboding bird,
Complaining on her perch was heard;
The wild beast caught the scent of men,
And hurried to his brambly den;
The whippoorwill beguiled the hours
With tender lay in leafy bowers,
Rejoicing that the time of dews
Had blotted out the sunset hues,
While stars, in absence of the sun,
Shot forth in beauty, one by one,
And bathed in rich, romantic sheen,
The tops of pine and hemlock green,
And gave a soft, transparent glow,
To slumbering Ontario.
XVIII.
The sentry on his lonely postMoved to and fro with iron tramp;
And the loud tumult of the host
Grew fainter in the guarded camp;
Torn from his native vale with tears
To mingle in the war-array,
From home and hearth-stone far away,
In dreams of his paternal cot
The miseries of life forgot:
Heard the glad vintagers again
Chant gayly some old peasant strain,
While gleaning clusters from the vine,
Or pressing out the crimson wine.
Once more, in visions of repose,
The distant village spire arose,
And on his ear with soothing, fell
The monotone of evening bell.
Again he tried his vaunted speed
With jocund brothers, on the mead,
And marked his sister, young and fair,
Plait garlands for her flowing hair—
Met that devoted maid once more,
Who wildly wept from him to sever,
And by the Star of Lovers swore
To prove unfaithful never.
Once more the smiling dreamer heard
That being breathe familiar word,
Who watched his infancy, and made
A pillow of her breast for him;
And thought her care would be repaid,
By fond caress and filial aid,
When her mild eye grew dim.
Beneath his own unclouded skies,
Scenes of historic glory spread,
And back came early memories
Like phantoms of the dead—
The huge chateau of other days,
Proud object of his childish gaze,
Uplifted as in former hours
Its moss-grown battlements and towers;
Through fissures in the leaning walls,
The wild winds sang in hollow tone
Of valor fled, and beauty gone.
XIX.
Extended, too, on couch of earthThe veteran of proven worth,
A fleeting visit paid in sleep
To kindred o'er the tossing deep.
Nigh graves, wherein his fathers slept,
The Loire in silver windings swept,
And gladly he beheld once more
The hamlet where they dwelt of yore.
The blood ran quicker through his frame,
When loved ones shouted out his name,
And that poor wife, who pining long
Breathed snatches oft of mournful song,
And nightly prayed, on bended knee,
That God would stretch protecting arm,
And guard by land, or whelming sea,
Her absent mate from harm—
Right toward him came on flying feet,
Her wedded lord once more to greet,
While chubby lads, in gay attire,
Laughed welcome to their war-worn sire.
XX.
While thus the dreaming soldier lay,Rude pillow of his knapsack making,
Regardless that the coming day
Might bring repose that knows no waking,
Paced hurriedly within his tent
A chieftain of the armament;
Erect he moved, though on his head
The frost of sixty years was spread,
The fine proportions of his frame.
His helm and corslet, soiled and worn,
The brunt of many frays had borne;
And blazing badge upon his breast,
His knighthood and his rank expressed.
No pleasant vision of delight
To lull his soul, was brought by night,
And slumber o'er him waved in vain
The wand of her quiescent reign.
His brow contracted to a frown,
Blanched cheek and gloomy eye cast down,
Unerringly bespoke a man
Whose thoughts in gloomy currents ran—
Who vengefully had brooded long
O'er deep and unforgiven wrong,
With heart corroded to its core
By bitter memories of yore.
At last a sudden pause he made,
And hand upon his dagger laid;
For indistinctly on his ear
Came the low sound of footsteps near—
Then from the hilt his hand withdrew,
As the dark form of one he knew
Strode through an opening in the tent;
And on his visitant he bent
A searching, anxious glance, and cried—
“What tidings, father, of my child?
Speak, for my brain is waxing wild!”
“She lives!” the Jesuit replied.
“And her betrayer?” “Soon will feel
The temper of avenging steel.”
“Where lurks the fiend of perjured soul,
Who came in human guise and stole
The young and last surviving flower
That grew in my domestic bower?
The mildew of eternal shame,
Then made my fond, old heart the tomb
Of bliss and expectation fair,
And peopled its sepulchral gloom
With tiger-passions and despair.”
XXI.
The maid and her seducer dwellWith that fierce tribe we wish to quell:
I wrung the tidings from a foe
Caught near our lines an hour ago;
For well I speak and understand
The dialect of this wild land,
And oft have borne the cross among
The natives of this valley bright
And won by soft, persuasive tongue
Full many a tawny proselyte.
Though words of vengeance you may deem
Unsuited to my calling meek;
That holy types but ill beseem
The glow of hatred on my cheek;
You will not marvel when you hear
The tale I breathe into your ear,
That memories of hoarded wrong
Within my bosom also throng—
Wrong that the blood of cursed De Grai
Alone can heal or wash away.
The hunter following the stag,
May faint with weariness, and lag—
The dove in airy speed may balk
Her swooping enemy the hawk—
The timid lamb may shelter find,
When the gaunt night-wolf howls behind—
The bandit may his cavern gain,
While baffled huntsmen search in vain;
When foot of mine was on his track,
Though peril, in appalling shape,
Stood in the path to warn me back.
XXII.
I know your ancient castle well,That overlooks the blue Moselle,
And envied, when a puny boy,
The wealth and titles of Le Troye;
For though my rude and peasant sires
Were humble servitors of thine,
Ambition never kindled fires
Within a prouder heart than mine.
Oft, oft in dreams of high renown,
While sitting by the rustic hearth,
My soul would for a season drown
Desponding thought of lowly birth;
But memory her eye would ope,
And crush the radiant flowers of Hope,
Convert my fabrics, frail and fair,
To empty, unsubstantial air.
Long nights of toil, and weary days,
I strove to win scholastic bays,
A miner in the well of Truth,
Unmindful of the sports of youth;
But lacking patronage and gold,
The fervor of my brain grew cold.
In after years when Gaul awoke,
And urged her nobles to the field,
A gleam upon the darkness broke,
And gory paths to fame revealed.
O'er musty books of ancient lore
My mounting spirit loved to pore
In monkish idleness no more;
I heard the warning bugle blow,
The banner of your ancient line
And liegemen to the muster go,
With pulses panting for the foe;
Then buckling on a rusted blade,
Went, like my sires, your House to aid.
XXIII.
Sir Knight, at times, bethink you notOf that young soldier of your corps,
Who on the field of Cassel fought,
And through a storm of fire and shot
The tattered colors bore,
Snatched by his daring from the plain
When the bold bannerman was slain?
“Ha! by the saints,” said old Le Troye,
“Your voice reminds me of that boy!
Is not your true address, Mordaunt?”
No! but the stripling was my friend,
And found a dark, untimely end;
Oft comes, my midnight couch to haunt,
His spectre, colorless and gaunt,
And vengeance goads me like a spur,
To find and slay his murderer.
XXIV.
I well remember that you madeMordaunt upon the field your aid;
And wondering that one so brave
Was in the vernal time of life,
Presented him your own good glaive,
Yet red and reeking with the strife.
When wearied, to your broad domain
Retainers were led back again,
Your daughter, full of grace and fair,
Came ambling on her palfrey fleet,
A father and his troop to greet;
And that she fixed admiring gaze
On the young hero by your side,
While prodigal of smiles and praise
You told her of his valor tried—
How in the melee of the fight
He wrested from a dead-man's hold
The gonfalon no longer bright,
And waved on high its ragged fold;
I well remember that a shout
From bearded lips rang gayly out,
When lightly from her snowy neck
A chain of gleaming gold she took,
The chivalrous Mordaunt to deck,
And told him, with a downcast look,
To keep the bauble as a meed
From woman for heroic deed.
XXV.
You gave the favorite a placeIn the proud castle of your race
And mortal cannot deem it strange
That one thus raised from low estate
Should undergo a sudden change
While mingling with the Great;
Or marvel that the stripling grew
Elated and presumptuous too—
Forgetful in his dream of fame,
That his was not a titled name,
And that his fathers, like mine own,
Were heirs to poverty alone.
The Lady Blanche, your peerless child,
Upon the beardless minion smiled,
And chose him from the waiting train,
To gallop at her bridle rein,
A post of honor craved by all.
XXVI.
She used, when pensive twilight broughtSweet moments of romantic thought,
To hear him wake the warbling lute,
And to her mood the measure suit—
Unknowing that a word of praise,
When ended were his glowing lays,
In rich, impressive accent spoken,
Would nurse an overdaring dream,
And to the blinded minstrel seem
Of her regard a thrilling token.
Warmed by her smile, with vig'rous start,
First love upgrew within his heart,
Like flower matured by tropic sun;
And spurning bonds of weak control,
The crowning passion of his soul
Wild mastery of reason won;
And in a luckless hour he made
Rash proffer of his heart and hand,
And only found, when prostrate laid,
That his high hopes were based on sand.
Your daughter heard the youth avow
His feelings with an angry brow,
And in a tone of blighting scorn,
Styled her adorer ‘lowly born,’
And bade him stoop his towering head
To woo a bride in cottage bred,
But never, in enamored strain,
Address a noble maid again.
XXVII.
Changed was his bearing from that hour;He sought no more her chosen bower,
To cull some precious token-flower.
Conducting to my rude abode,
And face again, so sad and pale,
I pray I never may behold,
While mournfully to me his tale
Of unrequited love he told.
His lute, to notes of joy once strung,
Became a cold, neglected thing,
And the dark, crawling spider hung
Her web-work on each rusted string—
He heard delightedly no more
Her footstep on the marble floor;
But think not that he grew remiss
In formal homage due her rank,
Though his crushed soul rich draught of bliss
No longer in her presence drank;
Thenceforth her dark and lustrous eye
Could not dissolve his apathy—
Thenceforth her voice, harp-like and clear,
Its sweetness wasted on his ear—
To him she was a prize withdrawn,
No more to rouse to high endeavor—
A morning star of beauty gone
From Love's delicious sky forever.
XXVIII.
Fresh in remembrance is the day,When, clad in glittering garb, De Grai,
A young and reckless cavalier,
Came from the camp, invited guest,
Within your ancient hall to rest,
And share its hospitable cheer.
His figure was of perfect mould,
And with the nobler wealth of mind,
Uncounted heaps of yellow gold,
And broad, rich acres were combined.
No outward sign of guilty thought,
Although the callous soul within
Was foul with darkest deeds of sin—
His winning courtesy of air,
And eloquence, were suited well
The heart of woman to ensnare,
And kindle perilously there
The flame of love unquenchable;
His ancestors held feudal sway
When France was in her younger day,
And last was he of his proud line;
For on the hoof-beat battle plain,
His sire, a bosom friend of thine,
While rushing to the charge, was slain.
Though young, with many a trusting maid,
The part of traitor he had played,
And deeply taught in arts to lure
From paths of innocence the Pure;
The wretch, insensible to shame,
Could well the hollow promise frame;
While his poor victim could not brook
To harbor blighting thought, the while,
That his sincerity of look
Masked ruin, perjury and guile.
Your daughter was a gem too bright
To flash untarnished in his sight;
A flower too innocent in dye
To lift its blushing charms on high,
Unnoted by his dooming eye.
“Oh, spare me the recital dread
Of what ensued!” the Baron said;—
“Oh, better had she kept aloof
From the foul fiend beneath my roof,
Or like some bird by serpent charmed,
That breaks the dreadful spell ere harmed,
From the dark mesh the monster spread;
But, ah, an unsuspecting heart
By craft is easily enchained,
And soon his deep seductive art
The pearl of her affections gained!
At first I saw in young De Grai
A daughter's honorable choice,
And heard, with doubting and dismay,
The whisper of a friendly voice.”
XXIX.
Rejoined the priest, in husky tone,Whiter his cheek than pale tomb-stone—
“Mordaunt that horrid warning spoke,
And tumult in your bosom woke;
Then eager Blanche Le Troye to save
From doom more dreadful than the grave,
You drove the recreant from your door,
And with a look that menaced strife,
Forbade him cross its threshold more,
On peril of his limb and life;
But could not make the doomed one think
That he had plotted her undoing,
And that she stood upon the brink
Of shameful, everlasting ruin:
Thrice blest are they who only shed
Tears for the unpolluted dead—
Who mark the rounded mould above
The children of their hope and love,
In contrast with that wretched sire
Whose sorrow is consuming fire,
Who mourns an erring daughter driven
From bliss on earth, from home in heaven!
One night, tempestuous and wild,
In secret fled your hapless child,
From fond lip fall no greeting word:
Her form was missing in the hall,
Her palfrey absent from the stall—
A glove upon the marble stair
Had fallen from her fingers fair,
And near the castle gate were found
Fresh hoof-marks on the sandy ground,
Disclosing palpably to sight
That Blanche was not alone in flight.
XXX.
Alarum notes from turret bellWere wafted over lawn and dell,
And bold dependents of the soil,
Well trained to arm for sudden fray,
Threw by their implements of toil,
That martial summons to obey.
Still like a trumpet in mine ear,
Your cry of eager haste I hear—
“Outspeed the beagle on the track,
And dead, or living, bring her back!
But leave behind a mangled corse,
The partner of her crime.—To horse!”
Then loud the clash of armor rang,
And horsemen on their coursers sprang,
And in pursuit, with dangling rein,
Swept like a blast across the plain.
Up hills precipitous and steep,
And over rivers dark and deep,
Through sombre wood and winding dell,
Plied were the scourge and rowel well.
XXXI.
In vain for many leagues they sped,The fugitives were far ahead;
Faint and exhausted from the chase,
On jaded chargers, white with foam,
And lagging in their pace;
But that poor youth did not return
Who bravely led them forth at morn;
For written was his vow on high
To save an erring maid, or die.
On, on he urged his noble brute
When followers gave o'er pursuit:
Night, hunger, and a pathway dim,
Were no impediments to him—
His heart was proof to peril dire;
What recked he of the set of sun?
From Lust, to glad a frantic sire,
An angel must be won;
And nerved by thoughts like these, his steed
With spur he pushed to headlong speed.
Weeks flew, and in her lonely cot
A mother's heart grew sick and sore;
In vain she mourned her bitter lot—
Mordaunt, the valiant, came no more;
But haply, ere his fall was known,
Hushed was her broken-hearted moan,
“If aught of him you know, relate!
Long have I sought to learn his fate”—
Quoth old Le Troye in anxious tone.
XXXII.
A few months after, I becameA convert to Loyola's creed,
And tired like him of phantom fame,
Kissed crucifix and counted bead;
The duties of my holy sphere
My steps conducted far and near.
A peasant in Lorraine I met:
Clouds, black with storm, were in the sky—
No cheering hostelry was nigh,
And fain, belated on my way,
Was I beneath his roof to stay;
For with a troubled look he told
Of traveller shot down for gold,
Of danger lurking in the road,
And midnight murderer abroad.
“Not long ago,” cried he, “my dream
Was broken by a dismal scream,
Preceded by a pistol shot;
And darting wildly from my cot,
I heard, while flesh grew chill with fright,
The clattering of hoofs in flight.
Next morn, upon the beaten ground,
A stranger cold in death I found—
The ball, with fatal aiming speed,
Had made deep lodgment in his head—
And his dark locks, all stiff with gore,
The passing wind could lift no more.
His brow was frowning, and a brand
Clung to the unrelaxing hand;
While reckless all of rider slain,
A steel grazed near with broken rein,
Black as the midnight's darkest dyes,
Save a white star between his eyes;
Who, when we strove to catch him, ran
As if he spurned the rule of man.
XXXIII.
“Without exhorting priest or pall,We gave the stranger burial;
And on the spot where he is laid
A waving elm throws pleasant shade.
And vestments, hang on yonder wall,
And from his rigid neck and cold,
I took this costly chain of gold.”
Before he told the story out,
My brain was free from darkening doubt;
For, added to the chain and garb,
His faithful picture of the barb
Mordaunt's unhappy exit left,
Of dread uncertainly bereft.
XXXIV.
His relics from their bloody shroudFor retribution called aloud,
And thinking of the friendly band
That erst our hearts in love allied,
Asunder by a ruthless hand
Divided at untimely tide,
I tasked my energies to trace
The reeking author of the crime.
Like bloodhound to his lurking place;
And Havre sought, but not in time,
A bark to view in full career,
Bound to another hemisphere,
From kindred, home and country bear
De Grai and his companion fair.
XXXV.
Across a broad expanse of seaThe coward-murderer may flee,
And finding covert, dark and rude,
May baffled justice long elude.
Aye! even trust that lapse of days
Will dim remembrance of his guilt;
That man again will kindly gaze,
Forgetful of the blood he spilt;
Will awful punishment succeed;
The dark assassin of Mordaunt
Feels safe within his greenwood haunt,
And little deems the coming day
Will guide avengers on their way.
The cheering thought sustains his soul,
A thousand leagues of water roll
Between me and the slain;
And that old father, gray with years,
Who mourns a daughter lost, while tears
Bedew his cheek like rain,—
Poor self-beguiler! o'er his head
The sable wing of death is spread,
And Vengeance, with his dooming eye,
And sharp, unsparing blade, is nigh—
Soon, soon from the gloom of its scabbard to dart
And drink the last drop of his recreant heart!
XXXVI.
Enough of prating!—on the hill,The tall old evergreens are still,
And the south wind no longer weaves
Gay roundelay amid the leaves,
Or flies the dreaming wave to curl,
By moonlight changed to liquid pearl—
No rustling whisper, from the reeds
That fringe yon marshy bay, proceeds,
And in primeval groves around
There is a transient death of sound.
The howling beast of prey hath made
His meal of carnage in the shade,
And sought long since his dark retreat,
Crackling the brush beneath his feet.
I, too, must find a rugged bed,
For the mid-hour of night hath fled—
A drowsy, numbing torpor steal,
And as we march by morning light,
Our limbs require repose—Good Night!
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |