University of Virginia Library

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85

THE BALLAD OF ‘BONNY PORTMORE’;

OR, THE WICKED REVENGE.

A.D. 1641.

I

Shall I breathe it? Hush! 'twas dark:—
Silence!—few could understand:—
Needful deeds are done—not told.
In your ear a whisper! Hark!
'Twas a sworn, unwavering band
Marching through the midnight cold;
Rang the frost plain, stiff and stark:
By us, blind, the river rolled.

II

Silence! we were silent then:
Shall we boast and brag to-day?
Just deeds, blabbed, have found their price!
Snow made dumb the trusty glen;
Now and then a starry ray
Showed the floating rafts of ice:
Worked our oath in heart and brain:
Twice we halted: only twice.

III

When we reached the city wall
On their posts the warders slept:
By the moat the rushes plained:
Hush! I tell you part, not all!
Through the water-weeds we crept;
Soon the sleepers' tower was gained.
My sister's son a tear let fall—
Righteous deeds by tears are stained.

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86

IV

Round us lay a sleeping city:
Had they wakened we had died:
Innocence sleeps well, they say.
Pirates, traitors, base banditti,
Blood upon their hands undried,
'Mid their spoils asleep they lay!
Murderers! Justice murders pity!
Night had brought their Judgment Day!

V

In the castle, here and there,
'Twixt us and the dawning East
Flashed a light, or sank by fits:
‘Patience, brothers! sin it were
Lords to startle at their feast,
Sin to scare the dancers' wits!’
Patient long in forest lair
The listening, fire-eyed tiger sits!

VI

O the loud flames upward springing!
O that first fierce yell within,
And, without, that stormy laughter!
Like rooks across a sunset winging
Dark they dashed through glare and din
Under rain of beam and rafter!
O that death-shriek heavenward ringing;
O that wondrous silence after!

The fire-glare showed, 'mid glaze and blister,
A boy's cheek wet with tears. 'Twas base!
That boy was firstborn of my sister;
Yet I smote him on the face!

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87

Ah! but when the poplars quiver
In the hot noon, cold o'erhead,
Sometimes with a spasm I shiver;
Sometimes round me gaze with dread.
Ah! and when the silver willow
Whitens in the moonlight gale,
From my hectic, grassy pillow
I hear, sometimes, that infant's wail!