The Courtship of Miles Standish

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims, / To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling, / Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan 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 corselet 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 fowling-piece, 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 sometimes 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; / Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion, / Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives / Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels. " / Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting, / Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth. / "Look at these arms," he said, "the warlike weapons that hang here / Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection! / This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate, / Well I remember the day! once saved my life in a skirmish; / Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet / Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero. / Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish / Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses. " / Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing: / "Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet; / He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon! " / Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling: / "See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging; / That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others. / Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage; / So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn. / Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army, / Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock, / Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage, / And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers! " / This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams / Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment. / Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued: / "Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted / High on the roof of the church, a preacher who speaks to the purpose, / Steady, straight-forward, and strong, with irresistible logic, / Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of the heathen. / Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the Indians; / Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it the better, -- / Let them come if they like, be it sagamore, sachem, or pow-wow, / Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Tokamahamon!"