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| FORTH from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of purple and scarlet, | |
| Issued the sun, the great High-Priest, in his garments resplendent, | |
| Holiness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on his forehead, | |
| Round the hem of his robe the golden bells and pomegranates. | |
| Blessing the world he came, and the bars of vapor beneath him | 5 |
| Gleamed like a grate of brass, and the sea at his feet was a laver! | |
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| This was the wedding morn of Priscilla the Puritan maiden. | |
| Friends were assembled together; the Elder and Magistrate also | |
| Graced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Law and the Gospel, | |
| One with the sanction of earth and one with the blessing of heaven. | 10 |
| Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth and of Boaz. | |
| Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of betrothal, | |
| Taking each other for husband and wife in the Magistrate’s presence, | |
| After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of Holland. | |
| Fervently then, and devoutly, the excellent Elder of Plymouth | 15 |
| Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were founded that day in affection, | |
| Speaking of life and of death, and imploring Divine benedictions. | |
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| Lo! when the service was ended, a form appeared on the threshold, | |
| Clad in armor of steel, a sombre and sorrowful figure! | |
| Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange apparition? | 20 |
| Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on his shoulder? | |
| Is it a phantom of air,—a bodiless, spectral illusion? | |
| Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the betrothal? | |
| Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, unwelcomed; | |
| Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an expression | 25 |
| Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden beneath them, | |
| As when across the sky the driving rack of the rain-cloud | |
| Grows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun by its brightness. | |
| Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, but was silent, | |
| As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting intention. | 30 |
| But when were ended the troth and the prayer and the last benediction, | |
| Into the room it strode, and the people beheld with amazement | |
| Bodily there in his armor Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth! | |
| Grasping the bridegroom’s hand, he said with emotion, “Forgive me! | |
| I have been angry and hurt,—too long have I cherished the feeling; | 35 |
| I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God! it is ended. | |
| Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of Hugh Standish, | |
| Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for error. | |
| Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John Alden.” | |
| Thereupon answered the bridegroom: “Let all be forgotten between us,— | 40 |
| All save the dear old friendship, and that shall grow older and dearer!” | |
| Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Priscilla, | |
| Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned gentry in England, | |
| Something of camp and of court, of town and of country, commingled, | |
| Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly lauding her husband. | 45 |
| Then he said with a smile: “I should have remembered the adage,— | |
| If you would be well served, you must serve yourself; and moreover, | |
| No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of Christmas!” | |
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| Great was the people’s amazement, and greater yet their rejoicing, | |
| Thus to behold once more the sunburnt face of their Captain, | 50 |
| Whom they had mourned as dead; and they gathered and crowded about him, | |
| Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of bride and of bridegroom, | |
| Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupting the other, | |
| Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpowered and bewildered, | |
| He had rather by far break into an Indian encampment, | 55 |
| Than come again to a wedding to which he had not been invited. | |
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| Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood with the bride at the doorway, | |
| Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morning. | |
| Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in the sunshine, | |
| Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation; | 60 |
| There were the graves of the dead, and the barren waste of the sea-shore, | |
| There the familiar fields, the groves of pine, and the meadows; | |
| But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden of Eden, | |
| Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the sound of the ocean. | |
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| Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and stir of departure, | 65 |
| Friends coming forth from the house, and impatient of longer delaying, | |
| Each with his plan for the day, and the work that was left uncompleted. | |
| Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder, | |
| Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla, | |
| Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand of its master, | 70 |
| Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils, | |
| Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle. | |
| She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the noonday; | |
| Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant. | |
| Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others, | 75 |
| Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her husband, | |
| Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey. | |
| “Nothing is wanting now,” he said with a smile, “but the distaff; | |
| Then you would be in truth my queen, my beautiful Bertha!” | |
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| Onward the bridal procession now moved to their new habitation, | 80 |
| Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together. | |
| Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed the ford in the forest, | |
| Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of love, through its bosom, | |
| Tremulous, floating in air, o’er the depths of the azure abysses. | |
| Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring his splendors, | 85 |
| Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above them suspended, | |
| Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the pine and the fir-tree, | |
| Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of Eshcol. | |
| Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages, | |
| Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca and Isaac, | 90 |
| Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, | |
| Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers. | |
| So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal procession. | |
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