Classic Poem

Oh, what delight is in the air
What time the new-born spring is there!
How sweet it is on the breezy slope,
Mid flowers in bloom or about to ope,
When the dog-wood, like a maiden dight
In bridal robes of snowy white,
Beside the flaming maple stands,
While the oak, with priestly hands
Spread above their bowing heads,
His whispering benediction sheds;
Where never a careless wind forgets
To tell of the woodland violets,
Or how it half forgot to pass
From spice-wood boughs and sassafras;
And, like the soul of a mocking-bird,
Repeating every song it heard,
Each sweeter for being brought afar,
As all the joys of memory are.

Such Esther knew were the delights
Clothing the valley and the heights;
And every perfumed air she met,
Fresh breathing of the wood and field,
Filled her with longings and regret
For joys the city could not yield.

Had she a pleasure in her breast,
In secret it was all suppressed;
For every look and every tone
Proclaimed her Melancholy's own.

'Twas true, her captive chains were light, —
Another might have deemed them bright;
But, light or bright, she felt the pain
Of knowing that there was a chain
Which flowers, though twined with subtlest art,
Could not make welcome to her heart:
They could but hide from others' stare
The galling weight she knew was there.

The city and its farthest street
Were free to her unfettered feet;
But there was still that line beyond,
O'er which her feelings, wildly fond,
Took yearning wing, and well she knew
She could not follow where they flew.

Sir Hugh grew daily more appeased:
He mingled with the martial court,
His fetters seemed but things of sport,
And even now might be released
If he in any slight degree
Would bow and sue for liberty.
But no! they had assailed his pride:
His loyalty had been denied:
He would not bow the suppliant limb, —
Nay, rather they must bow to him.
And now, too, all he held most dear
Next to his pride, his child, was here,
And many a noble officer
Bowed supplely low to him and her;
And even those with hearts allied
In secret to the patriot side
Made him obeisance; for they deemed
He might be other than he seemed.
These flattering tributes to him paid
Gave sweet contentment, and he stayed.

'Twas twilight, and the evening air
Came dancing over Delaware,
Fanning the easy sailor's hair,
Who laughed and quaffed away his care,
With merry song and gusty din,
Under the stoop before the inn,
Where soon, arrayed in colors fine,
Two officers of the royal line
Reeled singing in at the open door,
A flush with pleasure and with wine:
'Twas noble, they said, — or rather swore, —
With such a general to dine.

Each face was scarlet as their dress:
The whole man seemed to loom and shine,
As if the red blood of the vine
Its glowing presence would express
By every visible outward sign.

" Ho, landlord of the " Ship and Sheaf,"
Bring us a flagon, and be brief!
We must not let the tide go by,
To leave us stranded high and dry,
Or wait to-morrow's evening flood
To lift us o'er the sand and mud;
'Twill never do to stick aground
While other barks are sailing round:
Let loose the wine, and, should that fail,
Then swim us off with good brown ale! "

Thus shouted they, then searched the gloom,
To note what guests were in the room:
Their glance found only two beside.
" Two fellows there I think I spied, "
Thus whispered one. " Nay, there are more, "
The other answered, — " surely four:
But two, perchance, are made of wine! "
Whereat they laughed; and still they swore
'Twas noble, glorious, and divine
With such a general to dine.

" Ho, landlord, bring another flask,
To nerve us for to-morrow's task!
To-morrow's task! Ah, that will be
A scene of such rare chivalry
That all shall go joy-mad to see! —
A thousand times more bright and fine
Than Germantown or Brandywine!
How those poor devils in the gorge,
Hidden away at Valley Forge,
In their tatterdemalion rags,
Making their empty rebel brags,
Would ope their boorish eyes to gaze
Upon the splendors which shall blaze
And burn, until the night is spent,
Around our glorious tournament!
Come, landlord, drink, before we go,
A bumper to the royal show!

That fellow there, who seems to sulk
And in the shadowy corner skulk,
Go bring him out, and let him clear
His throat, that he may loudly cheer
The golden glories he shall see
Around to-morrow's pageantry!
Come, sirrah, when a colonel bids,
Nor sit with scowl like pirate Kidd's:
This wine will smooth your hostler frown
When it washes the hay-dust down! "

The stranger rose: through a sideway door
He pushed a young companion out,
Then stood a moment as in doubt,
The while he scanned the revellers o'er,
Then strode to the table with visage grim,
Demanding what they would with him.

" To drink our general's health! " they cried.
" Our general! " boldly he replied,
And drained the goblet willingly.
" And to our tournament beside! "
" And to the tournament! " echoed he;
" And may I be on hand to see! "

" Again! " the other cried, with zest;
" Fill high! — methinks that were a breast
To hold a gallon in its chest, —
And let the toast be to the fair, —
To her whose colors I shall wear, —
The badge of the " Burning Mountain" mine,
" The maid I love" my motto sign.
Then pledge for whom I set the lance,
With whom in banquet I shall dance. —
Perchance " — he hiccoughed, and waved his wine —
" To her who may be bride of mine, —
I have the father's word for all:
Or, if not that " — with drunken leer
He whispered in his comrade's ear.
Then laughed till the cup was nigh to fall,
And shouted, " The heiress of Berkley Hall! "

The stranger's tankard was ready up;
Each his lip was about to dash,
When, with an oath like a thunder-crash,
He flashed the wine in the speaker's face
And into the other's the empty cup,
And then, with heavy, giant pace,
Strode leisurely beyond the place;
And, ere they woke from their disgrace,
A light boat and a springing oar
Had borne the wagoner far from shore.