IV.

Should he fall, I would outgrieve
All who ever grief possessed;
I would weep upon his breast,
Overveiled like dewy eve,
And above my hero dead
Pour my tears till life had fled.

The music on its golden wing
Dropt from those dewy lips of spring:
Scarce had the cadence ceased to flow,
There was a sound of footsteps
fleet,

And suddenly, with cheeks aglow,
Young Edgar knelt before her feet.
She started with surprise-not fear-
To find the stranger youth so near.
He read the question in her eye,
And, ere she spoke, he made reply:-

"Oh, lady, if I err, forgive:
I know not, scarcely, if I live,
Or that it is my soul is drawn
By witching music, on and on,
To kneel to thee in holier guise,
While its poor dwelling yonder lies!
I was as one within a land

Where all he sees is dead and sere, Who droops with thirst, till near at hand

He hears a fountain singing clear, Then, without further question, flies To find the spring which life supplies. In sooth, the music drew me near, And left me, lady, kneeling here. I heard the wish your song expressed, And echo answered in my breast. Oh, bid me wear that wreath you make,

For thine as well as Freedom's sake!"

Looked in his eyes of wild despair. He smiled, and she forgave him all, Then led him calmly up the lawn, Glanced at the bower,-the youth was

gone.

Young Edgar passed the garden-gate
With dazzled brain and heart elate;
The very landscape seemed to quiver,
As if the burning pulse of love
Was throbbing in the sky above,
Thrilling the forest, field, and river.

His spirit's wings had sudden birth;
He felt beneath no heavy earth:
He trod as on a field of air,
And the flowers like stars shone every-
where.

the stream,

Which flowed before him like a dream, Its ripples whispering to the shore, And love their burden evermore; Stream, flower, and tree, and breeze, and bird,

Were eloquent with that one word.

He knelt, with very joy o'erweighed, Beneath a flowering poplar's shade, And seized the coronal and kissed The blossoms (Love must have his will),

And held them to his lips until His eyes were full of blissful mist, Through which the bright scene brighter shone

In iris colors all his own.

Then solemnly the flowers he prest Beneath the crossed hands on his breast,

And cried, "In face of Death and

Hid by the friendly oak and vine, Where naught is heard but the

Brandywine,

Which rolls a shadowy flood between; A hidden place, that well might be The stronghold of a robber crew: Of such persuasion are not we,

Save in our royal tyrant's view.

"Your guide I cannot be to-day ; My course lies far another way; But there is one will guide you true: Already, with a heart of joy, By yonder wall he waits for you, Henceforth your friend,-the frolic boy.

Mount you, and place the youth behind,

The wildest steed may carry

double,

Sir Hugh his hand in anger laid

Upon the handle of his blade; But when he saw the wild-eyed boy, And gazed upon his face of joy,

The vengeance in his breast was stayed.

Then, with a tremor on his tongue, While something paler grew his cheek,

As some retarding memory clung

On the rebuke he fain would speak, He said, "Rash boy, beware! beware! You put my kindness to the proof. Is it for this my three years' care Has sheltered you beneath my roof? Is it for thisHe said no more: He saw the tear, the brow of pain,A look which he had seen before,

And one he would not see again.

"There, on his charger fierce and tall,

A fiery stallion black as night, His bold front overtopping all,—

A very tower along the right,— With eye that death could not deter, His rifle o'er his shoulder flung,

Two pistols in his holsters hung, Rode Ringbolt, the wild wagoner.

"They who have seen that mighty hand,

And heard the swearing of his whip, May well conceive the giant grip

flame,

As if he knew his master rode

Straight to the glorious gates of Fame.

"There, like a son by his warrior sire,

And mounted on a steed as good, His eye aflame with patriot fire, His cheek aflush with patriot blood,

warm,

And felt no more its indecision; For every soul which saw that form Grew larger to contain the vision.

"I watched the long, long ranks go by," 14

And saw defiance in every eye;
And every soldier true and stanch
Wore in his cap a vernal branch,
As Victory had placed it there
For Fame to twine about his hair.

"Oh, how the wild heart sent its blood

Through all the frame, a throbbing flood,

To see those spirits, true and tried, Who crossed at night the roaring tide,

What time the grinding gulfs of ice

Made all the desperate peril thrice, When nothing but a patriot's fire Could breast the winter's bitter ire,Who barefoot trod December's snow, And took the hirelings at a blow!

Set in his cap had a rose between;
I knew not what the intent might be:
Perchance 'twas there for memory.

"And after these a hundred more, Obedient to the wagoner's word, As fierce a band as ever bore Through fire and flood the avenging sword.

These were his mountain eagles,'— these,

So often seen a flying cloud That sweeps the hills through foresttrees,

Following their leader loud,—

A cloud whose form
Is a whirlwind storm,
When on the flanks

Of the foeman's ranks
It breaks from upland covert near,
And pours its sudden bolts of wrath,
Then gains anew the secret path
Ere it is said, 'The storm is here!'
Pale wonder strikes the columns wide,

And, ere the foe can count his slain, Thundering down the other side The swooping tempest strikes again.

"But yesterday I heard their tramp, And saw their chargers dashing down,

Each wild mane like a banner blown:

They swam the river, leapt the creek,

And o'er the near hills gained the camp,

Bearing the news from Chesapeake."

So spake the youth. The maid near by
Sat gazing in his clear, dark eye,
As if she saw in its depths, anew,
The whole bright pageant passing
through.

But Berkley frowned his blackest frown,

As that would put the rebel down, And cried, "Well, sir, and is this all? The picture you would have us view Is rare, and colored somewhat new: Methinks 'twere easier to recall

That barefoot, tattered, hungry

crew

Quartered but now near Berkley Hall. The farmers' planted fields forlorn Will make a poor return of corn,

And thievish birds wax fat, I fear, Since all the scarecrows volunteer!"'

And he laughed the bitter laugh of

scorn,

So grating to a patriot's ear.

"You know so well how a rebel feels Fresh from his sty of mire and straw,

While dangling, tangling 'twixt his heels

Is dragged the sword he dares not draw:

Gird on this brand, and let us see The brave young rebel you would be!"

So speaking, he took from its place of dust

A blade whose scabbard was thick with rust

"And this chapeau, for many a year
Untouched among the cobwebs here,-
The webs may serve you yet for lint;
This ancient gun,
With rust o'errun,-
It matters not the loss of flint;

A pistol or so to grace your side; This old flask, too:-be naught denied To deck you in your warrior pride! Behold you now! By Heaven, you stand

As fair a rebel as walks the land!"

Again the bitter laugh was flung From off the old man's scornful tongue.

The youth a moment glared in doubt, Reddening like one who stands at bay;

But presently burst his laughtershout,

And, crying, "Then be it as you say!"

Wildly sprang from the tower