Far down the Beautiful River,

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Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wabash,

Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi,
Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen.

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Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen,
And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure

Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle.

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Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river,
Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the fiddler.

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HIAWATHA.

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Hidden in the alder-bushes,

There he waited till the deer came,

Till he saw two antlers lifted,
Saw two eyes look from the thicket,
Saw two nostrils point to windward.

Then, upon one knee uprising,
Hiawatha aimed an arrow!

Dead he lay there in the forest,
By the ford across the river.

From his lodge went Hiawatha,
Dressed for travel, armed for hunting;
Dressed in deer-skin shirt and leggings,
Richly wrought with quills and wampum.
Two good friends had Hiawatha,
Singled out from all the others,
Bound to him in closest union,

And to whom he gave the right hand

Of his heart, in joy and sorrow;
Chibiabos, the musician,

And the very strong man, Kwasind.

They remained as Little People,
Like the pigmics, the Puk-Wudjies,
And on pleasant nights of Summer
When the Evening Star was shining,
Hand in hand they danced together

On the island's craggy headlands.

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.

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263

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So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand.

296

Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in England,
Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of Miles Standish !
Then, uplifting his head, he looked at the sea, and beheld there
Dimly the shadowy form of the May-Flower riding at anchor,
Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on the morrow.

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299

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Figures, ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of the village.

304

Shouting, 'Who is there here to fight with the brave Wattawamat?'

Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his left hand,
Held it aloft, and displayed a woman's face on the handle.

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Come, you must not be idle; if I am a pattern for housewives,

Show yourself equally worthy of being the model of husbands;

Hold this skein on your hands, while I wind it ready for knitting.

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In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown;
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town.

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Then fell a sudden shadow on the page,
And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim with age,
He saw the Angel of Death before him stand,
Holding a naked sword in his right hand.
Rabbi Ben Levi was a righteous man,
Yet through his veins a chill of horror ran.

In the convent of Drontheim,

Alone in her chamber

Knelt Astrid the Abbess,
At midnight, adoring,
Beseeching, entreating
The Virgin and Mother.

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