Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/224

192   Speak for them the spell of law Which shall bar and bolt withdraw, And the flaming sword remove From the Paradise of Love. Still, with undimmed eyesight, pore Ancient tome and record o’er; Still thy week-day lyrics croon, Pitch in church the Sunday tune, Showing something, in thy part, Of the old Puritanic art, Singer after Sternhold’s heart! In thy pew, for many a year, Homilies from Oldbug hear, Who to wit like that of South, And the Syrian’s golden mouth, Doth the homely pathos add Which the pilgrim preachers had; Breaking, like a child at play, Gilded idols of the day, Cant of knave and pomp of fool Tossing with his ridicule, Yet, in earnest or in jest, Ever keeping truth abreast. And, when thou art called, at last, To thy townsmen of the past, Not as stranger shalt thou come; Thou shalt find thyself at home With the little and the big, Woollen cap and periwig, Madam in her high-laced ruff, Goody in her home-made stuff,— Wise and simple, rich and poor, Thou hast known them all before!

for a knight like Bayard,
 * Without reproach or fear;

My light glove on his casque of steel,
 * My love-knot on his spear!

Oh for the white plume floating
 * Sad Zutphen’s field above,—

The lion heart in battle,
 * The woman’s heart in love!

Oh that man once more were manly,
 * Woman’s pride, and not her scorn:

That once more the pale young mother
 * Dared to boast ‘a man is born’!

But now life’s slumberous current
 * No sun-bowed cascade wakes;

No tall, heroic manhood
 * The level dulness breaks.

Oh for a knight like Bayard,
 * Without reproach or fear!

My light glove on his casque of steel,
 * My love-knot on his spear!”

Then I said, my own heart throbbing
 * To the time her proud pulse beat,

Life hath its regal natures yet,
 * True, tender, brave, and sweet!

Smile not, fair unbeliever!
 * One man, at least, I know,

Who might wear the crest of Bayard
 * Or Sidney’s plume of snow.