Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/45

Rh Now, why from yon battlements
 * Speaks not my love!

Why waves there no banner
 * My fortress above?”

Dark and wild, from his deck
 * St. Estienne gazed about,

On fire-wasted dwellings,
 * And silent redoubt;

From the low, shattered walls
 * Which the flame had o’errun,

There floated no banner,
 * There thundered no gun!

But beneath the low arch
 * Of its doorway there stood

A pale priest of Rome,
 * In his cloak and his hood.

With the bound of a lion,
 * La Tour sprang to land,

On the throat of the Papist
 * He fastened his hand.

Speak, son of the Woman
 * Of scarlet and sin!

What wolf has been prowling
 * My castle within?”

From the grasp of the soldier
 * The Jesuit broke,

Half in scorn, half in sorrow,
 * He smiled as he spoke:

No wolf, Lord of Estienne,
 * Has ravaged thy hall,

But thy red-handed rival,
 * With fire, steel, and ball!

On an errand of mercy
 * I hitherward came,

While the walls of thy castle
 * Yet spouted with flame.

Pentagoet’s dark vessels
 * Were moored in the bay,

Grim sea-lions, roaring
 * Aloud for their prey.”

But what of my lady?”
 * Cried Charles of Estienne.

On the shot-crumbled turret
 * Thy lady was seen:

Half-veiled in the smoke-cloud,
 * Her hand grasped thy pennon,

While her dark tresses swayed
 * In the hot breath of cannon!

But woe to the heretic,
 * Evermore woe!

When the son of the church
 * And the cross is his foe!

In the track of the shell,
 * In the path of the ball,

Pentagoet swept over
 * The breach of the wall!

Steel to steel, gun to gun,
 * One moment,—and then

Alone stood the victor,
 * Alone with his men!

Of its sturdy defenders,
 * Thy lady alone

Saw the cross-blazoned banner
 * Float over St. John.”

Let the dastard look to it!”
 * Cried fiery Estienne,

Were D’Aulnay King Louis,
 * I ’d free her again!”

Alas for thy lady!
 * No service from thee

Is needed by her
 * Whom the Lord hath set free;

Nine days, in stern silence,
 * Her thraldom she bore,

But the tenth morning came,
 * And Death opened her door!”

As if suddenly smitten
 * La Tour staggered back;

His hand grasped his sword-hilt,
 * His forehead grew black.

He sprang on the deck
 * Of his shallop again.

We cruise now for vengeance!
 * Give way!” cried Estienne.

Massachusetts shall hear
 * Of the Huguenot’s wrong,

And from island and creekside
 * Her fishers shall throng!

Pentagoet shall rue
 * What his Papists have done,

When his palisades echo
 * The Puritan’s gun!”

Oh, the loveliest of heavens
 * Hung tenderly o’er him,

There were waves in the sunshine,
 * And green isles before him;