Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/53

Rh “Well answered, worthy captain, shame on their cruel laws!” Ran through the crowd in murmurs loud the people’s just applause. “Like the herdsman of Tekoa, in Israel of old, Shall we see the poor and righteous again for silver sold?”

I looked on haughty Endicott; with weapon half-way drawn, Swept round the throng his lion glare of bitter hate and scorn; Fiercely he drew his bridle-rein, and turned in silence back, And sneering priest and baffled clerk rode murmuring in his track.

Hard after them the sheriff looked, in bitterness of soul; Thrice smote his staff upon the ground, and crushed his parchment roll. “Good friends,” he said, “since both have fled, the ruler and the priest, Judge ye, if from their further work I be not well released.”

Loud was the cheer which, full and clear, swept round the silent bay, As, with kind words and kinder looks, he bade me go my way; For He who turns the courses of the streamlet of the glen, And the river of great waters, had turned the hearts of men.

Oh, at that hour the very earth seemed changed beneath my eye, A holier wonder round me rose the blue walls of the sky, A lovelier light on rock and hill and stream and woodland lay, And softer lapsed on sunnier sands the waters of the bay.

Thanksgiving to the Lord of life! to Him all praises be, Who from the hands of evil men hath set his handmaid free; All praise to Him before whose power the mighty are afraid, Who takes the crafty in the snare which for the poor is laid!

Sing, O my soul, rejoicingly, on evening’s twilight calm Uplift the loud thanksgiving, pour forth the grateful psalm; Let all dear hearts with me rejoice, as did the saints of old, When of the Lord’s good angel the rescued Peter told.

And weep and howl, ye evil priests and mighty men of wrong, The Lord shall smite the proud, and lay His hand upon the strong. Woe to the wicked rulers in His avenging hour! Woe to the wolves who seek the flocks to raven and devour!

But let the humble ones arise, the poor in heart be glad, And let the mourning ones again with robes of praise be clad. For He who cooled the furnace, and smoothed the stormy wave, And tamed the Chaldean lions, is mighty still to save!

the halls, and cold the feast, Gone the bridemaids, gone the priest. All is over, all is done, Twain of yesterday are one! Blooming girl and manhood gray, Autumn in the arms of May!

Hushed within and hushed without, Dancing feet and wrestlers’ shout; Dies the bonfire on hill; All is dark and all is still, Save the starlight, save the breeze Moaning through the graveyard trees; And the great sea-waves below, Pulse of the midnight beating slow.

From the brief dream of a bride She hath wakened, at his side. With half-uttered shriek and start,— Feels she not his beating heart?