Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/66

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Came a troop with broadswords swinging, Bits and bridles sharply ringing,
 * Loose and free and froward;

Quoth the foremost, “Ride him down! Push him! prick him! through the town
 * Drive the Quaker coward!”

But from out the thickening crowd Cried a sudden voice and loud:
 * “Barclay! Ho! a Barclay!”

And the old man at his side Saw a comrade, battle tried,
 * Scarred and sunburned darkly;

Who with ready weapon bare, Fronting to the troopers there,
 * Cried aloud : “God save us,

Call ye coward him who stood Ankle deep in Lützen’s blood,
 * With the brave Gustavus?”

“Nay, I do not need thy sword, Comrade mine,” said Ury’s lord;
 * “Put it up, I pray thee:

Passive to His holy will, Trust I in my Master still,
 * Even though He slay me.

“Pledges of thy love and faith, Proved on many a field of death,
 * Not by me are needed.”

Marvelled much that henchman bold, That his laird, so stout of old,
 * Now so meekly pleaded.

“Woe’s the day!” he sadly said, With a slowly shaking head,
 * And a look of pity;

“Ury’s honest lord reviled, Mock of knave and sport of chld,
 * In his own good city!

“Speak the word, and, master mine, As we charged on Tilly’s line,
 * And his Walloon lancers,

Smiting through their midst we ’ll teach Civil look and decent speech
 * To these boyish prancers!”

“Marvel not, mine ancient friend, Like beginning, like the end,”
 * Quoth the Laird of Ury;

“Is the sinful servant more Than his gracious Lord who bore
 * Bonds and stripes in Jewry?

“Give me joy that in His name I can bear, with patient frame,
 * All these vain ones offer;

While for them He suffereth long, Shall I answer wrong with wrong,
 * Scoffing with the scoffer?

“Happier I, with loss of all, Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall,
 * With few friends to greet me,

Than when reeve and squire were seen, Riding out from Aberdeen,
 * With bared heads to meet me.

“When each goodwife, o’er and o’er, Blessed me as I passed her door;
 * And the snooded daughter,

Through her casement glancing down, Smiled on him who bore renown
 * From red fields of slaughter.

“Hard to feel the stranger’s scoff, Hard the old friend’s falling off,
 * Hard to learn forgiving;

But the Lord His own rewards, And His love with theirs accords,
 * Warm and fresh and living.

“Through this dark and stormy night Faith beholds a feeble light
 * Up the blackness streaking;

Knowing God’s own time ts best, In a patient hope I rest
 * For the full day-breaking!”

So the Laird of Ury said, Turning slow his horse’s head
 * Towards the Tolbooth prison,

Where, through iron gates, he heard Poor disciples of the Word
 * Preach of Christ arisen!

Not in vain, Confessor old, Unto us the tale is told
 * Of thy day of trial;

Every age on him who strays From its broad and beaten ways
 * Pours its seven-fold vial.

Happy he whose inward car Angel comfortings ean hear,
 * Over the rabble’s laughter;

And while Hatred's fagots burn, Glimpses through the smoke discern
 * Of the good hereafter.