Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/416

SONGS AND BALLADS If you love me, wait till June:

Rosebuds wither, picked too soon.

THE DUTCH PATROL

Christmas-Eve is ended,

Just at the noon of night,

Rare things are seen by mortal een

That have the second sight.

In St. Mark's church-yard then

They see the shape arise

Of him who ruled Nieuw Amsterdam

And here in slumber lies.

His face, beneath the close black cap,

Has a martial look and grim;

On either side his locks fall wide

To the broad collar's rim;

His sleeves are slashed; the velvet coat

Is fashioned Hollandese

Above his fustian breeches, trimmed

With scarf-knots at the knees.

His leg of flesh is hosed in silk;

His wooden leg is bound,

As well befits a conqueror's,

With silver bands around.

He reads the lines that mark

His tablet on the wall,

Where boldly

Stands out beyond them all.

"They hold our memory dear;

Nor rust nor moss hath crept across;

'T will last this many a year." 386