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The pale, ghostly fathers
Remembered her well,
With taper and bell,
Of Papists abhorr’d,
The heretic Lord.
They had loaded his shallop
With dun-fish and ball, With stores for his larder,
And steel for his wall. Pemequid, from her bastions
And turrets of stone,
With banner and gun.
Had followed his way,
Down Pentecost Bay. O! well sped La Tour!
For, in peril and pain, His lady kept watch
For his coming again.
O'er the Isle of the Pheasant
The morning sun shone, On the plane-trees which shaded
The shores of St. John. “Now, why from yon battlements
Speaks not my love!
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 thunder'd 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 !
My castle within ?"
The Jesuit broke,
He smiled as he spoke:
Has ravaged thy hall, But thy red-handed rival,
With fire, steel, and ball !
I hitherward came,
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 : 6 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 !
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
Float over St. John.”
Cried fiery Estienne, “ Were D'Aulney 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 stagger'd back; His hand grasped his sword-hilt,
His forehead grew black.
sprang on the deck
Give way !” cried Estienne.
“ Massachusetts shall bear
Of the Huguenot's wrong,
Her fishers shall throng!
What his Papists have done,
0! the loveliest of heavens
Hung tenderly o'er him,
isles before him :
The Huguenot on;
Behind was St. John'
on the wood-girt town The mellow light of sunset shone ! Each small
, bright lake, whose waters still Mirror the forest and the hill, Reflected from its waveless breast The beauty of a cloudless West, Glorious as if a glimpse were given Within the western gates of Heaven, Left
, by the spirit of the star Of sunset's holy hour, ajar!
Beside the river's tranquil flood
Quiet and calm, without a fear