"Years past, beyond our Southern bounds,
On States' commission sent by me,
He mapped the English papists' grounds,
And like a Judas, o'er our wounds,
Our raiment parted openly:
This is the man ye see!
"Yet followed by my sleepless age,
Fast as he rode my pigeons sped—
Straight as the ravens from their cage,
Straight as the arrows of my rage,
Straight as the meteor overhead
That strikes a traitor dead."
They bound Lord Herman fast as hate,
And bore him o'er to Staten Isle;
Behind him closed the postern gate,
And round him pitiless as fate,
Closed moat and palisade and pile:
"Thou diest at morn," they smile.
IV.—STUYVESANT.
Morn broke on lofty Staten's height,
O'er low Amboy and Arthur Kill;
And ocean dallying with the light,
Between the beaches leprous white,
And silent hook and headland hill,
And Stuyvesant had his will;
One-legged he stood, his sharp mustache
Stiff as the sword he slashed in ire;
His bald crown, like a calabash,
Fringed round with ringlets white as ash,
And features scorched with inner fire;
Age wore him like a briar.
"Bring the Bohemian forth!" he cried;
"Old man, thy moments are but few."
"So much the better, Dutchman! bide
Thy little time of aged pride,
Thy poor revenges to pursue—
Thy date is hastening, too.
"No crime is mine, save that I sought
A refuge past thy jealous ken,
And peaceful arts to strangers taught,
And mine own title hither brought,
Before the laws of Englishmen,
A banished denizen.
"Yet that thy churlish soul may plead
A favor to a dying foe,
I'll ask thee, Stuyvesant, ere I bleed,
Let me once more on my gray steed
Thrice round the timbered enceinte go:
Fire, when I tell thee so!"
"What freak is this?" quoth Stuyvesant grim.
Quoth Herman, "'Twas a charger brave—
Like my first bride in eye and limb—
A wedding-gift; indulge the whim!
And from his back to plunge, I crave,
A bridegroom, in her grave."