MEETING OF FITZ JAMES AND RODERICK DHU.
[This piece requires great variety of tones. The pitch is partly indicated by the italics and capitals.]
"Thy name and purpose'? Saxon, STAND!"
"A stranger'."-" What dost thou require'?”
"Rest' and a guide', and food', and fire',
My life's beset, my path is lost,
The gale has chilled my limbs with frost."
"Art thou a friend to Roderick'?"—" No`."
"Thou DAREST not call thyself a FOE'?"
"I DARE! to him and all the band
He brings to aid his murderous hand."
"Bold words!-but though the beast of game
The privilege of chase may claim,
Though space and law the stag we lend,
Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend,
Who' ever recked where, how, or when,
The prowling for was trapped and slain'?
Thus treacherous scouts'-yet, sure, they lie,
Who say thou camest a secret spy'!"
"They do, by heaven! Come Roderick Dhu,
And of his clan the BOLDEST two',
And let me but till morning rest,
I write the FALSEHOOD on their CREST."
"If, by the blaze, I mark aright,
Thou bearest the belt and spur of knight?"
"Then by these tokens mayest thou know
Each proud oppressor's MORTAL FOE.”
"Enough', enough'; sit down', and share
A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare'."
The city slumbers. O'er its mighty walls
Night's dusky mantle soft and silent falls;
Sleep o'er the world slow waves its wand of lead,
And ready torpors wrap each sinking head.
Stilled is the stir of labor and of life;
Hushed is the hum, and tranquilized the strife.
Man is at rest, with all his hopes and fears;
The young forget their sports, the old their cares;
The grave are careless; those who joy or weep,
All rest contented on the arm of sleep.
Sweet is the pillowed rest of beauty now,
And slumber smiles upon her tranquil brow;
Her bright dreams lead her to the moonlit tide,
Her heart's own partner wandering by her side.
'Tis a summer eve; the soft gales scarcely rouse
The low-voiced ripple and the rustling boughs;
And faint and far, some minstrel's melting tone
Breathes to her heart a music like its own.
When, hark! O horror! What a crash is there!
What shriek is that which fills the midnight air?
"Tis "FIRE! FIRE!" She wakes to dream no more!
The hot blast rushes through the blazing door!
The dim smoke eddies round; and hark! that cry!
"HELP! HELP! Will no one aid? I die I die!"
She seeks the casement; shuddering at its height,
She turns again; the fierce flames mock her flight;
Along the crackling stairs they fiercely play,
And roar, exulting, as they seize their prey.
Help! HELP! Will no one come?"
But, pale and breathless, sinks upon the floor.
Will no one save thee? Yes, there yet is one
Remains to save when hope itself is gone;
When all have fled-when all but he would fly,
The fireman comes to rescue or to die!
He mounts the stair-it wavers 'neath his tread ;
He seeks the room—flames flashing round his head;
He bursts the door, he lifts her prostrate frame,
And turns again to brave the raging flame.
The fire-blast smites him with its stifling breath,
The falling timbers menace him with death,
The sinking floors his hurried steps betray,
And ruin crashes round his desperate way;
Hot smoke obscures―ten thousand cinders rise-
Yet still he staggers forward with his prize.
He leaps from burning stair to stair. On! On!
Courage! One effort more, and all is won!
2. He said to his friend,-"If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower, as a signal light,-
One, if by land, and two, if by sea;
And I, on the opposite shore, will be
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country-folk to be up, and to arm."
3. Then he said "Good night!" and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where, swinging wide at her moorings, lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war:
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon, like a prison bar;
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.
4. Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street,
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till, in the silence around him, he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.
5. Then he climbed to the tower of the church, Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,—
Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen, and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.
6. Beneath, in the church-yard, lay the dead,
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
7. A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
Or a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,-
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.
8. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth ;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely, and spectral, and somber, and still.
9. And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height,
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns!
10. A hurry of hoofs in the village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of the nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
11. It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town;
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.
12. It was one by the village clock
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gazed at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.
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