THE ARMORER'S ERRAND
419
And I pledge you my word, ere dawn of day
Guns and men shall be under way.
But where shall I send these minute-men?"
"Do you know Hand's Cove?" said Allen then,
"On the shore of Champlain? Let them meet me there
By to-morrow night, be it foul or fair!"
Guns and men shall be under way.
But where shall I send these minute-men?"
"Do you know Hand's Cove?" said Allen then,
"On the shore of Champlain? Let them meet me there
By to-morrow night, be it foul or fair!"
"Good-by, I'm off!" Then down the road.
As if on seven-league boots he strode,
While Allen watched from the forge's door
Till the stalwart form he could see no more.
Into the woods passed Gershom Beach;
By nine of the clock he was out of reach.
But still, as his will his steps outran,
He said to himself, with a laugh, "Old man,
Never a minute have you to lose,
Never a minute to pick or choose;
For sixty miles in twenty-four hours
Is surely enough to try your powers.
So square your shoulders and speed away
With never a halt by night or day."
As if on seven-league boots he strode,
While Allen watched from the forge's door
Till the stalwart form he could see no more.
Into the woods passed Gershom Beach;
By nine of the clock he was out of reach.
But still, as his will his steps outran,
He said to himself, with a laugh, "Old man,
Never a minute have you to lose,
Never a minute to pick or choose;
For sixty miles in twenty-four hours
Is surely enough to try your powers.
So square your shoulders and speed away
With never a halt by night or day."
'Twas a moonless night; but over his head
The stars a tremulous lustre shed,
And the breath of the woods grew strangely sweet,
As he crushed the wild ferns under his feet,
And trampled the shy arbutus blooms,
With their hoarded wealth of rare perfumes.
He sniffed as he went. "It seems to me
There are May-flowers here, but I cannot see.
I've read of the 'hush of the silent night';
Now hark! there's a wolf on yonder height;
There's a snarling catamount prowling round;
Every inch of the 'silence' is full of sound;
The night-birds cry; the whip-poor-wills
The stars a tremulous lustre shed,
And the breath of the woods grew strangely sweet,
As he crushed the wild ferns under his feet,
And trampled the shy arbutus blooms,
With their hoarded wealth of rare perfumes.
He sniffed as he went. "It seems to me
There are May-flowers here, but I cannot see.
I've read of the 'hush of the silent night';
Now hark! there's a wolf on yonder height;
There's a snarling catamount prowling round;
Every inch of the 'silence' is full of sound;
The night-birds cry; the whip-poor-wills
