With ice and snow the window-panes were bound, Nor through their dimness could the earth appear, And still in gusts the wind a passage found Down the rude chimney with a roaring sound. XVIII. A voice divine it did to Williams seem; He sat awhile within himself retired, Cast from the brands that on the hearth are fired; The tempest lulls apace, until he seems To hear from neighboring woods the panther's screams. XIX. "But what is that? a knocking? and once more? Some way-lost wanderer seeks a shelter here; Ah, wretched man, amid the boisterous roar Of snow and wind, thy sufferings are severe ! ' He raised the bar that kept the outer door, And with the snow-gust from the darkness drear, A stranger entered, whose large garments bore Proof of the storm in clinging snowflakes hoar. XX. Aged he seemed, and staff of length had he, But yet he sought, with quiet dignity And easy step, the centre of the room; XXI. His eyes beamed youth; and such a solemn mien, Where down his shoulder hung its tresses sheen. XXII. And when he spake his voice was low and clear, The listening soul seemed rapt into a sphere Where angels speak in music of their own. XXIII. "Thou art to voyage an unexplored flood; No chart is there thy lonely bark to steer; Beneath her, rocks — around her, tempests rude, And persecution's billows in her rear, Shall shake thy soul till it is near subdued: But when the welcome of 'What cheer! What cheer!' Shall greet thine ears from Indian multitude, Cast thou thine Anchor there, and trust in God." XXIV. The stranger ceased, and gently past away, He only in soft accents seemed to say, "Perchance I may behold thee yet again, What time thy day shall more auspicious be, And hope shall turn to joy in victory." XXV. The stranger past, and Williams, by the fire, Come down to urge and hallow his intent? XXVI. 'Twas strange-mysterious! Yet, if dream it were, 'Twas such as chosen men of old had known, When Jacob saw the heaven-ascending stair, And Joseph hoarded for the dearth foreshown. Ah! did the Omniscient hear his earnest prayer, And did e'en Heaven the glorious project own! Then would he, by the morrow's earliest ray, Unto the distant forest make his way. XXVII. He sought for rest, but feverous was his plight Or shun the eager quest of following foe, Tasked his invention with no labor light And long, and slow, and lagging was the night. XXVIII. And if by fits came intervening sleep, Through deserts wild and rugged roved his soul, Here rose the rock-there sunk the headlong steep, And fiercely round him seemed the storm to howl; The while from sheltered glen his foes would peep With taunts and jeers, and with revilings foul Scoff at his efforts; and their clamors deep Came mingled with that awful tempest's sweep. XXIX. Morn came at last; and by the dawning day, And shall he now that blissful slumber break? Within the mind, its mightier powers awake, And that the storms, which gloom the pilgrim's way, Prepare the soul for her eternal day. 66 XXX. 'Mary!" (she woke) "prepare the meet attire, My pocket-compass and my mantle strong, My flint and steel to yield the needful fire, XXXI. "What! goest thou, Roger, in this chilling storm? Wait! wait at least until its rage is o'er; Its wrath will bar e'en persecution's arm Oh, what protecting hand from lurking harm Will be thy shield by night? — What friendly door Will give thee refuge at the dire alarm Of hungry wolves, and beasts in human form?" XXXII. Thou dost complain "Oh cease, my Mary, cease! That Heaven itself doth interpose to save, Doth wing this tempest's fury to restrain The quest of foes, and prompt my soul to brave The desert's perils, that I may maintain The conscience free against who would enslave; Wait till the storm shall cease to sweep the plain, And we are doomed to cross yon heaving main." XXXIII. No more he said, for she in silence went Till he could safely reach far wood or shore; That friends might plead, and bigotry relent. XXXIV. Then he to Heaven his weeping spouse commends, A look where all her aching heart is told; |