X.

The black-eyed bushy squirrels ran Like shadows shatter'd through the boughs; The gallant robin chirp'd his vows, The far-off pheasant thrumm'd his fan, A thousand blackbirds were a-wing In walnut-top, and it was spring.

Old Morgan left his cabin door, And one sat watching as of yore; But why turned Morgan's face as white As his white beard? A bird aflight, A squirrel peering through the trees, Saw some one silent steal away Like darkness from the face of day, Saw two black eyes look back, and these Saw her hand beckon through the trees.

He knew him, though he had not seen That form or face for a decade, Though time had shorn his locks, had made His form another's, flow'd between Their lives like some uncompass'd sea, Yet still he knew him as before. He pursed his lips, and silently He turn'd and sought his cabin's door.

Ay! they have come, the sun-brown'd men, To beard old Morgan in his den. It matters little who they are, These silent men from isles afar, And truly no one cares or knows What be their merit or demand; It is enough for this rude land— At least, it is enough for those, The loud of tongue and rude of hand— To know that they are Morgan's foes.

Proud Morgan! More than tongue can tell He loved that woman watching there, That stood in her dark stream of hair, That stood and dream'd as in a spell, And look'd so fix'd and far away. And who, that loveth woman well, Is wholly bad? be who he may.

Ay! we have seen these Southern men, These sun-brown'd men from island shore, In this same land, and long before. They do not seem so lithe as then, They do not look so tall, and they Seem not so many as of old. But that same resolute and bold Expression of unbridled will, That even Time must half obey, Is with them and is of them still.

They do not counsel the decree Of court or council, where they drew Their breath, nor law nor order knew, Save but the strong hand of the strong; Where each stood up, avenged his wrong, Or sought his death all silently.

They watch along the wave and wood, They heed, but haste not. Their estate, Whate'er it be, can bide and wait, Be it open ill or hidden good.

No law for them! For they have stood With steel, and writ their rights in blood; And now, whatever 'tis they seek, Whatever be their dark demand, Why, they will make it, hand to hand, Take time and patience: Greek to Greek.