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Prompt to please her master;
Cursed him as he passed her.
Yet, with calm and stately mien,
Came he slowly riding;
Turning not for chiding.
Came a troop with broadswords swinging, Bits and bridles sharply ringing,
Loose and free and froward; Quoth the foremost, " Ride him down! Push him! prick him! through the town
Drive the Quaker coward!"
But from out the thickening crowd
"Barclay! Ho! a Barclay!"
Scarred and sunburned darkly;
Who with ready weapon bare,
Cried aloud: "God save us
With the brave Gustavus ? *
"Nay, I do not need thy sword, Comrade mine," said Ury's lord;
"Put it up I pray thee: Passive to his holy will, Trust I in my Master still,
Even though he slay me."
BARCLAY OF URY. 83
"Pledges of thy love and faith, Proved on many a field of death,
Not by me are needed." Marvelled much that henchman bold, That his laird, so stout of old,
Now so meekly pleaded.
"Woe's the day," he sadly said, With a slowly-shaking head,
And a look of pity; "Ury's honest lord reviled, Mock of knave and sport of child,
In his own good city 1
"Speak the word, and, master mine,
And his Walloon lancers,
To these boyish prancers!"
"Marvel not, mine ancient friend, Like beginning, like the end:"
Quoth the Laird of Ury, "Is the sinful servant more Than his gracious Lord who bore
Bonds and stripes in Jewry?
"Give me joy that in his name
"Happier I, with loss of all,
With few friends to greet me,
Riding out from Aberdeen,
With bared heads to meet me.
** When each good wife, o'er and o'er, Blessed me as I passed her door;
And the snooded daughter, Through her casement glancing down. Smiled on him who bore renown
From red fields of slaughter.
"Hard to feel the stranger's scoff, Hard the old friend's falling off,
Hard to learn forgiving: But the Lord his own rewards, And his love with theirs accords,
Warm and fresh and living.
"Through this dark and stormy night Faith beholds a feeble light
Up the blackness streaking; Knowing God's own time is best, In a patient hope I rest
For the full day-breaking '"
So the Laird of Ury said,
Towards the Tolbooth prison, Where, through iron grates, he heard Poor disciples of the Word
Preach of Christ arisen!
Not in vain, Confessor old,
Of thy day of trial;
Pours its seven-fold vial.
Happy he whose inward ear
WHAT THE VOICE SAID. 35
O'er the rabble's laughter; And, while Hatred's fagots burn, Glimpses through the smoke discern
Of the good hereafter.
Knowing this, that never yet
In the world's wide fallow;
Reap the harvests yellow.
Thus, with somewhat of the Seer,
From the Future borrow;
Paint the golden morrow!
WHAT THE VOICE SAID.
Maddened by Earth's wrong and evil, "Lord!" I cried in sudden ire,
"From thy right hand, clothed with thunder, Shake the bolted fire!
"Love is lost, and Faith is dying;
With the brute the man is sold; And the dropping blood of labor
Hardens into gold.
"Here the dying wail of Famine,
And, in silence, smooth-faced Mammon
"i Where is God, that we should fear Hira • Thus the earth-born Titans say;
* God! if thou art living, hear us!' Thus the weak ones pray.
"Thou, the patient Heaven upbraiding^" Spake a solemn Voice within;
"Weary of our Lord's forbearance, Art thou free from sin?
"Fearless brow to Him uplifting,
Knowing that to guilt's attraction
"Know'st thou not all germs of evil
Not thyself, but God's restraining,
"Could'st thou boast, oh child of weakness!
O'er the sons of wrong and strife, Were their strong temptations planted
In thy path of life?
"Thou hast seen two streamlets gushing
But by widely varying channels
"Glideth one through greenest valleys,
One, mad roaring down the mountains.
"Is it choice whereby the Parsee
In his black tent did the Tartar