XIX.

  So Mildred, with prophetic ken,
  Saw in the long and rainy day
  The dreaded host of friendly men
  And friendly women, kept away,
  And time for love, and book, and pen.

  But while she looked, with dreaming eyes
  And heart content, upon the scene,
  She saw a stalwart man arise
  Where the wild water lashed the green,
  And pause a breath, to signalize

  Some one beyond her stinted view;
  Then turn with hurried feet, and straight
  The deep, rain-burdened grasses through,
  And through the manse’s open gate,
  Pass to her door.  At once she knew

  That some faint soul, in sad extreme,
  Had sent for succor to the manse,
  And knew its master would redeem
  To sacred use the circumstance
  That made such havoc of her dream.

  XX.

  She saw the quiet men depart,
  She saw them leave the river-side,
  She saw them brave with sturdy art
  The surges of the angry tide,
  And disappear; the while her heart

  Sank down in dismal loneliness. 
  Then came her vexing thoughts again;
  And quick, as if she broke duress
  Of heavy weariness or pain,
  She sought the study’s dim recess,

  Where rank on rank, against the wall,
  The mighty men of every land
  Stood mutely waiting for the call
  Of him who, with his single hand,
  Had bravely met and mastered all.

  The gray old monarchs of the pen
  Looked down with calm, benignant gaze,
  And Augustine and Origen
  And Ansel justified the ways—­
  The wondrous ways—­of God with men.

  Among the tall hierophants
  Angelical Aquinas stood;
  While Witsius held the “Covenants,”
  And Irenaeus, wise and good,
  Couched low his silver-bearded lance

  For strife with heresy and schism,
  And Turretin with lordly nod
  Gave system to the dogmatism
  That analyzed the thought of God
  As light is painted by a prism.

  Great Luther, with his great disputes,
  And Calvin, with his finished scheme,
  And Charnock, with his “Attributes,”
  And Taylor with his poet’s dream
  Of theologic flowers and flutes,

  And Thomas Fuller, old and quaint,
  And Cudworth, dry with dust of gold,
  And South, the sharp and witty saint,
  With Howe and Owen—­broad and bold—­
  And Leighton still without the taint

  Of earth upon his robe of white,
  Stood side by side with Hobbes and Locke,
  And, braced by many an acolyte,
  With Edwards standing on his rock,
  And all New England’s men of might,

  Whose gifts and offices divine
  Had crowned her with a kingly crown,
  And solemn doctors from the Rhine,
  With Fichte, Kant, and Hegel, down
  Through all the long and stately line!

  As Mildred saw the awful host,
  She felt within no motive stir
  To realize her girlish boast,
  And knew they held no more for her
  Than if each volume were a ghost.