VI.

  They sprouted like the prophet’s gourd;
  They grew within a single night;
  So swift his busy years were scored
  That, ere he knew, his hope was white
  With harvest bending round his board!

  And eyes were black, and eyes were blue,
  And blood of mother and of sire,
  Each to its native humor true,
  Blent Northern force with Southern fire
  In strength and beauty, strange and new.

  The Gallic brown, the Saxon snow,
  The raven locks, the flaxen curls,
  Were so commingled in the now
  Of the new blood of boys and girls,
  That Puritan and Huguenot

  In love’s alembic were advanced
  To higher types and finer forms;
  And ardent humors thrilled and danced
  Through veins, that tempered all their storms,
  Or held them in restraint entranced.

  Oh! many times, as flew the years,
  The dainty cradle-song was sung;
  And bore its balm to restless ears,
  As one by one the nested young
  Slept in their willows and their tears.

  To each within the reedy glade,
  Hid from some tyrant’s cruel schemes,
  It was a princess, or her maid,
  Who bore him to the realm of dreams,
  And made him seer by accolade

  Of flaming bush and parted deep,
  Of gushing rocks and raining corn,
  And fire and cloud, and lengthened sweep
  Of thousands toward the promised morn,
  Across the wilderness of sleep!

  VII.

  The years rolled on in grand routine
  Of useful toil and chastening care,
  Till Philip, grown to heights, serene
  Of conscious power, and ripe with prayer,
  Took on the strong and stately mien

  Of one on whom had been conferred
  The doing of a knightly deed;
  And waited till it bade him gird
  The harness on him and his steed,
  For man and for his Master’s word.

  His name was spoken far and near,
  And sounded sweet on every tongue;
  Men knew him only to revere,
  And those who knew him nearest, flung
  Their hearts before his grand career,

  And paved his way with loyal trust. 
  He was their strongest, noblest man,—­
  Sworn foe of every selfish lust,
  And brave to do as wise to plan,
  And swift to judge as pure and just.

    VIII.

    Against such foil the mistress stood—­
    A pearl upon a cross of gold—­
    White with consistent womanhood,
    And fixed with unrelaxing hold
    Upon the centre of the rood!

    Through all those years of loving thrift,
    Nor blame nor discord marred their lot;
    Each to the lover-life was gift;
    And each was free from blur or blot
    That called for silence or for shrift.

    Each bore the burden that it held
    With patient hands along the road;
    And though, with passing years, it swelled
    Until it grew a weary load,
    Nor tongue complained, nor heart rebelled.