Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words of Priscilla, 315
  Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuading, expanding;
  Spoke of his courage and skill, and of all his battles in Flanders,
  How with the people of God he had chosen to suffer affliction,
  How, in return for his zeal, they had made him Captain of Plymouth;
  He was a gentleman born, could trace his pedigree plainly 320
  Back to Hugh Standish of Duxbury Hall, in Lancashire, England,
  Who was the son of Ralph; and the grandson of Thurston de Standish;
  Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely defrauded,
  Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest a cock argent
  Combed and wattled gules,[26] and all the rest of the blazon. 325
  He was a man of honor, of noble and generous nature;
  Though he was rough, he was kindly; she knew how during the winter
  He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as woman’s;
  Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and headstrong,
  Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and placable always, 330
  Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was little of stature;
  For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, courageous;
  Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in England,
  Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of Miles Standish!

  But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language, 335
  Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival,
  Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrunning with laughter,
  Said, in a tremulous voice, “Why don’t you speak for yourself, John?”

  IV

  JOHN ALDEN.

  Into the open air John Alden, perplexed and bewildered,
  Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone by the sea-side, 340
  Paced up and down the sands, and bared his head to the east-wind,
  Cooling his heated brow, and the fire and fever within him. 
  Slowly, as out of the heavens, with apocalyptical splendors,
  Sank the City of God, in the vision of John the Apostle,[27]
  So, with its cloudy walls of chrysolite, jasper, and sapphire, 345
  Sank the broad red sun, and over its turrets uplifted
  Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who measured the city.

  “Welcome, O wind of the East!” he exclaimed in his wild exultation,
  “Welcome, O wind of the East, from the caves of the misty Atlantic! 
  Blowing o’er fields of dulse,[38] and measureless meadows
      of sea-grass, 350
  Blowing o’er rocky wastes, and the grottos and gardens of ocean! 
  Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning forehead, and wrap me
  Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever within me!”