Lo! when the service was ended, a form appeared on the threshold,
  Clad in armor of steel, a sombre and sorrowful figure! 
  Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange apparition? 945
  Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on his shoulder? 
  Is it a phantom of air,—­a bodiless, spectral illusion? 
  Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the betrothal? 
  Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, unwelcomed;
  Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an expression 950
  Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden beneath them,
  As when across the sky the driving rack[57] of the rain cloud
  Grows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun by its brightness. 
  Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, but was silent,
  As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting intention. 955
  But when were ended the troth and the prayer and the last benediction,
  Into the room it strode, and the people beheld, with amazement
  Bodily there in his armor, Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth! 
  Grasping the bridegroom’s hand, he said with emotion, “Forgive me! 
  I have been angry and hurt,—­too long have I cherished the feeling; 960
  I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God! it is ended. 
  Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of Hugh Standish,
  Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for error. 
  Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John Alden.” 
  Thereupon answered the bridegroom:  “Let all be forgotten
      between us,—­ 965
  All save the dear old friendship, and that shall grow older
      and dearer!”
  Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Priscilla,
  Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned gentry in England,
  Something of camp and of court, of town and of country, commingled,
  Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly lauding her husband. 970
  Then he said with a smile:  “I should have remembered the adage,—­
  If you would be well served, you must serve yourself; and moreover,
  No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of Christmas!"[58]
  Great was the people’s amazement, and greater yet their rejoicing,
  Thus to behold once more the sunburnt face of their Captain, 975
  Whom they had mourned as dead, and they gathered and crowded about him,
  Eager to see him, and hear him, forgetful of bride and of bridegroom,
  Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupting the other,
  Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpowered and bewildered,
  He had rather by far break into an Indian encampment, 980
  Than come again to a wedding to which he had not been invited.