LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling,
Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the Captain,
Reading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius Caesar. 
After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand, palm downwards,
Heavily on the page:  “A wonderful man was this Caesar! 
You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is a fellow
Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally skilful!”
Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the comely, the youthful: 
“Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen and his weapons. 
Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he could dictate
Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his memoirs.” 
“Truly,” continued the Captain, not heeding or hearing the other,
“Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius Caesar! 
Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village,
Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right when he said it. 
Twice was he married before he was twenty, and many times after;
Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand cities he conquered;
He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has recorded;
Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator Brutus! 
Now, do you know what he did on a certain occasion in Flanders,
When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front giving way too,
And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded so closely together
There was no room for their swords?  Why, he seized a shield from a soldier,
Put himself straight at the head of his troops, and commanded the captains,
Calling on each by his name, to order forward the ensigns;
Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for their weapons;
So he won the day, the battle of something-or-other. 
That’s what I always say; if you wish a thing to be well done,
You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others!”

All was silent again; the Captain continued his reading. 
Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling
Writing epistles important to go next day by the Mayflower,
Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla;
Every sentence began or closed with the name of Priscilla,
Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the secret,
Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of Priscilla! 
Finally closing his book, with a bang of the ponderous cover,
Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier grounding his musket,
Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth: 
“When you have finished your work, I have something important to tell you. 
Be not however in haste; I can wait; I shall not be impatient!”
Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last of his letters,
Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful attention: 
“Speak; for whenever you speak, I am always