"Courtship" - читать интересную книгу автора (Longfellow Henry Wadsworth)

captives Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles but
Angels." Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the May
Flower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of
Plymouth. "Look at these arms," he said, "the warlike weapons
that hang here Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade
or inspection! This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in
Flanders; this breastplate, Well I remember the day! once saved
my life in a skirmish;

Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles
Standish Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the
Flemish morasses." Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not
up from his writing: "Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened
the speed of the bullet; He in his mercy preserved you, to be our
shield and our weapon!" Still the Captain continued, unheeding
the words of the stripling: "See, how bright they are burnished,
as if in an arsenal hanging; That is because I have done it
myself, and not left it to others.

Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage, And,
like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!" This he
said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams Dance
on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment. Alden
laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued: "Look! you
can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted

High on the roof of the church, a preacher who speaks to the
purpose, Steady, straight-forward, and strong, with irresistible
logic, Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of the
heathen. Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the
Indians; Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it
the better, -- Let them come if they like, be it sagamore,
sachem, or pow-wow, Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or
Tokamahamon!"

Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on the
landscape, Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath of the
east-wind, Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue rim of
the ocean,

Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and sunshine. Over
his countenance flitted a shadow like those on the landscape,