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Simms, William Gilmore, 1806-1870 [1850], The lily and the totem, or, The Huguenots in Florida: a series of sketches, picturesque and historical, of the colonies of Coligni, in North America, 1562-1570 (Baker & Scribner, New York) [word count] [eaf373]. To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.
Originally, it was the design of the Author, to write a religious
By patience, than the sword. Thou shalt put on Humility as armor; and set forth, Leading thy flock, whom the gaunt wolf pursues, To other lands and pastures. 'T is no home For the pure heart in France! There, Tyranny Hath wed with Superstition; and the fruit— The foul, but natural issue of their lusts, Is murder!—which, höt-hunting fresher feasts, Knows never satiation;—raging still, Where'er a pure heart-victim may be found In these fair regions. It will lay them waste, Leaving no field of peace,—leaving no spot Where virtue may find refuge from her foes, Permitted to forbear defensive blows, Most painful, though most needful to her cause! The brave shall perish, and the fearful bend, Till unmixed evil, rioting in waste, Wallows in crime and earnage unrebuked! Vain is thy wisdom,—and the hollow league, That tempts thee to forbearance, worse than vain. Flight be thy refuge now. Thou shalt shake off The dust upon thy sandals, and go forth To a far foreign land;—a wild, strange realm, That were a savage empire, most unmeet For Christian footstep, and the peaceful mood, But that it is a refuge shown by God For shelter of his people. Thither, then, Betake thee in thy flight. Let not thy cheek Flush at the seeming shame. It is no shame To fly from shameless foes. This truth is taught
By him, the venerable sire who led His people from the Egyptians. Lead thou thine! Forbear the soldier's fury. I would rouse The Prophet and the Patriarch in thy breast, And make thee better seek the peaceful march, Than the fierce, deadly struggle. Thou shouldst guide, With pastoral hand of meekness, not of blood, The tribes that still have followed thee, and still, Demand thy care. Far o'er the western deeps Have I prepared thy dwelling! A new world, Full of all fruits and lovely to the eye,— Various in mount and valley, sweet in stream, Cool in recesses of the ample wood, With climate bland, air vigorous, sky as pure As is the love that proffers it to faith— Await thee; and the seas have favoring gales To waft thee on thy path! Delay and die!”
While that which cradled me lies desolate In blood and ashes! It is better here To strive against the ruin and misrule, Than basely yield the empire to the foe, Whose sway we might withstand; and whose abuse, Unchecked, were but the fruitful argument For thousand years of woe! I would not lay These aged bones to sleep in distant lands, Though pure and peaceful; but would close mine eye, Upon the same sweet skies—by tempests now Torn and disclouded—upon which gladly first They opened with delight in infancy. This fondness, it may be, is but a weakness Becoming not my manhood. Be it so! I know that I am weak; but there's a passion, That glows with loyal anger in my heart, And shows like virtue. It forbids my flight; And, for my country's glory, and the safety Of our distracted and diminished flock, Declares how much more grateful were the strife— That proud defiance which I still have given To those fierce enemies, whose sleepless hate Hath shamed and struck at both. I deem it better To struggle with injustice than submit; For still submission of the innocent Makes evident the guilty; and the good, Who yield, but multiply the herd of foes, That ravin when the retribution sleeps! What hope were there for sad humanity, If still, when came the danger, fled the brave?
Fled only to beguile, in fierce pursuit, The wolfish spoiler, leaving refuge none, In heart or homestead? Not for me to fly— Not though, I hear, Eternal Sire! thy voice. Still speaking with deep utterance in my soul, Commending my obedience. All in vain, I strive to serve thee with submission meet, And move to do thy will. The earth grows up, Around me; and the aspects of my home, Enclose me like the mountains and the sea, Forbidding me to fly them. Natural ties, That are as God's, upon the mortal heart, Fetter me still of France! and yet thou knowest, How reverent and unselfish were my toils, In this our people's cause. I have not spared Day or night labor; and my blood hath flowed, Unstinted, in the strife that we have waged. The sword hath hacked these limbs—the poisoned cup Hung at these lips. The ignominous death, From the uplifted scaffold, look'd upon me, Craving its victim; the assassin's steel, Turned from my ribs, with narrowest graze avoiding The imperil'd life! Yet never have I shrunk, Because of these flesh-dangers from the work Whereto my hand was set. Let me not now Turn from the field in flight, though still to lead The flock that I must die for! This I know! I cannot always 'scape. The blow will come! Not always will the poisonous draught be spill'd, Or the sharp steel be foil'd, or turn'd aside;—
And to the many martyrs in this cause, Already made, my yearning spirit feels, Its sworn alliance. I will die like them, But cannot fly their graves! I dare not fly, Though death awaits me here, and, soft, afar, Sits safety in the cloud and beckons me.”
Simms, William Gilmore, 1806-1870 [1850], The lily and the totem, or, The Huguenots in Florida: a series of sketches, picturesque and historical, of the colonies of Coligni, in North America, 1562-1570 (Baker & Scribner, New York) [word count] [eaf373]. |