AS though Priscilla had smoothed out the frown
She had for all things that were worldly-wise—
As though she stood again ’neath softer skies
Than on the bleak New England rocks looked down,
And all the sorrows of that time could drown,—
Thus comes one, unaustere, with kindly eyes,
Stepping from out the past’s dim tapestries,
A Puritan with purity her crown.
Yet, not the shy reserve that marks her ways
Nor lines of strength denoted in her face
O’er which the sweetest light ’neath heaven plays,
Compel our love, but traces of the race
That passes down its grandeur to our days,
Seeking the good and spurning all things base!