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Excerpt from The Courtship of Miles Standish: And Other Poems
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet Fired point-blank at my heafiby a Spanish arcabucero. Ufiﬂad it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten A 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.
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