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ONE hundred years ago, and something more, | |
In Queen Street, Portsmouth, at her tavern door, | |
Neat as a pin, and blooming as a rose, | |
Stood Mistress Stavers in her furbelows, | |
Just as her cuckoo-clock was striking nine. | 5 |
Above her head, resplendent on the sign, | |
The portrait of the Earl of Halifax, | |
In scarlet coat and periwig of flax, | |
Surveyed at leisure all her varied charms, | |
Her cap, her bodice, her white folded arms, | 10 |
And half resolved, though he was past his prime, | |
And rather damaged by the lapse of time, | |
To fall down at her feet, and to declare | |
The passion that had driven him to despair. | |
For from his lofty station he had seen | 15 |
Stavers, her husband, dressed in bottle-green, | |
Drive his new Flying Stage-coach, four in hand, | |
Down the long lane, and out into the land, | |
And knew that he was far upon the way | |
To Ipswich and to Boston on the Bay! | 20 |
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Just then the meditations of the Earl | |
Were interrupted by a little girl, | |
Barefooted, ragged, with neglected hair, | |
Eyes full of laughter, neck and shoulders bare, | |
A thin slip of a girl, like a new moon, | 25 |
Sure to be rounded into beauty soon, | |
A creature men would worship and adore, | |
Though now in mean habiliments she bore | |
A pail of water, dripping, through the street, | |
And bathing, as she went, her naked feet. | 30 |
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It was a pretty picture, full of grace, | |
The slender form, the delicate, thin face; | |
The swaying motion, as she hurried by; | |
The shining feet, the laughter in her eye, | |
That oer her face in ripples gleamed and glanced, | 35 |
As in her pail the shifting sunbeam danced: | |
And with uncommon feelings of delight | |
The Earl of Halifax beheld the sight. | |
Not so Dame Stavers, for he heard her say | |
These words, or thought he did, as plain as day: | 40 |
O Martha Hilton! Fie! how dare you go | |
About the town half dressed, and looking so! | |
At which the gypsy laughed, and straight replied: | |
No matter how I look; I yet shall ride | |
In my own chariot, maam. And on the child | 45 |
The Earl of Halifax benignly smiled, | |
As with her heavy burden she passed on, | |
Looked back, then turned the corner, and was gone. | |
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What next, upon that memorable day, | |
Arrested his attention was a gay | 50 |
And brilliant equipage, that flashed and spun, | |
The silver harness glittering in the sun, | |
Outriders with red jackets, lithe and lank, | |
Pounding the saddles as they rose and sank, | |
While all alone within the chariot sat | 55 |
A portly person with three-cornered hat, | |
A crimson velvet coat, head high in air, | |
Gold-headed cane, and nicely powdered hair, | |
And diamond buckles sparkling at his knees, | |
Dignified, stately, florid, much at ease. | 60 |
Onward the pageant swept, and as it passed, | |
Fair Mistress Stavers courtesied low and fast; | |
For this was Governor Wentworth, driving down | |
To Little Harbor, just beyond the town, | |
Where his Great House stood looking out to sea, | 65 |
A goodly place, where it was good to be. | |
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It was a pleasant mansion, an abode | |
Near and yet hidden from the great high-road, | |
Sequestered among trees, a noble pile, | |
Baronial and colonial in its style; | 70 |
Gables and dormer-windows everywhere, | |
And stacks of chimneys rising high in air, | |
Pandæan pipes, on which all winds that blew | |
Made mournful music the whole winter through. | |
Within, unwonted splendors met the eye, | 75 |
Panels, and floors of oak, and tapestry; | |
Carved chimney-pieces, where on brazen dogs | |
Revelled and roared the Christmas fires of logs; | |
Doors opening into darkness unawares, | |
Mysterious passages, and nights of stairs; | 80 |
And on the walls, in heavy gilded frames, | |
The ancestral Wentworths with Old-Scripture names. | |
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Such was the mansion where the great man dwelt, | |
A widower and childless; and he felt | |
The loneliness, the uncongenial gloom, | 85 |
That like a presence haunted every room; | |
For though not given to weakness, he could feel | |
The pain of wounds, that ache because they heal. | |
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The years came and the years went,seven in all, | |
And passed in cloud and sunshine oer the Hall; | 90 |
The dawns their splendor through its chambers shed, | |
The sunsets flushed its western windows red; | |
The snow was on its roofs, the wind, the rain; | |
Its woodlands were in leaf and bare again; | |
Moons waxed and waned, the lilacs bloomed and died, | 95 |
In the broad river ebbed and flowed the tide, | |
Ships went to sea, and ships came home from sea, | |
And the slow years sailed by and ceased to be. | |
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And all these years had Martha Hilton served | |
In the Great House, not wholly unobserved: | 100 |
By day, by night, the silver crescent grew, | |
Though hidden by clouds, her light still shining through; | |
A maid of all work, whether coarse or fine, | |
A servant who made service seem divine! | |
Through her each room was fair to look upon; | 105 |
The mirrors glistened, and the brasses shone, | |
The very knocker on the outer door, | |
If she but passed, was brighter than before. | |
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And now the ceaseless turning of the mill | |
Of Time, that never for an hour stands still, | 110 |
Ground out the Governors sixtieth birthday, | |
And powdered his brown hair with silver-gray. | |
The robin, the forerunner of the spring, | |
The bluebird with his jocund carolling, | |
The restless swallows building in the eaves, | 115 |
The golden buttercups, the grass, the leaves, | |
The lilacs tossing in the winds of May, | |
All welcomed this majestic holiday! | |
He gave a splendid banquet, served on plate, | |
Such as became the Governor of the State, | 120 |
Who represented England and the King, | |
And was magnificent in everything. | |
He had invited all his friends and peers, | |
The Pepperels, the Langdons, and the Lears, | |
The Sparhawks, the Penhallows, and the rest; | 125 |
For why repeat the name of every guest? | |
But I must mention one, in bands and gown, | |
The rector there, the Reverend Arthur Brown | |
Of the Established Church; with smiling face | |
He sat beside the Governor and said grace; | 130 |
And then the feast went on, as others do, | |
But ended as none other I eer knew. | |
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When they had drunk the King, with many a cheer. | |
The Governor whispered in a servants ear, | |
Who disappeared, and presently there stood | 135 |
Within the room, in perfect womanhood, | |
A maiden, modest and yet self-possessed, | |
Youthful and beautiful, and simply dressed. | |
Can this be Martha Hilton? It must be! | |
Yes, Martha Hilton, and no other she! | 140 |
Dowered with the beauty of her twenty years, | |
How ladylike, how queenlike she appears; | |
The pale, thin crescent of the days gone by | |
Is Dian now in all her majesty! | |
Yet scarce a guest perceived that she was there | 145 |
Until the Governor, rising from his chair, | |
Played slightly with his ruffles, then looked down, | |
And said unto the Reverend Arthur Brown: | |
This is my birthday: it shall likewise be | |
My wedding-day; and you shall marry me! | 150 |
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The listening guests were greatly mystified, | |
None more so than the rector, who replied: | |
Marry you? Yes, that were a pleasant task, | |
Your Excellency; but to whom? I ask. | |
The Governor answered: To this lady here; | 155 |
And beckoned Martha Hilton to draw near. | |
She came and stood, all blushes, at his side. | |
The rector paused. The impatient Governor cried: | |
This is the lady; do you hesitate? | |
Then I command you as Chief Magistrate. | 160 |
The rector read the service loud and clear: | |
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here, | |
And so on to the end. At his command | |
On the fourth finger of her fair left hand | |
The Governor placed the ring; and that was all: | 165 |
Martha was Lady Wentworth of the Hall! | |
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