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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420632" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>St. John. 1647</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'To the winds give our banner!<br>Bear homeward again!'<br>Cried the Lord of Acadia,<br>Cried Charles of Estienne;<br>From the prow of his shallop<br>He gazed, as the sun,<br>From its bed in the ocean,<br>Streamed up the St. John.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O'er the blue western waters<br>That shallop had passed,<br>Where the mists of Penobscot<br>Clung damp on her mast.<br>St. Saviour had looked<br>On the heretic sail,<br>As the songs of the Huguenot<br>Rose on the gale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pale, ghostly fathers<br>Remembered her well,<br>And had cursed her while passing,<br>With taper and bell;<br>But the men of Monhegan,<br>Of Papists abhorred,<br>Had welcomed and feasted<br>The heretic Lord.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They had loaded his shallop<br>With dun-fish and ball,<br>With stores for his larder,<br>And steel for his wall.<br>Pemaquid, from her bastions<br>And turrets of stone,<br>Had welcomed his coming<br>With banner and gun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the prayers of the elders<br>Had followed his way,<br>As homeward he glided,<br>Down Pentecost Bay.<br>Oh, well sped La Tour<br>For, in peril and pain,<br>His lady kept watch,<br>For his coming again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O'er the Isle of the Pheasant<br>The morning sun shone,<br>On the plane-trees which shaded<br>The shores of St. John.<br>'Now, why from yon battlements<br>Speaks not my love!<br>Why waves there no banner<br>My fortress above?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dark and wild, from his deck<br>St. Estienne gazed about,<br>On fire-wasted dwellings,<br>And silent redoubt;<br>From the low, shattered walls<br>Which the flame had o'errun,<br>There floated no banner,<br>There thundered no gun!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But beneath the low arch<br>Of its doorway there stood<br>A pale priest of Rome,<br>In his cloak and his hood.<br>With the bound of a lion,<br>La Tour sprang to land,<br>On the throat of the Papist<br>He fastened his hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Speak, son of the Woman<br>Of scarlet and sin!<br>What wolf has been prowling<br>My castle within?'<br>From the grasp of the soldier<br>The Jesuit broke,<br>Half in scorn, half in sorrow,<br>He smiled as he spoke:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'No wolf, Lord of Estienne,<br>Has ravaged thy hall,<br>But thy red-handed rival,<br>With fire, steel, and ball!<br>On an errand of mercy<br>I hitherward came,<br>While the walls of thy castle<br>Yet spouted with flame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Pentagoet's dark vessels<br>Were moored in the bay,<br>Grim sea-lions, roaring<br>Aloud for their prey.'<br>'But what of my lady?'<br>Cried Charles of Estienne.<br>'On the shot-crumbled turret<br>Thy lady was seen:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Half-veiled in the smoke-cloud,<br>Her hand grasped thy pennon,<br>While her dark tresses swayed<br>In the hot breath of cannon!<br>But woe to the heretic,<br>Evermore woe!<br>When the son of the church<br>And the cross is his foe!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'In the track of the shell,<br>In the path of the ball,<br>Pentagoet swept over<br>The breach of the wall!<br>Steel to steel, gun to gun,<br>One moment,-and then<br>Alone stood the victor,<br>Alone with his men!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Of its sturdy defenders,<br>Thy lady alone<br>Saw the cross-blazoned banner<br>Float over St. John.'<br>'Let the dastard look to it!'<br>Cried fiery Estienne,<br>'Were D'Aulnay King Louis,<br>I'd free her again!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Alas for thy lady!<br>No service from thee<br>Is needed by her<br>Whom the Lord hath set free;<br>Nine days, in stern silence,<br>Her thraldom she bore,<br>But the tenth morning came,<br>And Death opened her door!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As if suddenly smitten<br>La Tour staggered back;<br>His hand grasped his sword-hilt,<br>His forehead grew black.<br>He sprang on the deck<br>Of his shallop again.<br>'We cruise now for vengeance!<br>Give way!' cried Estienne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Massachusetts shall hear<br>Of the Huguenot's wrong,<br>And from island and creekside<br>Her fishers shall throng!<br>Pentagoet shall rue<br>What his Papists have done,<br>When his palisades echo<br>The Puritan's gun!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, the loveliest of heavens<br>Hung tenderly o'er him,<br>There were waves in the sunshine,<br>And green isles before him:<br>But a pale hand was beckoning<br>The Huguenot on;<br>And in blackness and ashes<br>Behind was St. John!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420632" data-title="St. John. 1647 de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="'To the winds give our banner!
Bear homeward again!'
Cried the Lord of Acadia,
Cried Charles of Estienne;
From the prow of his shallop
He gazed, as the sun,
From its bed in the ocean,
Streamed up the St. John.

O'er the blue western waters
That sh..."></div>
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