“In the old colonial days, in Plymouth, the land of the Pilgrims, To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling, Clad in doublet and hose and boots of Cordovan leather, Strode with a martial air Miles Standish, the Puritan Captain. Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare, Cutlass and corslet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus, Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence, While underneath in a corner were fowling piece, musket and matchlock. Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic, Broad in the shoulders, deep chested, with muscles and sinews of iron, Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.” A very handsome young man, by the name of John Alden, shared with Captain Standish the comforts and discomforts of the widower’s home. He had fair hair, azure eyes and a Saxon complexion, and was sufficiently unlike the Captain for them to be very warm friends. There could be no rivalry between the gentle young man of books and romance, and the stern veteran of facts and the sword. John Alden was deeply in love with Priscilla, the most beautiful maiden in Plymouth. Death had robbed her of both father and mother, and she was equally in love with John. But the bashful student had not yet summoned courage to declare his love. But it so happened that Captain Standish, without any knowledge of his friend’s state of mind, had also turned his eyes to Priscilla, as the successor of Rose. Conscious of his own imperfections as a lady’s man, and fearful that he could not woo the beautiful maiden in fitting phrase, he applied to his scholarly friend to speak in his behalf. In the following melodious strains the poet gives utterance to the Captain’s speech: