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 Lays o/ 
 QuaKerdom 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
V "tA.uor-rv/vJS-*^ ^ [£e-'yn.^^,..y->.v6- O ] \.^K^S\ 
 
 LAYS of 
 QUAKERDOM 
 
 By 
 "RUTH PLUMLET" 
 
 Reprinted from 
 
 The Knickerbocker 
 
 OF 
 
 1853-54-55 
 
 THE BIDDLE PRESS 
 Philadelphia 
 
.PnL5 
 
I. The Execution of Mary Dyer. 
 
 II. Visit of Mary Fisher to the 
 Sultan Mohammed IV. 
 
 III. James Parnell, 
 
 The Quaker Proto-Martyr. 
 
THE EXECUTION OF MARY DYER, 
 AT BOSTON, JUNE FIRST, 1660. 
 
 Mary Dyer was a respectable woman, the wife 
 of a reputable inhabitant of Rhode Island, and the 
 mother of several children. Believing it to be her duty 
 to accompany two friends to Boston, to induce the au- 
 thorities to repeal the sanguinary laws against Quakers 
 and other dissenters, they went there in September, 
 1659. The three were arrested "for being Quakers," 
 tried as heretics, and banished under pain of death, 
 being allowed two days to depart. Found subsequently 
 within the jurisdiction, they were again arrested and 
 sentenced to death. The two men were executed on 
 the afternoon of October twenty-seventh, and their dead 
 bodies subjected to the most revolting indignities; 
 denied burial, or coffins, or clothing, they were thrown 
 naked into a pit, which happening to fill with water, 
 alone protected them from beasts of prey. 
 
 Mary Dyer was reprieved under the gallows at 
 the intercession of her son, and sent home; but return- 
 ing in April following, she was again arrested, the 
 sentence confirmed, and led to execution on the morning 
 of June first, i66o. 
 
 The distance to the gallows was one mile ; and the 
 drums were ordered to beat whenever she attempted to 
 speak on her way thither. On the scaflFold her life was 
 again offered her, if she would forever depart the juris- 
 diction ; but she could not accept such conditions. 
 
 Her meekness, Christian endurance, and death, 
 aroused great sympathy in the colonies, as well as in 
 England, and she was the last but one of the Quakers 
 put to death in America, for the royal mandamus of 
 Charles II., requiring their liberation from prison and 
 exemption from persecution, was signed by the King, 
 September ninth, 1660, and proclaimed in New Eng- 
 land about two months after; whereupon the Quakers 
 held a general thanksgiving in Boston. 
 
 History has few examples of greater suffering, or 
 of higher heroism, than were endured and exhibited 
 by the early Quakers in various parts of the world. 
 
THE EXECUTION OF MARY DYER, 
 AT BOSTON, JUNE FIRST, 1660. 
 
 I. 
 il%ITH his household, quaint and simple, 
 11/ In his manly prime, 
 
 By the fire-light sat a Quaker, 
 
 In the winter time ; 
 Moved in feeling by the pealing 
 
 Of the Christmas chime: 
 Little looked he to the outward; 
 
 Feasts and holy days, 
 To his inward faith and worship. 
 
 Were as worldly ways; 
 But he scoffed not at the symbols 
 
 Of the people's praise. 
 Little loved he art or music. 
 
 And his fire-light falls. 
 In fantastic shape and semblance, 
 
 O'er ungarnished walls: 
 But he loved the blessed teaching 
 
 Which the chime recalls. 
 All so still he sate, and solemn, 
 
 While his own high thought. 
 Thronged upon his ample forehead, 
 
 Such a stillness wrought. 
 That the mystic spell of Silence 
 
 All around him caught. 
 Sweetly looked they in that circle, 
 
 Wife and children three; 
 Two brave boys beside the mother 
 
 Hushed their boyish glee; 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 And a fair young girl was kneeling 
 At her father's knee. 
 
 II. 
 
 Outward, with its sweet evangel 
 
 On the ear of Time, 
 Upward far, to meet the star-light, 
 
 Swept the sounding chime, 
 As the centuries shall hear it 
 
 Ever more, sublime. 
 From the ages dim and distant, 
 
 Through the pealing bell, 
 Rolled anew the inspirations 
 
 From His lips that fell. 
 On the ancient Mount of Olives, 
 
 By Samaria's well, 
 While the echo star-ward dying. 
 
 Seemed each martyr's knell. 
 
 HI. 
 
 "Father, tell us of the Quakers," 
 
 (Did the children say,) 
 "How the cruel Pilgrim rulers 
 
 Drove the Friends away; 
 Tell us how they whipped and killed them 
 
 In that olden day, 
 When they hung poor Mary Dyer — 
 
 Cruel men were they." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Fearful was the inward conflict 
 
 Ere he made reply. 
 For his nature, brave and martial, 
 
 Broke so bold and high 
 
 6 
 
The Execution of Mary Dyer 
 
 Into flame along his forehead, 
 
 Lightning from his eye, 
 As the martyrs of his people 
 
 Passed in spirit by, 
 Looked he like a warrior waiting 
 
 For the battle-cry. 
 So the fiery indignation 
 
 Through his pulses ran, 
 For a moment, ere the Christian 
 
 Triumphed o'er the Man; 
 And his tones were deep and thrilling 
 
 As the tale began: 
 
 Sate the Puritanic rulers, 
 
 In a stately row, 
 Endicott^ with scowl and scorning 
 
 On his lip and brow. 
 While a herd of vulgar bigots 
 
 Thronged the court below; 
 Then came Michelson the Marshal, 
 
 Filled with savage ire. 
 Through the motley crowd of gazers. 
 
 Thrusting Mary Dyer^ 
 With her quiet, grave demeanor. 
 
 In her quaint attire; 
 As the people pressed asunder 
 
 Round her foot-steps close, 
 From the bar she gazed serenely 
 
 O'er a host of foes ; 
 Then, the clerk commanding silence, 
 
 Endicott arose: 
 
Lays of Quaker dom 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Are you that same Mary Dyer^ 
 With blasphemous breath, 
 
 Whom our erring mercy saving 
 From the gulf beneath, 
 
 Banished from the jurisdiction 
 Under pain of death?" 
 
 Calm and steadfast then she answered; 
 
 "Truly I am she, 
 Whom your General Court appointed 
 
 To the gallows-tree. 
 Where ye sent our faithful martyrs 
 
 When ye banished me. 
 Lo! I come again to bid ye 
 
 Set GoD^s servants free !" 
 
 "By the council that condemned you 
 
 You were fairly tried ; 
 And we reaffirm the sentence," 
 
 Endicott replied: 
 "In the prison until morning 
 
 Safely you abide; 
 Then, be hanged upon the gallows 
 
 Where your brethren died. 
 Look not for a second respite — 
 
 Hope for aid from none; 
 Fixed the awful fate that waits you 
 
 With to-morrow's sun." 
 
 "Then," replied she, slow and solemn, 
 
 '^Let God's tuill he done; 
 To the power that kills the body 
 8 
 
The Execution of Mary Dyer 
 
 He hath bid us yield; 
 Weapons of a carnal warfare 
 
 Are not ours to wield; 
 He will clothe us in His armor — 
 
 Guard us with His shield." 
 
 vn. 
 
 Then she seemed to rise in stature, 
 
 And her look was high ; 
 And there was a light of glory 
 
 Beaming from her eye, 
 As she were by angel-presence 
 
 Touched to prophecy. 
 Startled by the transformation 
 
 Sate the rulers proud ; 
 Wondering at her awful beauty 
 
 Gazed the vulgar crowd; 
 While her words went through the stillness, 
 
 Ringing clear and loud. 
 
 vni. 
 
 "Now I feel prophetic visions 
 
 Filling all my soul : 
 In their light the mists and shadows 
 
 From the future roll. 
 Lol I see a power arising 
 
 Ye shall not control; 
 E'en the Lord of Hosts^ in mercy, 
 
 Seeking all your land; 
 Judge and ruler, priest and people, 
 
 In His presence stand; 
 And your boasted power He holdeth 
 
 In His mighty hand. 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 Cease your cruel persecutions 
 
 Ere these days expire, 
 And He cometh in His judgments 
 
 With consuming fire, 
 As of old He came to Edom, 
 
 To Sidon and to Tyre, 
 And ye reap a bloody harvest, 
 
 Reap as ye have sown. 
 And the lofty spires ye builded 
 
 Reel and thunder down, 
 And the woe of desolation 
 
 Fills your ruined town; 
 In deserted habitations 
 
 Only Death may dwell 
 When God leaveth no one living 
 
 Of His wrath to tell. 
 Cease, oh! cease your persecutions — 
 
 All may yet be well." 
 So she ended. Awe and silence 
 
 0*er the council fell. 
 
 IX. 
 
 "And did God/' asked little Mary, 
 "All the town destroy?" 
 
 "Wait and hear the story ended," 
 
 Said the elder boy: 
 "If they ceased their persecutions, 
 
 God would not destroy." 
 
 X. 
 
 Morning o'er the Pilgrim city 
 Breaking still and sweet, 
 
 10 
 
The Execution of Mary Dyer 
 
 Heard the deep and mingled murmur 
 
 Of the hurrying feet, 
 And the voices of the people 
 
 Thronging to the street; 
 From afar the heavy rolling 
 
 Of the muffled drum, 
 With the measured tread of soldiers 
 
 And the general hum, 
 Warned the captive in the prison 
 
 That the hour had come. 
 
 All her simple garb arranging 
 
 With a decent care, 
 ICnelt she in a holy silence, 
 
 Lost in secret prayer, 
 While her radiant face attested 
 
 God was with her there. 
 At the Marshal's brutal summons 
 
 Came she, firm and meek, 
 Saying: "All this show to escort 
 
 One so poor and weak?" 
 But they beat the drums the louder 
 
 When they heard her speak. 
 
 XL 
 
 Arms were clashing, eyes were flashing. 
 
 In that thick array. 
 As the Puritan exulting 
 
 Rode along the way; 
 For he led the hated Quaker 
 
 To her death that day. 
 Were they men, brave men, and noble, 
 
 Chivalrous and high, 
 11 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 Marshaled thus against a Woman, 
 
 And no champion by? 
 Were they husbands, sons, and fathers, 
 
 And their households nigh. 
 When they led a Wife and Mother 
 
 For her faith to die? 
 
 XII. 
 On the scaffold Mary Dyer 
 
 Standeth silent now. 
 With the martyr's crown of glory 
 
 Kindling round her brow: 
 And her meek face bent in pity 
 
 On the crowd below: 
 Then Priest Wilson^ full of scorning, 
 
 Cried: "Repent! repent!" 
 But she answered: "I have sought you, 
 
 By our Father sent; 
 Sought you, cruel persecutors. 
 
 That you might repent." 
 
 "Will you leave us, leave us ever, 
 
 Vex us never more. 
 If your vagrant life we give you, 
 
 As we gave before: 
 To your distant home and kindred 
 
 Once again restore?" 
 
 XIII. 
 Moved the mighty deep within her 
 
 For a little space. 
 And a surge of human feeling 
 
 Broke across her face ; 
 
 12 
 
The Execution of Mary Dyer 
 
 Then out-shone the greater glory 
 
 Of the heavenly grace, 
 As all loves of earth descended 
 
 To their lower place, 
 Seemed she in transfiguration; 
 
 Such a light was shed, 
 Like a halo from her spirit 
 
 Round about her head, 
 That o'er all the ghastly gibbet 
 
 The effulgence spread. 
 
 XIV. 
 Then one Webb^ the burly captain, 
 
 Rising roughly said: 
 "Mary^ be your blood upon you; 
 
 Falsely you are led; 
 By the Law, which you have broken, 
 
 Not by us, 'tis shed." 
 And he gave the fearful signal, 
 
 While she meekly bowed: 
 Fell the fatal drop beneath her; 
 
 Women shrieked aloud, 
 And a cold and dismal shudder 
 
 Ran through all the crowd. 
 
 XV. 
 
 For the people stood awe-stricken 
 When the deed was done ; 
 
 Some who seemed to feel a shadow 
 Stealing o'er the sun, 
 
 Feared the dreaded day of vengeance 
 Had that hour begun ; 
 
 Some believed they saw the spirit 
 13 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 With their outward eyes, 
 In its shining shape and semblance 
 
 Glorified, arise. 
 With a slow majestic motion 
 
 Floating to the skies; 
 Ever upward, upward ever, 
 
 Star-like, out of view. 
 Smiling as it joined the angels, 
 
 Smiling still, adieu; 
 And all these believed the martyr*s 
 
 Faith and Word were true. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Not in vain had Mary Dyer 
 
 Lived and prophesied. 
 For the noble Pilgrim people 
 
 Curbed their ruler's pride. 
 Though the scorned and hated Quakers 
 
 Grew and multiplied. 
 For their faith one other martyr 
 
 Was the last who died. 
 
 14 
 
VISIT OF MARY FISHER TO THE SULTAN 
 
 MOHAMMED IV. 
 
 AT ADRIANOPLE, 1658. 
 
 Mary Fisher, on her return from New England, 
 where she met severe treatment, set out on her mission to 
 Mohammed IV., then encamped with his array without 
 Adrianople. She reached Smyrna by sea, but the Eng- 
 lish Consul sent her back to Venice, no doubt believ- 
 ing her to be crazy, as most people are charitably sup- 
 posed to be who are in advance of their times. From 
 Venice she made her way by land, on foot, to Adria- 
 nople, more than six hundred miles, through a country 
 filled with soldiers and outlaws of every description; 
 delivered her message to the Sultan, who assembled his 
 stafiF, and received her in state, acknowledged her "mis- 
 sion," and the truth of what she said, and requested her 
 to stay in his dominions. Upon her declining to do so, 
 he offered her escort to Constantinople, saying that the 
 country was full of danger, and he would not, on any 
 account, harm should come to her in his kingdom. She 
 declined his escort, and reached Constantinople and 
 England in safety. 
 
 Some idea of the peril and privation of this journey 
 may be had from Mary Montague's letters, who, as the 
 wife of the English Ambassador, went to Adrianople 
 nearly fifty years after Mary Fisher^s visit, and erron- 
 eously states that she was the first Christian woman 
 who had made the dangerous journey since the Greek 
 Emperors, and Pope bewailed her as one environed by 
 the greatest peril ; whereas, the heroic Quakeress, de- 
 fended by no guard, under the auspices of no Govern- 
 ment — save that which is above all kingdoms — made the 
 journey half a century before; and it may indicate how 
 contemptuous must have been the feeling at that time 
 toward the Quakers, seeing that this act of true heroism 
 was not known to Mary Montague, even under the 
 circumstances of a similar journey from the same coun- 
 try and city, and that no contemporaneous history re- 
 cords it, or any tradition preserves it, save the "Memor- 
 ials of the Meeting," if there was any, to which the 
 simple Quaker returned her credentials, if she had any, 
 saying she "had performed the service to the peace and 
 satisfaction of her own mind." 
 
The Turkish power reached its height in the 
 reign of Mohammed IV., at the successful termination 
 of the siege of Candia, and began its decline in the 
 same reign at the Turkish siege of Vienna, when 
 SoBiESKi, King of Poland, came to the aid of Austria, 
 and defeated the Turks with great slaughter. 
 
 Mohammed IV. was subsequently deposed, and died 
 in the Seraglio, after five years' seclusion. He was a 
 great and splendid Monarch, who reigned nearly fifty 
 years, in the early part of which he extended his do- 
 minions and consolidated his power, reducing the jani- 
 zaries of his kingdom, so long the dread of the ruler 
 and the terror of the people. His speech on the occasion 
 of his compulsory abdication, is a rare specimen of elo- 
 quence. 
 
VISIT OF MARY FISHER TO THE 
 
 SULTAN MOHAMMED IV. 
 
 AT ADRIANOPLE, 1658. 
 
 I. 
 
 XT was Summer. Vapors golden 
 Crowning all the regal hills, 
 
 Hung like snowy veils of vestals 
 
 Swaying o'er the singing rills, 
 And along the Orient glowing 
 
 Drew their rosy curtaining 
 Backward from the sun, advancing 
 
 To his Empire like a King. 
 On the hillside lay the cattle 
 
 Stretching in the golden glow. 
 As it passed to wake the sleepers 
 
 In the quiet vale below. 
 Measured as the march of armies. 
 
 Filed the shadows o'er the grain 
 Bent beneath the spectral columns; 
 
 Trooping in an endless train. 
 Stately stood the trees, displaying 
 
 Pearls upon their leafy stems; 
 At the zephyrs' soft impleading. 
 
 Flinging down their diadems 
 To the humble grass beneath them 
 
 In an ample wealth of gems. 
 All the air was filled with fragrance. 
 
 Breathing through the voice of song; 
 Forth from hill, and stream, and woodland 
 
 Rolled the morning hymn along. 
 
 19 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 II. 
 
 In the country, calm and holy, 
 
 When the Summer days were come, 
 With his household sat the Quaker 
 
 In their old paternal home ; 
 Where the earth his fathers nourished 
 
 Long upon her bounteous breast. 
 When their simple lives were ended 
 
 Held them in unbroken rest; 
 Where primeval trees the homestead 
 
 In their vast embraces fold; 
 And within their solid fibres 
 
 Annals of the ages hold; 
 Ever to the life around them 
 
 By the leafy minstrels told. 
 Bending now, in stately gossip, 
 
 With the wandering Summer breeze: 
 Now in nobler strains relating 
 
 Stories of the centuries; 
 Now, like orators, declaiming, 
 
 Swaying into awful form; 
 Toss their arms and lift their voices 
 
 O'er the tumult of the storm; 
 All the day their lore repeating 
 
 In the heedless ear of strife; 
 All the night the calm stars listen 
 
 To their minstrelsy of life. 
 
 III. 
 
 To the lindens o'er the threshold. 
 
 On a glorious Summer day. 
 
 Came the merry children bounding 
 
 Fresh and blooming from their play; 
 20 
 
Fisit of Mary Fisher 
 
 Grouping round to hear their father 
 
 Tell another Quaker Lay; 
 Tell them how brave Mary Fisher 
 
 To the Sultan bore her word; 
 How the noble Turk received her 
 
 And her Message from the Lord. 
 Low voiced, from subdued emotion, 
 
 Ballad like, the tale began; 
 Sweetly in the Summer stillness 
 
 Thus the simple story ran: 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Sultan Mahmoud lay encamped 
 
 Within his guarded hold; 
 Full fifty thousand men of war 
 
 Were with their leader bold. 
 Full fifty thousand cimetars 
 
 Flashed in the waning light, 
 And the brave Moslem only mourned 
 
 Their weapons were so bright. 
 Flung out above the royal camp 
 
 Mohammed's flag revealed 
 The shining crescent's silver rim 
 
 Within its sacred field. 
 Stretched in the opening of his tent 
 
 The mighty Chief reclined; 
 High purposes and vast designs 
 
 Revolving in his mind. 
 The shadow of the lofty thought 
 
 Fell slowly o'er his face, 
 And softened, in its noble lines. 
 
 The fierceness of his race. 
 On costly tapestries of the East 
 21 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 His royal person laid; 
 And gleamed amid the Tyrian dyes 
 
 His keen Damascus blade. 
 The ample turban round his brow 
 
 Leaned on his swarthy hand ; 
 While his unconscious fingers plucked 
 
 The jewels from the band. 
 His eye was resting on the flag 
 
 As in its shade he lay, 
 Pondering on Islam* s vast renown 
 
 And wide extended sway. 
 
 For then the Crescent's shining arch 
 
 Flamed in the tropic sun, 
 And flashed where, up far Arctic nights. 
 
 The northern streamers run. 
 From distant Asia's peopled plains 
 
 And mountain steppes, afar. 
 Vast hordes of fierce believers came 
 
 To Islam's holy war. 
 And the Great Vizier Kirpuli 
 
 Was marching to his liege, 
 Triumphant with the trophies won 
 
 At Candia's bloody siege. 
 The armies of the Faithful held 
 
 Their undisputed way. 
 And the mute nations paled before 
 
 The Moslem's dread array. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Sultan dreamed of boundless power. 
 To wield his conquering sword, 
 22 
 
Visit of Mary Fisher 
 
 And make the unbelievers own 
 
 The Prophet of the Lord; 
 To fling the banner of his Faith 
 
 O'er Islam s ancient reign, 
 Above the valleys of Castile, 
 
 The mountain heights of Spain. 
 In the great Temple of the Cross 
 
 Marshal his Moslem force, 
 And make its sacred fane at Rome 
 
 A stable for his horse! 
 The symbol of his perfect power. 
 
 On Islam s flag unfurled. 
 Behold the crescent, round, and rise. 
 
 Full orbed, upon the world! 
 
 VIL 
 
 As thus he lay, an Aga came, 
 
 With many a low salaam : 
 "What wouldst thou now?" the Sultan said, 
 
 In accent deep and calm; 
 "Shadow of God: without the camp 
 
 A Christian waits, abhorred. 
 Who bringeth from her English home 
 
 'A Message from the Lord."' 
 They drove her thrice beyond the lines; 
 
 Boldly again she came. 
 Demanding audience calm and high, 
 
 In Allah's holy name. 
 "A woman, saidst thou ?" Mahmoud rose, 
 
 Still leaning on his hand : 
 "A woman, seeking Islam's shrine 
 
 From her own Christian land ?'* 
 23 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 "Most mighty Sultan, one who would 
 
 Your royal harem grace: 
 Rich in the sweetness of her sex, 
 
 The beauty of her race; 
 But not to Mecca's holy shrine 
 
 Her pilgrim foot-steps came: 
 To preach the glory of the Cross 
 
 In her own Prophet^s name; 
 Not at the evening Namas bowed 
 
 Her unbelieving head." 
 
 "And came she to the camp alone?" 
 
 "Alone!" the Aga said. 
 
 "Thus saith the infidel : Arrived 
 
 At Smyrna by the sea; 
 Captive they sent her from the strand ; 
 
 At Venice set her free. 
 From thence on foot, two hundred leagues, 
 
 Alone by night and day, 
 Her journey through a war-like land 
 
 A weary distance lay. 
 (Our boldest Spahis could not ride 
 
 Safely along that way.) 
 Her Prophet gave her meat and drink, 
 
 And nerved each sinking limb; 
 In clouds by day, by night in fire, 
 
 He bade her follow him 
 To Adrianople's royal camp, 
 
 (So saith her doubtful word,) 
 To bring the Refuge of the world 
 
 'A Message from the Lord! " 
 24 
 
Fisit of Mary Fisher 
 
 VIII. 
 The Sultan mused awhile, and spoke: 
 
 "Caimakin, God is God; 
 What wouldst thou with this infidel?" 
 
 "Chastise her with the rod!" 
 
 Up to his feet the Sultan sprung; 
 
 His glance was stern and high ; 
 The Aga and Caimakin paled 
 
 Before his flashing eye. 
 
 "Now by my Father's soul," he said, 
 
 "My own right royal arm 
 Would from thy shoulders strike thy head, 
 
 Shouldst thou that Christian harm. 
 The Prophet's self had not inspired 
 
 A sterner, loftier faith 
 To lift a woman's soul above 
 
 Danger, and toil, and death. 
 She shall have audience. To our stafJ 
 
 Our royal mandate bear ; 
 We shall await them in our tent, 
 
 After the morning prayer. 
 See thou that noble Christian, then, 
 
 Straight to our audience led ; 
 And for her safety and repose 
 
 Thou'lt answer with thy head." 
 
 IX. 
 Morning, beyond the eastern hills 
 Her glorious march begun; 
 25 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 And Adrianople's hoty mosques 
 
 Stood glittering in the sun. 
 The loud Muezzins' pious call 
 
 Fell from the minaret; 
 Reverent the fierce believers all 
 
 That sacred summons met. 
 The standard of the Prophet swung 
 
 Slowly upon the air, 
 While its defenders in the camp 
 
 Devoutly knelt in prayer. 
 
 X. 
 
 Alone, amid that turbaned host, 
 
 By larger truth made free, 
 The Christian, at the call, withheld 
 
 The homage of her knee. 
 Fierce bigots, with their eyes of fire, 
 
 Saw her refuse to kneel ; 
 And swarthy hands, unclasped from prayer 
 
 Convulsive clutched the steel. 
 Apart she sate, serene and still, 
 
 Within the open tent; 
 To that devout delusion round 
 
 Respectful pity lent. 
 Her spirit through the Sacred Courts 
 
 Its own high path-way trod, 
 In the still temple of the soul 
 
 Communing with her God. 
 
 XI. 
 
 As thus she sate, the Aga came. 
 
 By the Caimakin sent, 
 To bid her, in the Sultan's name, 
 26 
 
Visit of Mary Fisher 
 
 Attend him In his tent. 
 The fiery warriors, on her way, 
 
 Gathered in silent wrath, 
 And, motionless as forms of bronze, 
 
 Ranged them along her path. 
 Swarthy and grim on either side 
 
 The breathing statues stood; 
 Two lines of sabres, half unsheathed, 
 
 Seemed thirsting for her blood. 
 With folded hands and steady step, 
 
 And eye in quiet, bent 
 Upon the savage throng, she passed 
 
 Into the royal tent. 
 
 XII. 
 The Sultan, on a raised Divan, 
 
 Sat in his splendid state; 
 Grouped in a crescent round the tent 
 
 His staff and escort wait; 
 Warriors of grave and noble mien 
 
 Ranged as they ranked in fame. 
 Who to that audience with the Giaour 
 
 Slow and reluctant came. 
 Rich draperies of Damascus hung 
 
 In many an ample fold; 
 (Old triumphs on their emerald ground 
 
 Were wrought in gems and gold), 
 That backward from the Sultan's seat 
 
 Were looped on either hand; 
 The Mufti and Caimakin stood 
 
 Beside each jeweled band. 
 The Koran on a frame of pearl 
 
 Its sacred page displayed; 
 
 27 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 The Greek Dragoman, wafting near, 
 Profound obeisance made. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Amid the dazzling splendor round, 
 
 In sweet and solemn mood, 
 The Quaker, in her humble garb, 
 
 Serene and simple stood, 
 Despite the Aga's frequent sign 
 
 To make her low salaam ; 
 Respectful, but unmoved remained, 
 
 Silent, and firm, and calm. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ^'Christian" at length the Sultan said, 
 "We wait to hear thy word : 
 
 Declare it, neither less nor more. 
 
 Thy 'Message from the Lord/ " 
 
 So still she stood, again he said: 
 
 "Speak what thou hast to say ; 
 If these rude warriors waken dread, 
 
 My staff alone shall stay. 
 Speak freely, we have hearts to feel, 
 
 And ears prepared to hear; 
 And be thy message good or ill, 
 
 Speak, thou hast none to fear." 
 
 "I seek," she said, "the Life within. 
 
 Where strength and wisdom lie, 
 
 To give my utterance weight, and power, 
 And unction, from on high." 
 
 28 
 
Fisit of Mary Fisher 
 
 Gravely the listening Moslem heard, 
 And patient and sedate; 
 
 Waiting the Christian's farther word 
 The turbaned warriors sate. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Below, the encampment seemed to lay, 
 
 That morning, hushed and still; 
 The distant chargers' friendly neigh 
 
 Came faintly up the hill. 
 With sound of steel that peaceful rung 
 
 From restless Spahis nigh. 
 As some impatient horseman flung 
 
 His burnished armor by. 
 The ancient Hebrus rolled along 
 
 By the old cypress groves. 
 From whose deep shade the turtle's song 
 
 Proclaimed its peaceful loves. 
 The sun-light fell in waves of gold 
 
 In all that bounteous clime. 
 Where melody and fragrance hold 
 
 Perpetual Summer-time. 
 As Nature to that scene of strife 
 
 Her holiest influence lent, 
 Subdued, the fierce surrounding life 
 
 Throbbed through the silent tent. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 A light upon the Christian's face 
 
 From her rapt spirit broke: 
 
 And slowly, with unconscious grace 
 And solemn power, she spoke: 
 
Lays of Quaker dom 
 
 XVII. 
 
 "Bold follower of thy Prophet, hear 
 
 The Message of the Lord; 
 Ye men of carnal war, give ear 
 
 Unto his living word. 
 The Holy Spirit bade me leave 
 
 My home and native land, 
 Bearing God^s message in my heart, 
 
 My life within my hand ; 
 Led me in fire through dreary nights, 
 
 In clouds through burning days; 
 O'er pathless deeps and mountain heights, 
 
 And by untraveled ways; 
 To bid your Sultan in his youth 
 
 Seek an immortal crown. 
 And build in God^s eternal truth 
 
 Your glory and renown: 
 To wield the great and growing power, 
 
 Vouchsafed you from above. 
 To help establish in the earth 
 
 Justice, and Truth, and Love; 
 To leave your heathen ways, and live 
 
 The husband and the wife. 
 Around the sacred hearth of home 
 
 A higher, holier life. 
 God made the union of the twain 
 
 When first the race began; 
 Forever shall His act remain 
 
 The marriage law of man. 
 God bids thee, great and mighty King, 
 
 Thy wars and fightings cease, 
 And thy victorious armies bring 
 
 To the pursuits of peace; 
 
 30 
 
Fisit of Mary Fisher 
 
 A greater than thy Prophet speaks; 
 
 Hear thou His living word: 
 'Make of thy spear a pruning hook, 
 
 A plough-share of thy sword. 
 Thou mak'st a wilderness to howl 
 
 Where peopled cities stood, 
 And marchest through the affrighted earth 
 
 In surging seas of blood. 
 Before thee, horror and despair, 
 
 Ruin and death behind; 
 Famine and pestilence are there. 
 
 Thou scourge of human kind !" 
 
 XVHI. 
 
 Clear and distinct her utterance fell 
 
 Upon the stillness round ; 
 The turbaned warriors half uprose 
 
 To catch the startling sound; 
 As the Dragoman passed her words 
 
 Into their native tongue, 
 To strike the bold blasphemer down 
 
 A score of warriors sprung. 
 A ring of quivering sabres gleamed, 
 
 Grasped in each swarthy hand 
 But the bold bigots quailed before 
 
 The Sultan's high command. 
 A moment, o'er the Christian's head 
 
 The flashing weapons hung; 
 Then each within its sheath of steel 
 
 Keen and reluctant rung. 
 
 Unmoved and calm the Qw2^|^ stood, 
 But Death, as he arew nigh, 
 
 31 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 Heightened the radiance of her face, 
 
 The lustre of her eye ; 
 Deepened her clear and thrilling tone, 
 
 That o'er the turbaned throng, 
 Obedient to the Sultan's sign, 
 
 Unfaltering, rolled along. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " 'Tis written, and forever makes 
 
 Part of God's holy Word, 
 'Whoso the sword of warfare takes 
 
 Shall perish by the sword.* 
 Your cities stand upon the dust 
 
 Of nations passed away, 
 W^ho perished wholly; for their trust 
 
 In carnal weapons lay. 
 Israelj an alien, o'er the earth 
 
 Wanders without a home ; 
 Lo! where are Persia, Syria now, 
 
 Egypt, and Greece, and Rome? 
 Forever lost to Time and Life! 
 
 Thus God fulfills His Word; 
 'Whoso shall take the sword in strife 
 
 Shall perish by the sword,' 
 Islam shall not escape the woe 
 
 Of those who build by wrong; 
 Strong as thou art, great Sultan, know 
 
 That God is great and strong; 
 For principalities, nor powers, 
 
 Nor heights, nor depths untrod ; 
 Things past, nor present, nor to come, 
 
 Lii|iit the power of God. 
 Turn thou to peace! or God shall wring 
 
 32 
 
Visit of Mary Fisher 
 
 The sceptre from thy hand, 
 And the great woe of nations bring 
 
 Upon thy favored land. 
 Then shall your Crescent's light go down 
 
 In darkness and In blood ; 
 Forgot, your glory and renown. 
 
 Where once your temples stood." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 She ceased ; and though above the throng 
 
 A solemn silence fell. 
 Deep in the hangings of the tent 
 
 Her utterance seemed to dwell. 
 Pale as a prophetess she stood; 
 
 Her eyes were filled with light; 
 Mutely the wondering warriors gazed. 
 
 The presence was so bright. 
 The aged Mufti stroked his beard, 
 
 Pondering on what he saw: 
 "An infidel! so filled with power 
 
 Without His holy law!" 
 
 XXII. 
 
 "Christian," the Sultan said, "we see 
 
 The Great God gives thee words. 
 
 Dwell in our land; we welcome thee; 
 Thy Message IS the Lord's/* 
 
 "Great Sultan, may thy people own 
 
 The Word of Truth I brought; 
 
 In peace I leave you, and alone. 
 
 Even as your camp I sought." 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 "Escort to Stamboul thou shalt have, 
 Escort, the best of mine; 
 
 I would not, for an hundred lives. 
 
 That harm should come to thine." 
 
 "Ho! Kizlar-Aga, bid thy staff 
 
 Send me a thousand horse! 
 The Spahis of our yellow flag, 
 
 The boldest of their force; 
 And bid them hither; Morah, bring 
 
 My noble Arab mare; 
 Brave Christian, Morah will be proud 
 
 Courage like thine to bear." 
 
 XXIII. 
 Moved by his generous words, she said: 
 
 "I thank thee, noble Turk; 
 I do not need thy men of war 
 
 To do my Master s work; 
 His arm is underneath me still ; 
 
 He is my staff and guide; 
 Legions of angels, at His will, 
 
 Shall gather to my side. 
 Now peace be with you from above; 
 
 Peace in your councils dwell; 
 For in our common Father's love 
 
 I bid you all — farewell!" 
 
 She turned, and, meekly and sedate, 
 Passed slowly from the tent. 
 
 While the great Sultan, where he sate, 
 In salutation bent. 
 
 Thoughtful, unconscious that his hand 
 34 
 
Visit of Mary Fisher 
 
 Rested upon his sword, 
 He sate, revolving in his mind 
 
 The Christian's fearless word. 
 Lifting his eye, the Crescent's light — 
 
 Kindling above him then — 
 Flashed inward through its quiet depths. 
 
 And fired his soul again. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Who seek to know, the record tells 
 
 That Quaker, traveling far. 
 Went peaceful to her English home; 
 
 The Sultan went to war: 
 And at Vienna's fearful siege, 
 
 On many a dreadful field, 
 Before the soldiers of the Cross 
 
 Beheld his armies yield; 
 And, as without, relentless foes 
 
 Humbled his power and pride; 
 Within, as stormy factions rose. 
 
 Beset on every side, * 
 
 By Adrianople's mosque, resigned 
 
 His sceptre and his sword; 
 And dying, pondered in his mind 
 
 That Message from the Lord. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Two hundred years! The Sultan rests 
 Upon his tomb of state; 
 
 While Islam's Empire rocks around 
 Upon the brink of fate. 
 
 Beyond the Balkan mountains high 
 Its ancient foemen throng; 
 
 35 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 Their drum-note echoes, rolling by, 
 
 Lo! "God is great and strong!" 
 
 Around her lessening lines, and near 
 The nation's clashing swords, 
 
 Repeat in Islam's startled ear: 
 
 "That Message was the Lord's!" 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Two hundred years! The Quaker sleeps 
 
 Within her nameless grave; 
 But a whole kindred people keeps 
 
 Her memory pure and brave. 
 The while, her "Faith of Peace and Love* 
 
 That feebly then began, 
 Grows with the world's great life to be 
 
 The common Faith of man. 
 
 36 
 
JAMES PARNELL, 
 
 The ^aker Proto- Martyr. 
 
 James Parnell was born in Nottingham, England, 
 of humble parents, but he possessed good abilities and a 
 liberal education. 
 
 When George Fox was imprisoned in Carlisle, in 
 1653, Parnell, then in his seventeenth year, was among 
 those who visited the great Quaker in prison, and the 
 result was the conversion of the young visitor to the 
 faith of the Quakers, of which he afterward became an 
 eminent expounder, and for which he was the first 
 martyr. 
 
 Parnell began to preach before he was seventeen 
 years old, and, in pursuance of his mission, went to 
 Cambridge about April, 1655, where he was challenged 
 by the Baptists to public disputation: the fame of his 
 eloquence and power had preceded him. 
 
 The meeting was held, but resulted in little discus- 
 sion and much disturbance, chiefly (according to Par- 
 nell) from "brutish scholars who plotted against me, 
 and from Baptists and Independents who, though bit- 
 ter enemies to each other, were joined friends against 
 me." 
 
 He continued preaching, disputing and exhorting 
 during fourteen days, when he was committed to jail 
 by William Pickering, Mayor of Cambridge, on a 
 charge "of issuing two papers, one against the corrup- 
 tions of the ministry, and one against the corruption of 
 the magistracy." 
 
 They kept him confined, and "tossed from prison 
 to dungeon," during two whole sessions, when, a jury 
 finding nothing against him, he was discharged, with a 
 "pass" under the title of "Rogue," and conducted three 
 miles out of the city. Subsequently he returned to Cam- 
 bridge, and continued in that vicinity for about six 
 months, preaching to great assemblies of people, and, 
 through opposition and persecution, establishing many 
 in his faith. 
 
From Cambridge he went to Essex, to be present at 
 a "public meeting and fast held at Great Coggeshall 
 by order of the authorities, to counteract the wicked 
 heresies of the Quakers." There he preached and ex- 
 horted for about a week to many thousands of people 
 who thronged to hear him, until he was arrested by 
 Justice Wakering, in the name of the Lord Protector, 
 and committed to the common jail as a mover of sedi- 
 tions, and blasphemer, near the middle of July, 1655. 
 
 Here he was closely confined for some weeks and 
 denied all communication with his friends, until the 
 next Chelmsford Assizes, when he was chained beside 
 one suspected of murder, on a chain with five others, 
 where he remained night and day, as they marched 
 through the country to the court, about twenty miles 
 distant. 
 
 The people were surprised at his treatment, and the 
 Court, to prevent the expression of any sympathy for 
 him, ordered the irons removed from his hands when 
 he was brought to trial. 
 
 He was then arraigned, charged with blasphemy 
 and sedition; and at the trial his old persecutors in- 
 fluenced the judge and jury by malicious statements, to 
 which he was not allowed to reply, and upon his ac- 
 quittal by the jury. Judge Hills committed him for con- 
 tempt of magistracy and priesthood and fined him 
 heavily. 
 
 He was then removed to Colchester Castle, and sub- 
 jected to systematic cruelty and outrages inconceivable 
 to us at this day. Denied a bed, he was obliged to lie 
 on the bare stones of the prison, where, in wet weather, 
 the walls were dripping with water, and during the 
 cold of winter he was almost deprived of clothing, fre- 
 quently of food, beaten until he was nearly insensible 
 by the jailor and keeper, all his friends denied access 
 to him, and not permitted to relieve his sufFerings. He 
 was placed in a "Hole in the wall," which was prob- 
 ably the recess of the window, quite deep, as the walls 
 are nine feet thick. This "recess" was so high from 
 the stone floor, that he was obliged to reach it part way 
 by a ladder, which, being six feet too short, a rope at 
 the upper end aided him to his wretched abode. The 
 keeper would not allow him a basket and string, which 
 his friends desired to furnish, to draw his food up to 
 
him, and he was therefore compelled to ascend the rope 
 with one hand and carry his provisions in the other, 
 which he did with great difficulty, being a person of 
 small stature and feeble frame, much weakened by long 
 exposure and privation. 
 
 On one occasion, when attempting to grasp the rope, 
 it eluded his hand, and he fell with great force upon 
 the pavement below, by which he was seriously injured. 
 He was then placed in a recess nearer the ground, and 
 left to die. 
 
 His case was powerfully represented to Cromwell's 
 government, and several Quakers oflFered to lie in his 
 place, but no mitigation of his punishment could be ob- 
 tained, nor any concession but the admission of two 
 Friends to see him die, but who were refused permission 
 to remove his body, which was buried in the castle-yard 
 by the jailor's assistants. 
 
 He died in the spring of 1656, after incredible suf- 
 fering, when only nineteen years old, exhorting his 
 friends to "keep the faith," saying he had "seen great 
 things" and beseeching them in his last moments, "not 
 to hold him: to let him go!" 
 
 So he departed, leaving his name to be numbered 
 with tho; e who in all ages have lived, and labored, and 
 suffered jar the spiritual emancipation of man. 
 
JAMES PARNELL, 
 The ^aker Proto- Martyr, 
 
 "^■Tj^T was June ; her bloom and beauty 
 
 I Then the queenly month displayed, 
 ^ And in her rich robes of summer 
 
 All the joyous earth arrayed. 
 Now the Quaker, near his homestead, 
 
 In the woodland, on the hill. 
 Stood beside the stream proclaiming 
 
 All its mission to the mill. 
 Busy, down beneath the chestnuts, 
 
 By the meadows green and still, 
 There, the willows, o'er the water — 
 
 Loving patrons of the stream — 
 Bend to see it run and ramble, 
 
 Or to watch it sleep and dream ; 
 Never weary of its music. 
 
 Glad to hear it sing along ; 
 All their lines of grace and beauty 
 
 Waving plaudits of the song. 
 But the statelier beech and maple 
 
 To the hill-side group withdrew. 
 Where the old oak, vast and rugged, 
 
 In his simple grandeur grew. 
 There the pines, with solemn voices, 
 
 Speak the oracles of Fate, 
 And the walnuts, like old warders, 
 
 Guard the arch-way of the gate; 
 And the spectral Lombard poplars. 
 
 Stately as old gaints stand, 
 Wasting, with the woes of exile. 
 
 Slowly, in a foreign land; 
 
 43 
 
Lays of Quaker dorn 
 
 While the aspen, all a-tremble 
 
 With a trouble never told, 
 Seeks the sweet acacia, swaying 
 
 With its fringing bloom of gold: 
 And the elms above the threshold 
 
 Drape the old and mossy eaves; 
 And the maples feel the sunlight 
 
 Streaming on their silver leaves. 
 
 Now^ beneath the stately arches 
 
 Of the old boughs, high and wide, 
 Southward, as the morning marches, 
 
 Shifting to the shaded side, 
 Calm and happy sat the Quaker, 
 
 With his ample forehead bare, 
 Silent, in the softened sunlight, 
 
 And the balmy summer air; 
 Listening to the ringing laughter 
 
 Of his daughter, young and fair : 
 While the mother sat, serenely 
 
 Smiling in maternal pride 
 At the elder brother, kneeling 
 
 On the green grass by her side. 
 With a tender, reverent feeling 
 
 Gazed he on her placid face. 
 Where the spirits, outward looking, 
 
 Had the sweet and quiet grace 
 Of a strong soul, gathered inward 
 
 From the storm of worldly strife. 
 Never shaken, never drifting 
 
 From the centre of its life. 
 At her feet the mastifl lying. 
 
 Stretched upon his grassy bed, 
 44 
 
James Parnell 
 
 Held the younger brother resting, 
 Pillowed on his stately head. 
 
 Now the children, grouped in stillness 
 
 Round their father's ample chair, 
 Waited for another story. 
 
 Promised when they gathered there; 
 How young Parnell preached and suffered 
 
 For the holy cause of Truth ; 
 And, a captive, poor and lonely. 
 
 Perished in his early youth. 
 How, within his narrow prison. 
 
 In Colchester's castle- wall. 
 Died the first of Quaker martyrs. 
 
 And the youngest of them all. 
 
 "Autumn, o*er the land of England, 
 
 Saw the fields of ripening com. 
 Waiting for the reaper's sickle. 
 
 Waving in the breath of morn. 
 And it saw a holier harvest; 
 
 For the mighty Master then 
 Bade His own anointed reapers 
 
 Gather in the souls of men. 
 Lo! the fields were white already. 
 
 But the laborers were few; 
 And some trembled as they entered 
 
 On that service, high and new. 
 Some there were who, strong and steady, 
 
 Trod the narrow line of right ; 
 Shining, in an age of darkness, 
 
 Sons and daughters of the light. 
 One there was, a youth, and noble, 
 
 45 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 Though he came of humble blood, 
 Who, with manhood's high endurance, 
 
 At his post of duty stood. 
 Frail of form, and fair in feature, 
 
 On his face the bloom of youth 
 Blended with the beauty breaking 
 
 Outward from a soul of truth. 
 Learned he was, and filled with wisdom. 
 
 Sweet and eloquent of tongue; 
 And the thronging people marveled 
 
 At the power of one so young. 
 To them, all around him swaying 
 
 On the still mid-summer morn, 
 Much he spake of that old Gospel 
 
 To these latter ages borne. 
 Much he reasoned, much disputed 
 
 With the vast and heaving crowd. 
 Which a furious priesthood troubled 
 
 By its scorning fierce and loud: 
 'Hear ye how this fellow raileth 
 
 In the very house of prayer? 
 Shall the Church of God be sacred ? 
 
 Are not we his servants there? 
 See! this man defiles the altar: 
 
 At your peril hear ye him.' " 
 
 Then the people, drunk with passion, 
 
 Surged upon him, fierce and grim; 
 
 But he held their rage suspended 
 
 By the simple power of truth ; 
 
 Till, from awe, were some who listened, 
 Some, from pity of his youth. 
 46 
 
James Parnell 
 
 Then his manly voice ascended 
 
 O'er the slow-subsiding din; 
 And he spake with powder and freedom 
 
 Of the "Glorious Light Within." 
 Lo! this is the Christ, the Teacher! 
 
 He will teach you of His ways: 
 This is that out-pouring Spirit 
 
 Promised in these latter days. 
 Now the old shall dwell in visions, 
 
 And the young shall prophesy; 
 And ye all may feel, ye people. 
 
 That the power of God is nigh; 
 Nigh, within your hearts and spirits. 
 
 As the great Apostle said : 
 Save in fearful sin and trespass 
 
 Ye be reprobate and dead. 
 Think you, in your steeple houses 
 
 God's eternal presence stands? 
 Nay! He dwelleth not in temples 
 
 Made by any human hands. 
 But your bodies are His temples, 
 
 And His holy Church is one: 
 Every soul redeemed becometh 
 
 In its walls a living stone; 
 And His Spirit now ordaineth 
 
 Preachers of His word again 
 Not your priesthood, formed and fashioned 
 
 By the carnal wills of men; 
 Prophets who divine for money, 
 
 Prieachers who do preach for hire ; 
 And (j0D''s judgments shall consume them, 
 
 Like the "chaff before the fire." 
 Then the angry priests and rulers 
 
 47 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 Cried again, in greater wrath: 
 "Shall this babbler and blasphemer 
 
 Linger longer in your path?" 
 
 But the people were divided, 
 
 Tossed and heaving to and fro; 
 Some believed an evil spirit 
 
 Sought them, from the realms below. 
 Some believed a prophet risen. 
 
 With the power of ancient days; 
 These, amid the wild commqjtion, 
 
 Stood in silent awe and praise. 
 
 One, a maiden, with her tresses 
 
 From her fair face backward flung; 
 With clasped hands, and pale lips parted, 
 
 Ever on his accents hung; 
 And a matron, on whom rested 
 
 Some great sorrow's sombre hue, 
 Stood in light, as one illumined 
 
 By a glorious hope, and new; 
 And a white haired peasant murmured, 
 
 Bowed by labor and by years, 
 As his hard hand from the furrows 
 
 Of his rough face brushed the tears, 
 "Lo! mine eyes have seen Thy glory; 
 
 Now I wait for my release; 
 In my day Thy Gospel liveth ; 
 
 Let Thy servant rest in peace." 
 Thoughtful, with his bare arms folded 
 
 On his broad and brawny breast. 
 Stood a stalwart yeoman, kindling 
 
 With a dawning hope of rest. 
 
 48 
 
James Parnell 
 
 "Can this be the day of promise? 
 
 Will the Thousand Years begin? 
 Shall this prophet, born among us, 
 
 Bring that glorious promise in?" 
 
 "Tut! man! but he has a devil," 
 
 Growled an old and surly boor. 
 "Devils do not," said another, 
 
 "Preach the Gospel to the poor." 
 "Have our herdsmen grown to prophets?" 
 
 Asked a proud and haughty dame. 
 "Few of old," the matron answered, 
 
 "Of the great and noble came." 
 "When ye follow this man's teaching," 
 
 Said a townsman, worldly wise, 
 "Ye shall see our nation's greatness 
 
 Sinking never more to rise." 
 
 While among themselves disputing, 
 
 Some in anger, rude and loud ; 
 As, his present mission ended. 
 
 Slowly Parnell left the crowd, 
 Then one Justice Wakering to him 
 
 In hot haste and passion came. 
 Saying roughly, "I arrest you 
 
 In the Lord Protector's name; 
 For you do but sow seditions 
 
 Where your wicked railings fall." 
 Nothing moved, he only answered, 
 
 "So Tertullus said of Paul."" 
 
 Then they led him to their prison — 
 To that dismal den of sin; 
 
 49 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 He, so pure and young and simple, 
 
 Thurst with thieves and felons in. 
 Where a brutal herd around him 
 
 With low scoff and cursing came, 
 Jest obscene and ribald laughter, 
 
 Seeming lost to fear or shame. 
 "Heigh oh! who is this new comer?" 
 
 Said one, ruder than the rest. 
 "Room, ye gentles! room and welcome 
 
 For a new and stately guest. 
 Ha ! what have we here ? a Quaker ! 
 
 Quake, ye culprits! quake for fear. 
 Come, Sir Preacher, give 's a sermon ; 
 
 Marry! much we need it here." 
 "Silence!" growled a burly felon; 
 
 "Let that puny boy alone. 
 Can your coward hearts discover 
 
 No arms equal to your own?" 
 Then the Quaker saw the tumult 
 
 Into savage brawling break; 
 But, intrepid, sweet, and earnest. 
 
 In their very midst he spake : 
 
 "Men and brethren, poor and sinful. 
 
 Wanderers from the way of right, 
 Have ye nothing left to live for. 
 
 But to swear, and brawl, and fight? 
 Though ye seem of men forsaken, 
 
 God is dwelling near to you, 
 And He seeth, with your evil, 
 
 All the little good ye do. 
 Ever in your souls His Spirit 
 
 With your sinful purpose strives ; 
 
 50 
 
James Parnell 
 
 And He seeketh thus to win you 
 
 Back to better, happier lives. 
 Listen to His holy teaching, 
 
 Ere your cups of woe be full : 
 'Though your sins are as the scarlet, 
 
 He will make them white as wool.' 
 To your low estates He bringeth 
 
 Power and pity from above, 
 Greater than all human mercy, 
 
 Stronger than all human love. 
 Some among ye may remember 
 
 When ye walked in purer ways ; 
 Or beside your mothers prattled. 
 
 In your childhood's happy days. 
 Ye must now become as children. 
 
 And your better lives begin; 
 Then these outward bonds shall vanish, 
 
 And your stronger bonds within." 
 
 Low and clear through all the prison 
 
 Fell his sweet and simple word, 
 And the astonished felons round him 
 
 Ceased their brawling as they heard. 
 Some with half-clenched hands suspended 
 
 Held them from the brutal blow; 
 Some, by gentle accents melted, 
 
 Bowed in silent sorrow low. 
 Some did weep to feel upon them 
 
 Swift and crowning memories come; 
 Life mis-spent, its treasures wasted; 
 
 Love and peace, and hope and home. 
 "Is it?" said that burly felon. 
 
 With his tears upon his cheeks, 
 51 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 Quivering lip and utterance broken, 
 
 "Is it man or angel speaks?" 
 Some unmoved and stony hearted 
 
 Shrunk to angles of the room; 
 Still, but sullen and defiant, 
 
 Crouching in their native gloom. 
 While the Quaker, calm and peaceful, 
 
 By the heavenly presence blest, 
 Stretched him on his prison pallet, 
 
 To a sweet, unbroken rest. 
 
 In that gloomy jail, and loathsome. 
 
 Many a weary week he lay; 
 Then they led him to his trial, 
 
 Led him with their thieves away. 
 In the felons' gang they chained him. 
 
 With the vilest of the vile; 
 Side by side along the highway 
 
 Thus they traveled many a mile. 
 From the base and cruel thraldom, 
 
 Unreleased by day or night. 
 Worn and weary in the body, 
 
 But in spirit strong and bright. 
 So they came to ancient Chelmsford, 
 
 Where in irons, day by day. 
 Waiting for the near assizes, 
 
 In the common jail he lay. 
 
 Now with deepening tints the autumn 
 Touched the old majestic wood, 
 
 And the sylvan kings enfolded 
 
 In their dying drapery stood, 
 
 Impotent as some old giant, 
 52 
 
James Parnell 
 
 Shorn of all his fiery hair. 
 Bald and round the sun ascended 
 
 Through the still and misty air, 
 With his bonds of wreathing vapor 
 
 Struggling for his summer sway; 
 But pale flower and leaf enfeebled 
 
 Felt his power had passed away. 
 
 Sadder than the waning season 
 
 Grew each manly spirit then ; 
 Colder, darker than the vapors 
 
 Bigotries enshrouded men. 
 To their court they led the Quaker, 
 
 In his iron fetters bound; 
 As he passed the people wondered 
 
 At the clanking shackles' sound. 
 "Is this man among the felons? 
 
 He so simple and so good ; 
 Though he be a canting Quaker, 
 
 Are his hands imbrued in blood ?" 
 Thus the pitying people murmured 
 
 At such outrage in their land, 
 Till the judges bade the jailer 
 
 Strike the shackles from his hand. 
 
 Then his cruel foes arraigned him, 
 
 Charged with great and grievous crimes: 
 Heresies and dread seditions, 
 
 Fearful in their turbid times. 
 "Much," they said, "he taught the people. 
 
 From the Church to set them free ; 
 And with deep and fierce invective 
 
 Spake against the powers that be." 
 53 
 
Lays of Quaker dom 
 
 Round the judge each persecutor 
 
 Whispered his malicious word, 
 And against him court and jury 
 
 With their savage hatred stirred. 
 Friend or counsel they denied him, 
 
 And his simple right to speak ; 
 Lone he stood, and undefended. 
 
 Like his Master, still and meek. 
 
 Then the jury found him guiltless; 
 
 But the judge in anger spake, 
 Saying, "This man and his people 
 
 Every law and ritual break. 
 For his bold contempt of rulers, 
 
 And his scoff at things divine, 
 We commit him at discretion 
 
 To imprisonment and fine!" 
 Silent Parnell heard the sentence. 
 
 But he looked so calm and high. 
 As they led him back to prison, 
 
 There to linger and to die! 
 O'er Colchester Castle's threshold 
 
 Then he entered to his doom; 
 When again he passed the portal. 
 
 Passed he to his nameless tomb. 
 
 Oh! it was a shame and sorrow. 
 
 When in England people saw 
 
 Men for conscience sake imprisoned, 
 In the name of God and law. 
 
 They have learned a better lesson 
 In these latter days of light. 
 
 When the noble English people 
 54 
 
James Parnell 
 
 Champion Europe for the right. 
 Still Colchester's Castle turrets 
 
 Old and gray in Essex stand ; 
 Still in feudal isolation, 
 
 Frowning o'er the cultured land, 
 'Leagured by those old besiegers. 
 
 Winter's wind and summer's rain ; 
 While around, the peaceful reapers 
 
 Sing upon the wide domain; 
 Undisturbed the ivy clambers 
 
 Over all the massive towers, 
 And along the moat and rampart 
 
 Sporting children hide in flowers. 
 
 But within the same old prison 
 
 Yawns amid perpetual gloom, 
 With insatiate jaws of granite. 
 
 Dismal as a living tomb. 
 Since the old days when the Romans 
 
 Held them with imperial sway. 
 In these walls had many a captive 
 
 Breathed his wretched life away. 
 Here the loyal Lucas perished. 
 
 And the brave and noble Llisle ; 
 What time Fairfax with his Round-heads 
 
 Tramped along the castle aisle. 
 But of all the noble number. 
 
 Who the coming death defied, 
 Never one like Parnell suffered. 
 
 Never one like Parnell died. 
 
 When the winter winds were sweeping 
 Round the castle's massive walls, 
 55 
 
Lays of Quaker dom 
 
 Shrieking in at grated casements, 
 
 Howling through the antique halls; 
 In the vast and vaulted chambers, 
 
 Ever sighing, faint and low; 
 Through the close and dismal dungeons, 
 
 Wailing dirge-like, sad and slow ; 
 Still in mournful cadence blending. 
 
 Like a mighty human moan, 
 As of spirits, yet imprisoned 
 
 In the huge and solid stone; 
 With the woes of all its victims 
 
 So the castle seemed to groan. 
 
 Sick and sleepless Parnell lying 
 
 Through the mid-night's chill and gloom, 
 In the winter's sullen summons, 
 
 Heard his own approaching doom. 
 Months had passed : no hope of pardon 
 
 To the patient prisoner came. 
 Though to rulers many a pleader 
 
 Spake his sufferings and his name. 
 Never was such intercession 
 
 Made for any in that day; 
 Of his people some did proffer 
 
 In his very stead to stay. 
 But the rulers' hearts were hardened. 
 
 For the land was filled with strife, 
 And the dread of civil warfare 
 
 Cheapened every human life. 
 
 So they heeded not the Quaker, 
 
 Who with steadfast faith and love 
 Bade his suffering people gather 
 
James Parnell 
 
 Strength and counsel from above. 
 All the while his persecutors 
 
 Seemed in every torment skilled, 
 And the jailer and the keeper 
 
 With a fiendish fury filled. 
 Now with brutal stripes they beat him ; 
 
 Now his food they bore away, 
 Till in sickness, starved and bleeding, 
 
 On the stony floor he lay. 
 Couch and raiment then denied him. 
 
 Though his parting hour seemed nigh ; 
 Friends and kindred all excluded, 
 
 Thus they left him there to die. 
 
 But yet unsubdued, his spirit, 
 
 With a calm and mighty will, 
 Held the body's failing pulses, 
 
 Beating in their channels still : 
 Beating weaker, beating slower. 
 
 As the great soul, day by day. 
 With a sense of power and triumph. 
 
 Kept the gloomy king at bay. 
 Thus in that tremendous conflict 
 
 Wore his last long night away. 
 
 Morning came: it cometh slowly 
 
 Through the gloom of prison bars. 
 When all night the captive keepeth 
 
 His lone vigil of the stars. 
 Morning came, and over England 
 
 Brought the vapors on the breeze. 
 With a lazy motion rolling 
 
 Inward from the circling seas ; 
 57 
 
Lays of Quakerdom 
 
 Onward, upward slowly drifting, 
 
 Folding round the castle wall; 
 Swathing massive tow^er and turret, 
 
 Dense and heavy, like a pall ; 
 Driving through the prison grating. 
 
 With a keen and cutting chill, 
 Where, amid the shivering dampness 
 
 Parnell lay, so weak and still ; 
 While around the heavy vapor, 
 
 (Piercing feeble nerve and bone), 
 Drop by drop, condensed and trickled 
 
 Dow^n the cold and flinty stone. 
 In the stifling air the martyr 
 
 Slower drew his laboring breath, 
 And upon his pallid forehead 
 
 Lay the heavy dews of death. 
 
 Then to soothe his parting moments 
 
 Loving friends in stillness came, 
 Whom his cruel foes admitted 
 
 To his cell, for very shame. 
 On the old familiar faces 
 
 Sweetly fell his dying smile, 
 As he said, "I linger with you 
 
 But a very little while; 
 Keep the faith and fight the battle. 
 
 For the crown awaits you: lo! 
 I behold the glory breaking! 
 
 Do NOT HOLD me! LeT ME Go!" 
 
 Then they seemed to see the prison 
 
 With a sudden radiance bright, 
 As from some transcendent presence, 
 
 58 
 
James Parnell 
 
 Passing in a flood of light ; 
 And amid the awful splendor, 
 
 Each pale watcher held his breath ; 
 But within the gloom returning 
 
 Stood that mighty victor — Death ! 
 
 So he perished — that young martyr: 
 
 Save his people, few beside 
 Of the busy world remember 
 
 That he ever lived or died. 
 But a true man lives forever 
 
 In the great heart of the race, 
 With a slow but certain justice. 
 
 Finding his appointed place. 
 And in that time when the peoples 
 
 Shall recall their great and true, 
 And the dead of all the ages 
 
 Summon to that high review ; 
 When the world shall seek its jewels. 
 
 For the Future's glorious crown, 
 And the hand of higher manhood 
 
 Write each noble story down; 
 In that swiftly-coming era. 
 
 When it calls the splendid roll 
 Of all those who lived and suffered 
 
 For the freedom of the soul; 
 Then in that time with the jewels. 
 
 And in answer to the call. 
 Shall appear the youthful martyr 
 
 Of Colchester s Castle-wall. 
 
 59 
 
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