Evening Star Newspaper, December 8, 1929, Page 97

Fiction he Sunday Star __gmaga;me WASHINGTON, D. C, SUNDAY, DECEMBER 8. “If a Saxon chief, named W ashington, should lecad us on the way.” the Raleigh Tavern BY ALFRED NOYES. In the lost woods of Virginia, I found, at break of day, An old Colonial tavern, by a grass-grown way, With white porch-pillars where the wild wistaria grew, Rosy with the dawn-flush, and misty with the dew. Now I'd been rambling in the woods to find the heart of things, For allmy mind was broken with the wicked ways of kings, When a low wind shifted all that deep dim bloom, And showed the golden name above the old 4 pollo Room. I had found the Raleigh tavern, and the ghostly door was wide, And I saw two shadows talking, by the dark fire-side. One was in a laced coat, and one in buff and blue; And both of them were dead men, with faces that I knew. Yes; there was Patrick Henry, in an oak arm-chair, With his long church-warden, and his fiery mop of hair; And he looked up, grimly: “Mr. Jefferson,” he said, “If Peace has come on earth at last, the Devil must be dead. “I'm Scots and Welsh; but, if he’s dead, and left no heads to break, I'm thinkin’ that auld Nick wil have a royal Irish Wake. For the Irish will be feelin’ like the lad from Venus-land Wi ith the olive-buds all sproutin’ on the black-thorn in his hand. “There’s just one hope! If half the world agrees that war shall cease, Ye'll have to call the Irish up to keep the rest at peace! But England?” “Ah,” says Jefferson, “they won't say ‘nay,’ If a Saxon chief named Washington should lead us on the way. “When with Adams, Lee and Stockton (England’s blood and England's bone) We stood for her own freedom, in the face of court and throne; When we wrenched it from the Hessian; when we sealed our living creed As the last red scripture on the scroll of Runnymede. “There was many a-golden Irish lad that followed our Saint George With his tattered, starving armies thro’ the snows of Valley Forge “There’s an auld cracked Bell,” says Patrick, “and it talks in Shakespeare’s tongue; But the bones of the dead men remember and grow young. “As I saw him, in the darkness, looming up against the skies, A great ghost, riding, with the battle in his eyes, I have seen the New World rising, with the splendor of her stars . And a Captain rides before her that shall make an end of wars. “From his tomb by the Potomac, on his proud white steed, Well I know who comes to lead us, as of auld he used to lead; And the lost drums answer, and the judgment trumpets roll, It's the Father of his Country, and it's England’s living soul.” Then softly—very softly—while the shadows died away, In the ancient Raleigh Tavern, at the dawning of the day, “By God’s good grace,” quoth Jefferson, “if both our hearts be true, We, who split the world asunder, may unite the world anew.” 3