THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
Miles Standish, seething with anger after Priscilla Mullins turns him down, storms off to confront a band of Native warriors and brutally kills their leaders in a fierce skirmish.
The poem
Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was marching steadily northward, Winding through forest and swamp, and along the trend of the sea-shore, All day long, with hardly a halt, the fire of his anger Burning and crackling within, and the sulphurous odor of powder Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the scents of the forest. Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his discomfort; He who was used to success, and to easy victories always, Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn by a maiden, Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom most he had trusted! Ah! 't was too much to be borne, and he fretted and chafed in his armor! "I alone am to blame," he muttered, "for mine was the folly. What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and gray in the harness, Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the wooing of maidens? 'T was but a dream,--let it pass,--let it vanish like so many others! What I thought was a flower, is only a weed, and is worthless; Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it away, and henceforward Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer of dangers!" Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and discomfort, While he was marching by day or lying at night in the forest, Looking up at the trees, and the constellations beyond them. After a three days' march he came to an Indian encampment Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the sea and the forest; Women at work by the tents, and the warriors, horrid with war-paint, Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking together; Who, when they saw from afar the sudden approach of the white men, Saw the flash of the sun on breastplate and sabre and musket, Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from among them advancing, Came to parley with Standish, and offer him furs as a present; Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts there was hatred. Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers gigantic in stature, Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, king of Bashan; One was Pecksuot named, and the other was called Wattawamat. Round their necks were suspended their knives in scabbards of wampum, Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp as a needle. Other arms had they none, for they were cunning and crafty. "Welcome, English!" they said,--these words they had learned from the traders Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaffer for peltries. Then in their native tongue they began to parley with Standish, Through his guide and interpreter Hobomok, friend of the white man, Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for muskets and powder, Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the plague, in his cellars, Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother the red man! But when Standish refused, and said he would give them the Bible, Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and to bluster. Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of the other, And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spake to the Captain: "Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the Captain, Angry is he in his heart; but the heart of the brave Wattawamat Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born of a woman, But on a mountain, at night, from an oak-tree riven by lightning, Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons about him, Shouting, 'Who is there here to fight with the brave Wattawamat?'" Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his left hand, Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle, Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister meaning: "I have another at home, with the face of a man on the handle; By and by they shall marry; and there will be plenty of children!" Then stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaunting, insulting Miles Standish: While with his fingers he petted the knife that hung at his bosom, Drawing it half from its sheath, and plunging it back, as he muttered, "By and by it shall see; it shall eat; ah, ha! but shall speak not! This is the mighty Captain the white men have sent to destroy us! He is a little man; let him go and work with the women!" Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures of Indians Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the forest, Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on their bow-strings, Drawing about him still closer and closer the net of their ambush. But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and treated them smoothly; So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days of the fathers. But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt, and the insult, All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of Thurston de Standish, Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins of his temples. Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatching his knife from its scabbard, Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, the savage Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiendlike fierceness upon it. Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound of the war-whoop, And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling wind of December, Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of feathery arrows, Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud came the lightning, Out of the lightning thunder, and death unseen ran before it. Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp and in thicket, Hotly pursued and beset; but their sachem, the brave Wattawamat, Fled not; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a bullet Passed through his brain, and he fell with both hands clutching the greensward, Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the land of his fathers. There on the flowers of the meadow the warriors lay, and above them, Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, friend of the white man. Smiling at length he exclaimed to the stalwart Captain of Plymouth: "Pecksuot bragged very loud, of his courage, his strength, and his stature,-- Mocked the great Captain, and called him a little man; but I see now Big enough have you been to lay him speechless before you!" Thus the first battle was fought and won by the stalwart Miles Standish. When the tidings thereof were brought to the village of Plymouth, And as a trophy of war the head of the brave Wattawamat Scowled from the roof of the fort, which at once was a church and a fortress, All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord, and took courage. Only Priscilla averted her face from this spectre of terror, Thanking God in her heart that she had not married Miles Standish; Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home from his battles, He should lay claim to her hand, as the prize and reward of his valor.
Miles Standish, seething with anger after Priscilla Mullins turns him down, storms off to confront a band of Native warriors and brutally kills their leaders in a fierce skirmish. The Plymouth colonists celebrate their victory, but Priscilla grimaces at the gruesome trophy — the severed head of Wattawamat — and quietly feels grateful she avoided marrying such a violent man. This passage explores themes of pride, rage, and the consequences of a soldier who thinks a sword can solve every problem.
Line-by-line
Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was marching steadily northward, / Winding through forest and swamp, and along the trend of the sea-shore,
"I alone am to blame," he muttered, "for mine was the folly.
After a three days' march he came to an Indian encampment / Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the sea and the forest;
Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and to bluster. / Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of the other,
Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures of Indians / Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the forest,
There on the flowers of the meadow the warriors lay, and above them, / Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, friend of the white man.
Thus the first battle was fought and won by the stalwart Miles Standish. / When the tidings thereof were brought to the village of Plymouth,
Tone & mood
The tone feels epic and martial at first glance—Longfellow is clearly drawing on the classical tradition of heroic poetry, using long dactylic hexameter lines that march forward like a drumbeat. However, beneath this heroic facade, there's a sense of irony, particularly at the end. Standish's rage is depicted with sympathy but also with a clear understanding that it's more about wounded pride than a noble cause. The final image of Priscilla turning away from the trophy head subtly undercuts the triumph that everyone else in Plymouth feels. The poem succeeds in both celebrating colonial grit and critiquing the violence that such grit entailed.
Symbols & metaphors
- The severed head of Wattawamat — Displayed on the fort as a trophy, the head is the poem's most disturbing image. For the colonists, it symbolizes security and divine favor. For Priscilla — and for the reader — it reveals the harsh reality of Standish's version of heroism: brutal, public, and profoundly unsettling.
- The knives with carved faces — Wattawamat's knives — one depicting a woman’s face and the other a man’s — serve as a taunt about killing, yet they also reflect the poem's romantic subplot. The notion of the two knives "marrying" darkly resonates with the love triangle involving Standish, John Alden, and Priscilla.
- Gunpowder's smell — Standish finding the "sulphurous odor of powder" more pleasant than the scents of the forest captures his character perfectly: he is a man of war, not one of nature or gentleness. This also sheds light on why he struggled with courtship before even uttering a word.
- The forest and the meadow — The wilderness that Standish walks through symbolizes the unresolved and perilous area between the colonial settlement and the unknown beyond — both in a physical sense and emotionally. The conflict unfolds at the edge of the meadow, marking a border between two worlds.
- The constellations — Lying under the stars at night, Standish gazes up at the vast, indifferent expanse above. It's a fleeting, humanizing moment — the tough soldier becoming just a small figure beneath the enormous sky, grappling with a broken heart.
Historical context
This excerpt is from Canto VII of Longfellow's narrative poem *The Courtship of Miles Standish*, published in 1858. The poem loosely draws on the real history of Plymouth Colony in the 1620s, referencing accounts like Mourt's Relation and the writings of Pilgrim leader Edward Winslow. The historical Miles Standish did lead a preemptive strike against Wampanoag warriors in 1623, killing Wittawamat (Longfellow's Wattawamat) and displaying his head on the fort — a detail noted in colonial records. Longfellow wrote this poem during a time of significant national debate over westward expansion and the displacement of Native peoples, although it mainly presents the Pilgrim viewpoint. The dactylic hexameter he employed was a tribute to Homer's *Iliad* and Virgil's *Aeneid*, casting the Pilgrim tale as an American epic. The poem remarkably sold 10,000 copies on its first day in both Boston and London.
FAQ
Yes, closely. The historical Miles Standish led a raid in 1623 that resulted in the death of a Wampanoag man named Wittawamat, whose head was displayed at the Plymouth fort. Longfellow based his account on 17th-century colonial records, but he adapted the details to fit his own narrative and heroic style.
He's just been turned down by Priscilla, thanks to his friend John Alden, who was meant to propose for him. The march becomes a way for him to express his humiliation and heartbreak through the only thing he knows: fighting. Longfellow clearly shows that Standish's anger towards the warriors stems from the same hurt pride he experienced when Priscilla "flouted" him.
Dactylic hexameter is the meter used in Homer's *Iliad* and *Odyssey*. Each line contains six rhythmic feet, with the dactyl (one stressed syllable followed by two unstressed ones) being the most common foot. Longfellow employed this meter to present the Pilgrim story as an American counterpart to classical epics, bestowing the colonists with a sense of grandeur akin to that of ancient Greek heroes. This choice contributes to the poem's flowing, propulsive sound.
The poem primarily reflects a colonial perspective, which limits its relevance for contemporary readers. Wattawamat and Pecksuot are depicted as clever, arrogant, and deceitful. Hobomok, the Wampanoag guide who supports the English, is portrayed favorably, but only for his utility to the colonists. The poem offers a fleeting glimpse of true dignity for a Native character when it shows Wattawamat dying while grasping the land of his ancestors — a brief but poignant moment.
It's the passage's subtle moral core. While the entire colony revels and thanks God over a severed head on a spike, Priscilla is the only one who recoils. Her response reshapes our understanding of everything we've just read: what the colonists see as a victory, she feels confirms that Standish is not someone she could love. Longfellow allows the reader to sense the horror without disrupting the epic tone.
Yes, Hobomok was a real Wampanoag man who worked as a guide and interpreter for Plymouth Colony and fought alongside Miles Standish in various conflicts. He shows up in 17th-century colonial records as a reliable ally of the English. In the poem, he mainly plays the role of a loyal sidekick, which oversimplifies his true historical complexity.
It's a warrior's boast — a legendary claim that he wasn't born of ordinary human parents but emerged from a violent, supernatural event. This is intended to portray him as someone who transcends normal human fears and limitations. Longfellow probably drew inspiration from Indigenous oratory traditions, but he reframes it with a 19th-century literary perspective.
Just a part. *The Courtship of Miles Standish* is a complete narrative poem divided into nine cantos. It recounts how Standish asks his friend John Alden to pursue Priscilla Mullins for him, only for Alden to fall in love with her himself, leading to romantic and military entanglements. This passage is from Canto VII, which depicts the battle occurring while the love story unfolds back in Plymouth.