LANDING OF PILGRIM FATHERS.

Her forehead was white as the pearly shell,
And in flickering waves her ringlets fell,
Her bosom heaved with a gentle swell,
And her voice was a distant vesper bell.

And still she sang, while the western light
Fell on her figure so soft and bright,

66

Oh, where shall I find the brave young sprite That will follow the track of my skiff to-night?

To the strand the youths of the village run,
When the witching song has scarce begun,
And ere the set of that evening sun
Fifteen bold lovers the maid has won.

They hoisted the sail, and they plied the oar,
And away they went from their native shore,
While the damsel's pinnace flew fast before,
But never, O never we saw them more !

43

JOHN STERLING.

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM

FATHERS.

`HE breaking waves dashed high

THE

On a stern and rock-bound coast,

And the woods against a stormy sky

Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark

The hills and waters o'er,

When a band of exiles moored their bark

On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the true-hearted, came,

Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame ;

Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear,

They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard, and the sea;

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang

To the anthem of the free.

The ocean-eagle soared

From his nest by the white wave's foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roared, -
This was their welcome home.

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band;

Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,

Lit by her deep love's truth;

There was manhood's brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar ?

Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? -
They sought a faith's pure shrine !

THE SAD RHYME.

45

Ay, call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod ;

They have left unstained what there they found, — Freedom to worship God.

FELICIA HEMANS.

"The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride."

From Paracelsus.

VER the sea our galleys went,

OVER

With cleaving prows in order brave,
To a speeding wind and a bounding wave, —

A gallant armament:

Each bark built out of a forest tree,
Left leafy and rough as first it grew,
And nailed all over the gaping sides,
Within and without, with black-bull hides,
Seethed in fat and suppled in flame,
To bear the playful billows' game.
So each good ship was rude to see,
Rude and bare to the outward view,
But each upbore a stately tent;
Where cedar pales in scented row
Kept out the flakes of the dancing brine:
And an awning drooped the mast below,
In fold on fold of the purple fine,
That neither noon-tide, nor star-shine,
Nor moonlight cold which maketh mad,
Might pierce the regal tenement.

-

When the sun dawned, oh, gay and glad
We set the sail and plied the oar;
But when the night-wind blew like breath,
For joy of one day's voyage more,
We sang together on the wide sea,
Like men at peace on a peaceful shore ;
Each sail was loosed to the wind so free,
Each helm made sure by the twilight star,
And in a sleep as calm as death,
We, the strangers from afar,

Lay stretched along, each weary crew
In a circle round its wondrous tent,

Whence gleamed soft light and curled rich scent,
And, with light and perfume, music too :

So the stars wheeled round, and the darkness past,
And at morn we started beside the mast,
And still each ship was sailing fast!

One morn the land appeared! - a speck
Dim trembling betwixt sea and sky.
"Avoid it," cried our pilot, "check

The shout, restrain the longing eye!"
But the heaving sea was black behind
For many a night and many a day,
And land, though but a rock, drew nigh;
So we broke the cedar pales away,
Let the purple awning flap in the wind,

And a statue bright was on every deck!

We shouted, every man of us,

And steered right into the harbor thus,
With pomp and pæan glorious.

THE SAD RHYME.

An hundred shapes of lucid stone !

All day we built a shrine for each, —

A shrine of rock for every one,

Nor paused we, till in the westering sun
We sate together on the beach
To sing, because our task was done;
When lo! what shouts and merry songs!
What laughter all the distance stirs !
What raft comes loaded with its throngs
Of gentle islanders?

"The isles are just at hand," they cried;
"Like cloudlets faint at even sleeping,
Our temple-gates are opened wide,

Our olive-groves thick shade are keeping
For the lucid shapes you bring," they cried.
Oh, then we awoke with sudden start
From our deep dream; we knew, too late,
How bare the rock, how desolate,

To which we had flung our precious freight:
Yet we called out, "Depart!

Our gifts, once given, must here abide :
Our work is done; we have no heart

To mar our work, though vain," we cried.

47

ROBERT BROWNING.