And the fruitful'st soil, Without your toil, Three harvests more, All greater than your wish And the ambitious vine The cypress, pine, And useful sassafras; To whom the Golden Age But them to defend From winter's rage, That long there doth not live. When as the luscious smell Of that delicious land, Above the seas that flows, The clear wind throws, Your hearts to swell Approaching the dear strand; In kenning of the shore O you the happiest men, Let cannons roar, Frighting the wide heaven; And in regions far, Such heroes bring ye forth As those from whom we came, And plant our name Under that star Not known unto our North; And as there plenty grows To crown, that may sing there. Thy Voyages attend Industrious Hakluyt, Whose reading shall inflame Men to seek fame, And much commend To after-times thy wit. Michael Drayton [1563-1631) "THE WORD OF GOD TO LEYDEN CAME” [AUGUST 15, 1620] THE word of God to Leyden came, Dutch town by Zuyder Zee: A thousand harvests in her breast, Rise up, my children, time is ripe! Beneath my throne the martyrs cry: The thing they longed and waited for. So, this shall be! I wrong abhor, Leave, then, the hammer and the loom, You've other work to do; For Freedom's commonwealth there's room, I'm tired of bishops and their pride, And with the people dwell. Tear off the mitre from the priest, The Pilgrims rose, at this, God's word, With their own flesh nor blood conferred, They left the towers of Leyden town, And where they cast their anchor down, Rose Freedom's realm to be. Jeremiah Eames Rankin [1828-1904] THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS [NOVEMBER 19, 1620] THE breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came: Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear, They shook the depths of the desert's gloom 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 Why had they come to wither there, 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? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine! Aye, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found Freedom to worship God! Felicia Dorothea Hemans [1793-1835] THE MAYFLOWER [DECEMBER 21, 1620] Down in the bleak December bay Have reached the frosty desert there, And now the day begins to dip, The night begins to lower Over the bay, and over the ship Neither the desert nor the sea And thorns must grow before the roses. On mother, maid, and child may bring, For now the day begins to dip, The night begins to lower Over the bay, and over the ship But Carver leads (in heart and health A hero of the commonwealth) The axes that the camp requires, To build the lodge, and heap the fires. |