POEMS OF AMERICAN HISTORY

AMERICA

My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims' pride,
From every mountain-side
Let freedom ring.

My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees
Sweet freedom's song;
Let mortal tongues awake,
Let all that breathe partake,
Let rocks their silence break,—
The sound prolong.

Our fathers' God, to Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing;
Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King.

Samuel Francis Smith.

POEMS OF AMERICAN HISTORY

COLLECTED AND EDITED

BY

BURTON EGBERT STEVENSON

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON · NEW YORK · CHICAGO · DALLAS · SAN FRANCISCO
The Riverside Press Cambridge

COPYRIGHT, 1908 AND 1922, BY BURTON EGBERT STEVENSON

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Riverside Press

CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS

PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

All rights on poems in this volume are reserved by the holders of the copyright. The publishers and others named in the following list are the proprietors, either in their own right or as agents for the authors, of the poems of which the authorship and titles are given, and of which the ownership is thus specifically noted and is hereby acknowledged.

Messrs. D. Appleton & Co., New York.—William Cullen Bryant: "The Green Mountain Boys," "Seventy-Six," "Song of Marion's Men," "Oh Mother of a Mighty Race," "Our Country's Call," "Abraham Lincoln," "Centennial Hymn."

Messrs. Richard D. Badger & Co., Boston.—Edwin Arlington Robinson: "The Klondike."

The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Indianapolis.—Charles Edward Russell: "The Fleet at Santiago," from "Such Stuff as Dreams."

The Century Company, New York.—Richard Watson Gilder: "At the President's Grave," "Charleston," "The White City," "The Comfort of the Trees"; Robert Underwood Johnson: "Dewey at Manila"; Silas Weir Mitchell: "Herndon," "How the Cumberland went down," "Kearsarge," "Lincoln," "The Song of the Flags." From the Century Magazine.—William Tuckey Meredith: "Farragut"; Helen F. More: "What's in a Name"; Will Henry Thompson: "The High Tide at Gettysburg."

The Robert Clarke Company, Cincinnati.—William Davis Gallagher: "The Mothers of the West"; William Haines Lytle: "The Siege of Chapultepec," "The Volunteers."

Messrs. Henry T. Coates & Co., Philadelphia.—Ethel Lynn Beers: "The Picket-Guard"; Charles Fenno Hoffman: "Rio Bravo," "Monterey."

Messrs. Dodd, Mead & Co., New York.—Ernest McGaffey: "Little Big Horn," "Geronimo"; William Henry Venable: "John Filson," "Johnny Appleseed," "The Founders of Ohio," "El Emplazado," "Battle-Cry," "National Song."

The R. R. Donnelly & Sons Company, Chicago.—Francis Brooks: "Down the Little Big Horn."

Messrs. Dana Estes & Co., Boston.—Hezekiah Butterworth: "The Thanksgiving for America," "The Legend of Waukulla," "The Fountain of Youth," "Verazzano," "Ortiz," "Five Kernels of Corn," "The Thanksgiving in Boston Harbor," "Roger Williams," "Whitman's Ride for Oregon," "The Death of Jefferson," "Garfield's Ride at Chickamauga," "The Church of the Revolution."

Messrs. Funk & Wagnalls, New York.—Richard Realf: "The Defence of Lawrence."

Messrs. Harper & Brothers, New York.—Wallace Bruce: "Parson Allen's Ride"; Will Carleton: "The Prize of the Margaretta," "Across the Delaware," "The Little Black-Eyed Rebel," "Cuba to Columbia," "The Victory-Wreck"; William Dean Howells: "The Battle in the Clouds"; Herman Melville: "Malvern Hill," "The Victor of Antietam," "The Cumberland," "Running the Batteries," "A Dirge for McPherson," "Sheridan at Cedar Creek," "The Fall of Richmond," "The Surrender at Appomattox," "At the Cannon's Mouth." From Harper's Magazine and Harper's Weekly.—Guy Wetmore Carryl: "When the Great Gray Ships come in"; Joseph B. Gilder: "The Parting of the Ways"; Thomas A. Janvier: "Santiago"; Thomas Dunn English: "Arnold at Stillwater," "The Charge by the Ford," "The Fall of Maubila," "The Battle of the Cowpens," "The Battle of New Orleans"; John Eliot Bowen: "The Man who rode to Conemaugh."

Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston.—Thomas Bailey Aldrich: "Fredericksburg," "By the Potomac," "The Bells at Midnight," "An Ode on the Unveiling of the Shaw Memorial," "Unguarded Gates"; Phœbe Cary: "Ready," "Peace"; John White Chadwick: "Mugford's Victory," "Full Cycle"; Mrs. Florence Earle Coates: "Columbus," "Buffalo," "By the Conemaugh"; Christopher Pearse Cranch: "After the Centennial"; Ralph Waldo Emerson: "Concord Hymn," "Boston Hymn"; Annie Fields: "Cedar Mountain"; Louise Imogen Guiney: "John Brown"; Francis Bret Harte: "Caldwell of Springfield," "The Reveille," "John Burns of Gettysburg," "A Second Review of the Grand Army," "An Arctic Vision," "Chicago"; John Hay: "Miles Keogh's Horse"; Oliver Wendell Holmes: "A Ballad of the Boston Tea-Party," "Lexington," "Grandmother's Story of Bunker-Hill Battle," "Old Ironsides," "Daniel Webster," "Brother Jonathan's Lament for Sister Caroline," "Sherman's in Savannah," "After the Fire," "Welcome to the Nations," "On the Death of President Garfield," "Additional Verses to Hail Columbia"; Mrs. Julia Ward Howe: "Our Country," "Battle-Hymn of the Republic," "Robert E. Lee," "Pardon," "Parricide," "J. A. G."; William Dean Howells: "The Battle in the Clouds"; Lucy Larcom: "Mistress Hale of Beverly," "The Nineteenth of April," "The Sinking of the Merrimack"; Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: "The Skeleton in Armor," "Sir Humphrey Gilbert," "The War-Token," "The Expedition to Wessagusset," "Prologue," "The Proclamation," "Prologue," "The Trial," "The Battle of Lovell's Pond," "A Ballad of the French Fleet," "The Embarkation," "Paul Revere's Ride," "Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem," "The Wreck of the Hesperus," "Victor Galbraith," "The Cumberland," "The Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face," "President Garfield," "The Republic"; James Russell Lowell: "Flawless his Heart," "The New-Come Chief," "Mr. Hosea Biglow speaks," "What Mr. Robinson thinks," "Jonathan to John," "The Washers of the Shroud," "Ode recited at the Harvard Commemoration"; William Vaughn Moody: "On a Soldier fallen in the Philippines," "An Ode in Time of Hesitation"; Nora Perry: "Running the Blockade"; Edna Dean Proctor: "Columbus Dying," "The Captive's Hymn," "The Lost War-Sloop," "Sa-cá-ga-we-a," "John Brown," "The Brooklyn Bridge"; Margaret Junkin Preston: "The Mystery of Cro-a-tàn," "The Last Meeting of Pocahontas and the Great Captain," "The First Proclamation of Miles Standish," "The First Thanksgiving Day," "Dirge for Ashby," "Under the Shade of the Trees," "Virginia Capta," "Acceptation"; John Godfrey Saxe: "How Cyrus laid the Cable"; Edward Rowland Sill: "The Dead President"; Harriet Prescott Spofford: "How we became a Nation," "Can't"; Edmund Clarence Stedman: "Peter Stuyvesant's New Year's Call," "Salem," "Aaron Burr's Wooing," "How Old Brown took Harper's Ferry," "Sumter," "Wanted—A Man," "Kearny at Seven Pines," "Treason's Last Device," "Gettysburg," "Abraham Lincoln," "Israel Freyer's Bid for Gold," "Custer," "Liberty Enlightening the World," "Cuba," "Hymn of the West"; Bayard Taylor: "Through Baltimore," "Lincoln at Gettysburg," "The National Ode"; Joseph Russell Taylor: "Breath on the Oat"; Edith M. Thomas: "A Christopher of the Shenandoah," "To Spain—A Last Word"; Maurice Thompson: "The Ballad of Chickamauga"; J. T. Trowbridge: "Columbus at the Convent"; Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward: "Conemaugh"; Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney: "Peace"; John G. Whittier: "The Norsemen," "Norembega," "John Underhill," "Cassandra Southwick," "The King's Missive," "St. John," "Pentucket," "Lexington," "The Vow of Washington," "Skipper Ireson's Ride," "Texas," "The Angels of Buena Vista," "The Crisis," "To William Lloyd Garrison," "Ichabod," "The Kansas Emigrants," "Burial of Barber," "Le Marais du Cygne," "Brown of Ossawatomie," "Barbara Frietchie," "The Battle Autumn of 1862," "At Port Royal," "To John C. Frémont," "Astræa at the Capitol," "The Proclamation," "Laus Deo," "To the Thirty-Ninth Congress," "The Cable Hymn," "Chicago," "Centennial Hymn," "On the Big Horn," "The Bartholdi Statue"; Forceythe Willson: "Boy Brittan"; Constance Fenimore Woolson: "Kentucky Belle." From the Atlantic Monthly.—George Houghton: "The Legend of Walbach Tower"; Henry Newbolt: "Craven"; Thomas William Parsons: "Dirge."

Mr. P. J. Kenedy, New York.—Abram J. Ryan: "The Conquered Banner."

The Ladies' Home Journal, Philadelphia.—Virginia Woodward Cloud: "The Ballad of Sweet P."

The J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia.—George Henry Boker: "Upon the Hill before Centreville," "Dirge for a Soldier," "Zagonyi," "On Board the Cumberland," "The Cruise of the Monitor," "The Ballad of New Orleans," "The Varuna," "Hooker's Across," "Before Vicksburg," "The Black Regiment," "The Battle of Lookout Mountain"; William C. Elam: "The Mecklenburg Declaration"; Robert Loveman: "Hobson and his Men"; Marion Manville: "The Surrender of New Orleans," "Lee's Parole"; Henry Peterson: "The Death of Lyon"; Thomas Buchanan Read: "The Rising," "Valley Forge," "Blennerhassett's Island," "The Attack," "Sheridan's Ride," "The Eagle and Vulture"; Francis Orrery Ticknor: "The Virginians of the Valley," "A Battle Ballad," "Our Left," "Little Giffen."

The Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company, Boston.—Richard Burton: "The Old Santa Fé Trail"; Paul Hamilton Hayne: "Macdonald's Raid," "Beyond the Potomac," "Vicksburg," "The Battle of Charleston Harbor," "Charleston," "The Stricken South to the North," "South Carolina to the States of the North," "Yorktown Centennial Lyric"; William Hamilton Hayne: "The Charge at Santiago."

The McClure Company, New York.—Edwin Markham: "Lincoln."

Messrs. A. C. McClurg & Co., Chicago.—Kate Brownlee Sherwood: "Albert Sidney Johnston," "Thomas at Chickamauga."

The Macmillan Company, New York.—Hamlin Garland: "Logan at Peach Tree Creek"; George Edward Woodberry: "Our First Century," "Essex Regiment March," "The Islands of the Sea," "O Land Beloved."

The Mershon Company, New York.—John Boyle O'Reilly: "Crispus Attucks," "At Fredericksburg," "Chicago," "Boston," "Midnight—September 19, 1881," "The Ride of Collins Graves," "Mayflower."

The Oliver Ditson Company, New York.—Kate Brownlee Sherwood: "Molly Pitcher."

Out West, Los Angeles.—Sharlot M. Hall: "Arizona."

Messrs. L. C. Page & Co., Boston.—Charles G. D. Roberts: "Brooklyn Bridge," "In Apia Bay," "A Ballad of Manila Bay."

Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York.—Louis James Block: "The Final Struggle"; Guy Wetmore Carryl: "When the Great Gray Ships come in."

Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York.—William Ernest Henley: "Romance"; George Parsons Lathrop: "Keenan's Charge"; Sidney Lanier: "The Story of Vinland," "The Triumph," "Lexington," "Land of the Wilful Gospel," "The Dying Words of Stonewall Jackson," "The Centennial Meditation of Columbia"; Thomas Nelson Page: "The Dragon of the Seas"; James Jeffrey Roche: "Panama"; Richard Henry Stoddard: "Abraham Lincoln," "Men of the North and West," "The Little Drummer."

Messrs. Small, Maynard & Co., Boston.—Richard Hovey: "The Word of the Lord from Havana," "The Battle of Manila"; Walt Whitman: "Ethiopia Saluting the Colors," "O Captain! My Captain!" "The Sobbing of the Bells."

Messrs. Herbert S. Stone & Co., Chicago.—John Williamson Palmer: "The Fight at San Jacinto."

The Whitaker & Ray Company, San Francisco.—Joaquin Miller: "Columbus," "The Defence of the Alamo," "Alaska," "Rejoice," "Cuba Libre," "San Francisco," "Resurge San Francisco." The Youth's Companion, Boston.—Mary A. P. Stansbury: "The Surprise at Ticonderoga"; Thomas Tracy Bouvé: "The Shannon and the Chesapeake."

In addition to the above, the compiler begs to acknowledge express permission from the following authors for the use of such of their poems as appear in this volume:

Joel Benton, Louis James Block, Virginia Fraser Boyle, Robert Bridges, Wallace Bruce, Richard Burton, S. H. M. Byers, Will Carleton, Madison Cawein, Robert W. Chambers, John Vance Cheney, Joseph I. C. Clarke, Virginia Woodward Cloud, Florence Earle Coates, Kinahan Cornwallis, F. Marion Crawford, Mrs. Ernest Crosby (for Ernest Crosby), Caroline Duer, Barrett Eastman, Francis Miles Finch, Hamlin Garland, Joseph D. Gilder, Richard Watson Gilder, Arthur Guiterman, Sharlot M. Hall, Edward Everett Hale, William Hamilton Hayne (for himself and Paul Hamilton Hayne), Caroline Hazard, Rupert Hughes, Minna Irving, Thomas A. Janvier, Tudor Jenks, John Howard Jewett, Robert Underwood Johnson, Walter Learned, Robert Loveman, Charles F. Lummis, Ernest McGaffey, Edwin Markham, John James Meehan, Lloyd Mifflin, William Vaughn Moody, Thomas Nelson Page, Mrs. John W. Palmer (for John Williamson Palmer), John James Piatt, Wallace Rice, Laura E. Richards, Edwin Arlington Robinson, James Jeffrey Roche, John Jerome Rooney, Alfred D. Runyon, Charles Edward Russell, Clinton Scollard, Mrs. Katherine Brownlee Sherwood, Lewis Worthington Smith, Joseph Russell Taylor, Richard H. Titherington, William Henry Venable, Robert Burns Wilson.

COPYRIGHT NOTICE FOR NEW EDITION

The Editor is indebted to the following authors and publishers for permission to use the poems mentioned, all rights in which are reserved:

Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews: "A Call to Arms."

Robert Bridges: "To the United States of America."

Dana Burnet: "Marching Song."

Amelia Josephine Burr: "Pershing at the Tomb of Lafayette."

Witter Bynner (by Anne L. Wellington): "Republic to Republic."

Eleanor Rogers Cox: "The Return."

George H. Doran Company: "The White Ships and the Red," from Main Street, and Other Poems, by Joyce Kilmer, copyright 1917.

John Chipman Farrar: "Brest Left Behind," from Contemporary Verse.

Richard Butler Glaenzer: "A Ballad of Redhead's Day."

Daniel Henderson: "The Road to France."

Houghton Mifflin Company: "Victory Bells," from Wilderness Songs, by Grace Hazard Conkling.

Robert Underwood Johnson: "To the Returning Brave."

Aline Kilmer (for Joyce Kilmer): "The White Ships and the Red," "Rouge Bouquet."

Richard Le Gallienne: "After the War."

Vachel Lindsay: "Abraham Lincoln walks at Midnight."

J. Corson Miller: "Epicedium."

Randall Parrish: "Your Lad and My Lad."

Clinton Scollard: "The First Three," "The Unreturning."

Charles Scribner's Sons: "A Call to Arms," by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews; "Ode in Memory of the American Volunteers Fallen for France," by Alan Seeger; "Mare Liberum," by Henry van Dyke.

Marion Couthouy Smith: "The Star," "King of the Belgians."

Henry van Dyke: "Mare Liberum."

Willard Wattles: "The Family of Nations."

George Edward Woodberry: "Sonnets written in the Fall of 1914."

TO

E. B. S.

HELPMATE

One who underrates the significance of our literature, prose or verse, as both the expression and stimulant of national feeling, as of import in the past and to the future of America, and therefore of the world, is deficient in that critical insight which can judge even of its own day unwarped by personal taste or deference to public impression. He shuts his eyes to the fact that at times, notably throughout the years resulting in the Civil War, this literature has been a "force."—Edmund Clarence Stedman.

INTRODUCTION

The poetry relating to American history falls naturally into two classes: that written, so to speak, from the inside, on the spot, and that written from the outside, long afterwards. Of the first class, "The Star-Spangled Banner" is the most famous example, as well as perhaps the best. Even at this distant day, reading it with a knowledge of the circumstances which produced it, it has a power of touching the heart and gripping the imagination which goes far toward proving the genuineness of its art. Of the second class, "Paul Revere's Ride" is probably the most widely known, though Mr. Longfellow's own "Ballad of the French Fleet" is a better poem.

It is evident that, in compiling an anthology such as this, different standards must be used in judging these two classes. The first, aside from any quality as poetry which it may have, is of value because of its historical or political interest, because it is an expression and an interpretation of the hour which gave it birth. With it, poetic merit is not the first consideration, which is, perhaps, as well. Yet, however slight their merit as poetry may be, many of the early ballads possess an admirable energy, directness, and aptness of phrase, and there is about them a childlike simplicity impossible of reproduction in this sophisticated age—as where Stephen Tilden, in his epitaph on Braddock, requests the great commanders who have preceded that unfortunate soldier to the grave to

"Edge close and give him room."

With the retrospective ballad, on the other hand, poetic merit is a sine qua non. It has little value historically, however accurate its facts. It differs from the contemporary ballad in the same way that the "New Canterbury Tales" differ from Froissart; or as the "Idylls of the King" differ from "Le Morte Arthur." It is less authentic, less convincing, less vital. It may have atmosphere, but there is no infallible way of telling whether the atmosphere is right. Unless it is something more, then, than mere metrical history, the modern ballad has little claim to consideration.

These are the two principles which the present compiler has had constantly in mind. Yet the second principle has been violated more than once, since, in a collection such as this, one must cut one's coat according to the cloth; or, rather, one must make sure that one is decently covered, though the covering may here and there be somewhat inferior in quality. So it has been necessary, in order to keep the thread of history unbroken, to admit some strands anything but silken; and if the choice has sometimes been of ills, rather than of goods, the compiler can only hope that he chose wisely.

The most difficult and trying portion of his task has been, not to get his material together, but to compress it into reasonable limits. Especially in the colonial period was the temptation great to include more early American verse. Peter Folger's "A Looking-Glass for the Times," Benjamin Tompson's "New England's Crisis," Michael Wigglesworth's "God's Controversy with New England," the "Sot-Weed Factor," and many others, which it is recalling an old sorrow to name here, were excluded only after long and bitter debate. No doubt other exclusions will be noticed by nearly every reader of the volume—and it may interest him to know that the material gathered together would have made four such books as this.

The thread of narrative upon which the poems have been strung together has been made as slight as possible, just strong enough to carry the reader understandingly from one poem to the next. The notes, too, have been limited to the explanation of such allusions as are not likely to be found in the ordinary works of reference, with here and there an account of the circumstances which caused the lines to be written, or an indication of source, where the source is unusual. Every available source has been drawn upon—the works of all the better known and many of the minor American and English poets, anthologies, newspaper collections, magazines, collections of Americana and especially of broadsides—in a word, American and English poetry generally.

In this connection, the compiler wishes to make grateful acknowledgment of the assistance he has received on every hand, especially from Mr. Herbert Putnam and Miss Margaret McGuffey, of the Library of Congress; Mr. N. D. C. Hodges, librarian of the Cincinnati, Ohio, Public Library; Mr. C. B. Galbreath, librarian of the Ohio State Library; Mr. Charles F. Lummis, librarian of the Los Angeles, California, Public Library; Dr. Edward Everett Hale, Mr. William Henry Venable, Mr. Isaac R. Pennypacker, Mr. Arthur Guiterman, and Mr. Wallace Rice. He might add that it is a matter of deep personal gratification to him that in no instance has any author refused to permit the use of his work in this collection. On the contrary, many of them have been most helpful in suggestions.

A special effort has been made to secure accuracy of text,—no light task, especially with the early ballads. Where the text varied, as was often the case, that has been followed which seemed to have the greater authority, except that obvious misprints have been corrected. In this, the compiler has had the coöperation of The Riverside Press, and has had frequent occasion to admire the care and knowledge of the corrector and his assistants.

B. E. S.

Chillicothe, Ohio, July 23, 1908.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PART I
THE COLONIAL PERIOD

AMERICA

Oh, who has not heard of the Northmen of yore,
How flew, like the sea-bird, their sails from the shore;
How westward they stayed not till, breasting the brine,
They hailed Narragansett, the land of the vine?

Then the war-songs of Rollo, his pennon and glaive,
Were heard as they danced by the moon-lighted wave,
And their golden-haired wives bore them sons of the soil,
While raged with the redskins their feud and turmoil.

And who has not seen, mid the summer's gay crowd,
That old pillared tower of their fortalice proud,
How it stands solid proof of the sea chieftains' reign
Ere came with Columbus those galleys of Spain?

'Twas a claim for their kindred: an earnest of sway,—
By the stout-hearted Cabot made good in its day,—
Of the Cross of St. George on the Chesapeake's tide,
Where lovely Virginia arose like a bride.

Came the pilgrims with Winthrop; and, saint of the West,
Came Robert of Jamestown, the brave and the blest;
Came Smith, the bold rover, and Rolfe—with his ring,
To wed sweet Matoäka, child of a king.

Undaunted they came, every peril to dare,
Of tribes fiercer far than the wolf in his lair;
Of the wild irksome woods, where in ambush they lay;
Of their terror by night and their arrow by day.

And so where our capes cleave the ice of the poles,
Where groves of the orange scent sea-coast and shoals,
Where the froward Atlantic uplifts its last crest,
Where the sun, when he sets, seeks the East from the West.

The clime that from ocean to ocean expands,
The fields to the snow-drifts that stretch from the sands,
The wilds they have conquered of mountain and plain,
Those pilgrims have made them fair Freedom's domain.

And the bread of dependence if proudly they spurned,
'Twas the soul of their fathers that kindled and burned,
'Twas the blood of the Saxon within them that ran;
They held—to be free is the birthright of man.

So oft the old lion, majestic of mane,
Sees cubs of his cave breaking loose from his reign;
Unmeet to be his if they braved not his eye,
He gave them the spirit his own to defy.

Arthur Cleveland Coxe.

POEMS OF AMERICAN HISTORY

CHAPTER I

THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA

Bjarni, son of Herjulf, speeding westward from Iceland in 986, to spend the Yuletide in Greenland with his father, encountered foggy weather and steered by guesswork for many days. At last he sighted land, but a land covered with dense woods,—not at all the land of fiords and glaciers he was seeking. So, without stopping, he turned his prow to the north, and ten days later was telling his story to the listening circle before the blazing logs in his father's house at Brattahlid. The tale came, in time, to the ears of Leif, the famous son of Red Eric, and in the year 1000 he set out from Greenland, with a crew of thirty-five, in search of the strange land to the south. He reached the barren coast of Labrador and named it Helluland, or "slate-land;" south of it was a coast so densely wooded that he named it Markland, or "woodland." At last he ran his ship ashore at a spot where "a river, issuing from a lake, fell into the sea." Wild grapes abounded, and he named the country Vinland.

[THE STORY OF VINLAND][1]

From "Psalm of the West"

Far spread, below,
The sea that fast hath locked in his loose flow
All secrets of Atlantis' drownèd woe
Lay bound about with night on every hand,
Save down the eastern brink a shining band
Of day made out a little way from land.
Then from that shore the wind upbore a cry:
Thou Sea, thou Sea of Darkness! why, oh why
Dost waste thy West in unthrift mystery?
But ever the idiot sea-mouths foam and fill,
And never a wave doth good for man, or ill,
And Blank is king, and Nothing hath his will;
And like as grim-beaked pelicans level file
Across the sunset toward their nightly isle
On solemn wings that wave but seldom while,
So leanly sails the day behind the day
To where the Past's lone Rock o'erglooms the spray,
And down its mortal fissures sinks away.

Master, Master, break this ban:
The wave lacks Thee.
Oh, is it not to widen man
Stretches the sea?
Oh, must the sea-bird's idle van
Alone be free?

Into the Sea of the Dark doth creep
Björne's pallid sail,
As the face of a walker in his sleep,
Set rigid and most pale,
About the night doth peer and peep
In a dream of an ancient tale.

Lo, here is made a hasty cry:
Land, land, upon the west!—
God save such land! Go by, go by:
Here may no mortal rest,
Where this waste hell of slate doth lie
And grind the glacier's breast.

The sail goeth limp: hey, flap and strain!
Round eastward slanteth the mast;
As the sleep-walker waked with pain,
White-clothed in the midnight blast,
Doth stare and quake, and stride again
To houseward all aghast.

Yet as—A ghost! his household cry:
He hath followed a ghost in flight.
Let us see the ghost—his household fly
With lamps to search the night—
So Norsemen's sails run out and try
The Sea of the Dark with light.

[Stout Are Marson], southward whirled
From out the tempest's hand,
Doth skip the sloping of the world
To Huitramannaland,
Where Georgia's oaks with moss-beards curled
Wave by the shining strand,

And sway in sighs from Florida's Spring
Or Carolina's Palm—
What time the mocking-bird doth bring
The woods his artist's-balm,
Singing the Song of Everything
Consummate-sweet and calm—

Land of large merciful-hearted skies,
Big bounties, rich increase,
Green rests for Trade's blood-shotten eyes,
For o'er-beat brains surcease,
For Love the dear woods' sympathies,
For Grief the wise woods' peace.

For Need rich givings of hid powers
In hills and vales quick-won,
For Greed large exemplary flowers
That ne'er have toiled nor spun,
For Heat fair-tempered winds and showers,
For Cold the neighbor sun.

* * * * *

Then Leif, bold son of Eric the Red,
To the South of the West doth flee—
Past slaty Helluland is sped,
Past Markland's woody lea,
Till round about fair Vinland's head,
Where Taunton helps the sea,

The Norseman calls, the anchor falls,
The mariners hurry a-strand:
They wassail with fore-drunken skals
Where prophet wild grapes stand;
They lift the Leifsbooth's hasty walls,
They stride about the land—

New England, thee! whose ne'er-spent wine
As blood doth stretch each vein,
And urge thee, sinewed like thy vine,
Through peril and all pain
To grasp Endeavor's towering Pine,
And, once ahold, remain—

Land where the strenuous-handed Wind
With sarcasm of a friend
Doth smite the man would lag behind
To frontward of his end;
Yea, where the taunting fall and grind
Of Nature's Ill doth send

Such mortal challenge of a clown
Rude-thrust upon the soul,
That men but smile where mountains frown
Or scowling waters roll,
And Nature's front of battle down
Do hurl from pole to pole.

Now long the Sea of Darkness glimmers low
With sails from Northland flickering to and fro—
Thorwald, Karlsefne, and those twin heirs of woe,
Hellboge and Finnge, in treasonable bed
Slain by the ill-born child of Eric Red,
Freydisa false. Till, as much time is fled,
Once more the vacant airs with darkness fill,
Once more the wave doth never good nor ill,
And Blank is king, and Nothing works his will;
And leanly sails the day behind the day
To where the Past's lone Rock o'erglooms the spray,
And down its mortal fissures sinks away,
As when the grim-beaked pelicans level file
Across the sunset to their seaward isle
On solemn wings that wave but seldomwhile.

Sidney Lanier.

Leif and his crew spent the winter in Vinland, and in the following spring took back to Greenland news of the pleasant country they had discovered. Other voyages followed, but the newcomers became embroiled with the natives, who attacked them in such numbers that all projects of colonization were abandoned; and finally, in 1012, the Norsemen sailed away forever from this land of promise.

THE NORSEMEN

[On a fragment of statue found at Bradford.]

Gift from the cold and silent Past!
A relic to the present cast;
Left on the ever-changing strand
Of shifting and unstable sand,
Which wastes beneath the steady chime
And beating of the waves of Time!
Who from its bed of primal rock
First wrenched thy dark, unshapely block?
Whose hand, of curious skill untaught,
Thy rude and savage outline wrought?

The waters of my native stream
Are glancing in the sun's warm beam;
From sail-urged keel and flashing oar
The circles widen to its shore;
And cultured field and peopled town
Slope to its willowed margin down.
Yet, while this morning breeze is bringing
The home-life sound of school-bells ringing,
And rolling wheel, and rapid jar
Of the fire-winged and steedless car,
And voices from the wayside near
Come quick and blended on my ear,—
A spell is in this old gray stone,
My thoughts are with the Past alone!

A change!—The steepled town no more
Stretches along the sail-thronged shore;
Like palace-domes in sunset's cloud,
Fade sun-gilt spire and mansion proud:
Spectrally rising where they stood,
I see the old, primeval wood;
Dark, shadow-like, on either hand
I see its solemn waste expand;
It climbs the green and cultured hill,
It arches o'er the valley's rill,
And leans from cliff and crag to throw
Its wild arms o'er the stream below.
Unchanged, alone, the same bright river
Flows on, as it will flow forever!
I listen, and I hear the low
Soft ripple where its waters go;
I hear behind the panther's cry,
The wild-bird's scream goes thrilling by,
And shyly on the river's brink
The deer is stooping down to drink.

But hark!—from wood and rock flung back,
What sound comes up the Merrimac?
What sea-worn barks are those which throw
The light spray from each rushing prow?
Have they not in the North Sea's blast
Bowed to the waves the straining mast?
Their frozen sails the low, pale sun
Of Thulë's night has shone upon;
Flapped by the sea-wind's gusty sweep
Round icy drift, and headland steep.
Wild Jutland's wives and Lochlin's daughters
Have watched them fading o'er the waters,
Lessening through driving mist and spray,
Like white-winged sea-birds on their way!

Onward they glide,—and now I view
Their iron-armed and stalwart crew;
Joy glistens in each wild blue eye,
Turned to green earth and summer sky.
Each broad, seamed breast has cast aside
Its cumbering vest of shaggy hide;
Bared to the sun and soft warm air,
Streams back the Northmen's yellow hair.
I see the gleam of axe and spear,
A sound of smitten shields I hear,
Keeping a harsh and fitting time
To Saga's chant, and Runic rhyme;
Such lays as Zetland's Scald has sung,
His gray and naked isles among;
Or muttered low at midnight hour
Round Odin's mossy stone of power.
The wolf beneath the Arctic moon
Has answered to that startling rune;
The Gael has heard its stormy swell,
The light Frank knows its summons well;
Iona's sable-stoled Culdee
Has heard it sounding o'er the sea,
And swept, with hoary beard and hair,
His altar's foot in trembling prayer!

'Tis past,—the 'wildering vision dies
In darkness on my dreaming eyes!
The forest vanishes in air,
Hill-slope and vale lie starkly bare;
I hear the common tread of men,
And hum of work-day life again;
The mystic relic seems alone
A broken mass of common stone;
And if it be the chiselled limb
Of Berserker or idol grim,
A fragment of Valhalla's Thor,
The stormy Viking's god of War,
Or Praga of the Runic lay,
Or love-awakening Siona,
I know not,—for no graven line,
Nor Druid mark, nor Runic sign,
Is left me here, by which to trace
Its name, or origin, or place.
Yet, for this vision of the Past,
This glance upon its darkness cast,
My spirit bows in gratitude
Before the Giver of all good,
Who fashioned so the human mind,
That, from the waste of Time behind,
A simple stone, or mound of earth,
Can summon the departed forth;
Quicken the Past to life again,
The Present lose in what hath been,
And in their primal freshness show
The buried forms of long ago.
As if a portion of that Thought
By which the Eternal will is wrought,
Whose impulse fills anew with breath
The frozen solitude of Death,
To mortal mind were sometimes lent,
To mortal musings sometimes sent,
To whisper—even when it seems
But Memory's fantasy of dreams—
Through the mind's waste of woe and sin,
Of an immortal origin!

John Greenleaf Whittier.

This, in mere outline, is the story of Vinland, as told in the Icelandic Chronicle. Of its substantial accuracy there can be little doubt. Many proofs of Norse occupation have been found on the shores of Massachusetts Bay. The "skeleton in armor," however, which was unearthed in 1835 near Fall River, Mass., was probably that of an Indian.

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR

"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,
Comest to daunt me!
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?"

Then, from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water's flow
Under December's snow,
Came a dull voice of woe
From the heart's chamber.

"I was a Viking old!
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,
No Saga taught thee!
Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse;
For this I sought thee.

"Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic's strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the gerfalcon;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

"Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf's bark,
Until the soaring lark
Sang from the meadow.

"But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair's crew,
O'er the dark sea I flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.

"Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long winter out;
Often our midnight shout
Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk's tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,
Filled to o'erflowing.

"Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning yet tender;
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor.

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade
Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest
By the hawk frighted.

"Bright in her father's hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chanting his glory;
When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter's hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand
To hear my story.

"While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion laughed,
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.

"She was a Prince's child,
I but a Viking wild,
And though she blushed and smiled,
I was discarded!
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight,
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?

"Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,
Fairest of all was she
Among the Norsemen!
When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armèd hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,
With twenty horsemen.

"Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,
When the wind failed us;
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw
Laugh as he hailed us.

"And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
'Death!' was the helmsman's hail,
'Death without quarter!'
[Mid-ships with iron keel]
Struck we her ribs of steel!
Down her black hulk did reel
Through the black water!

"As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,
With his prey laden.—
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,
Bore I the maiden.

"Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o'er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore
Stretching to leeward;
There for my lady's bower
Built I [the lofty tower],
Which, to this very hour,
Stands looking seaward.

"There lived we many years;
Time dried the maiden's tears;
She had forgot her fears,
She was a mother;
Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies;
Ne'er shall the sun arise
On such another!

"Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men,
The sunlight hateful!
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,
Oh, death was grateful!

"Thus, seamed with many scars,
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars
My soul ascended!
There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!"
Thus the tale ended.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

The centuries passed, and no more of the white-skinned race came to the New World. But a new era was at hand; the day drew near when a little fleet was to put out from Spain and turn its prows westward on the grandest voyage the world has ever known.

PROPHECY

From "Il Morgante Maggiore"

1485

His bark
The daring mariner shall urge far o'er
The Western wave, a smooth and level plain.
Albeit the earth is fashioned like a wheel.
Man was in ancient days of grosser mould,
And Hercules might blush to learn how far
[Beyond the limits he had vainly set]
The dullest sea-boat soon shall wing her way.
Man shall descry another hemisphere,
Since to one common centre all things tend.
So earth, by curious mystery divine
Well balanced, hangs amid the starry spheres.
At our antipodes are cities, states,
And throngèd empires, ne'er divined of yore.
But see, the sun speeds on his western path
To glad the nations with expected light.

Luigi Pulci.

About 1436 a son was born to Dominico Colombo, wool-comber, of Genoa, and in due time christened Cristoforo. Of his boyhood little is known save that he early went to sea. About 1470 he followed his brother Bartholomew to Lisbon, and in 1474 he was given a map by Toscanelli, the Florentine astronomer, showing Japan and the Indies directly west of Portugal, together with a long letter in which Toscanelli explained his reasons for believing that by sailing west one could reach the East. Columbus, studying the problem month by month, became convinced of the feasibility of such a route to the Indies, and determined himself to traverse it.

THE INSPIRATION

From "The West Indies"

Long lay the ocean-paths from man conceal'd;
Light came from heaven,—the magnet was reveal'd,
A surer star to guide the seaman's eye
Than the pale glory of the northern sky;
Alike ordain'd to shine by night and day,
Through calm and tempest, with unsetting ray;
Where'er the mountains rise, the billows roll,
Still with strong impulse turning to the pole,
True as the sun is to the morning true,
Though light as film, and trembling as the dew.

Then man no longer plied with timid oar,
And failing heart, along the windward shore;
Broad to the sky he turn'd his fearless sail,
Defied the adverse, woo'd the favoring gale,
Bared to the storm his adamantine breast,
Or soft on ocean's lap lay down to rest;
While free, as clouds the liquid ether sweep,
His white-wing'd vessels coursed the unbounded deep;
From clime to clime the wanderer loved to roam,
The waves his heritage, the world his home.

Then first Columbus, with the mighty hand
Of grasping genius, weigh'd the sea and land;
The floods o'erbalanced:—where the tide of light,
Day after day, roll'd down the gulf of night,
There seem'd one waste of waters:—long in vain
His spirit brooded o'er the Atlantic main;
When sudden, as creation burst from nought,
Sprang a new world through his stupendous thought,
Light, order, beauty!—While his mind explored
The unveiling mystery, his heart adored;
Where'er sublime imagination trod,
He heard the voice, he saw the face of God.

Far from the western cliffs he cast his eye,
O'er the wide ocean stretching to the sky:
In calm magnificence the sun declined,
And left a paradise of clouds behind:
Proud at his feet, with pomp of pearl and gold,
The billows in a sea of glory roll'd.

"—Ah! on this sea of glory might I sail,
Track the bright sun, and pierce the eternal veil
That hides those lands, beneath Hesperian skies,
Where daylight sojourns till our morrow rise!"

Thoughtful he wander'd on the beach alone;
Mild o'er the deep the vesper planet shone,
The eye of evening, brightening through the west
Till the sweet moment when it shut to rest:
"Whither, O golden Venus! art thou fled?
Not in the ocean-chambers lies thy bed;
Round the dim world thy glittering chariot drawn
Pursues the twilight, or precedes the dawn;
Thy beauty noon and midnight never see,
The morn and eve divide the year with thee."

Soft fell the shades, till Cynthia's slender bow
Crested the furthest wave, then sunk below:
"Tell me, resplendent guardian of the night,
Circling the sphere in thy perennial flight,
What secret path of heaven thy smiles adorn,
What nameless sea reflects thy gleaming horn?"

Now earth and ocean vanish'd, all serene
The starry firmament alone was seen;
Through the slow, silent hours, he watch'd the host
Of midnight suns in western darkness lost,
Till Night himself, on shadowy pinions borne,
Fled o'er the mighty waters, and the morn
Danced on the mountains:—"Lights of heaven!" he cried,
"Lead on;—I go to win a glorious bride;
Fearless o'er gulfs unknown I urge my way,
Where peril prowls, and shipwreck lurks for prey:
Hope swells my sail;—in spirit I behold
That maiden-world, twin-sister of the old,
By nature nursed beyond the jealous sea,
Denied to ages, but betroth'd to me."

James Montgomery.

In 1484 Columbus laid his plan before King John II, of Portugal, but became so disgusted with his treachery and double-dealing, that he left Portugal and entered the service of Ferdinand and Isabella. The Spanish monarchs listened to him with attention, and ordered that the greatest astronomers and cosmographers of the kingdom should assemble at Salamanca and pass upon the feasibility of the project.

COLUMBUS

[January, 1487]

[St. Stephen's cloistered hall] was proud
In learning's pomp that day,
For there a robed and stately crowd
Pressed on in long array.
A mariner with simple chart
Confronts that conclave high,
While strong ambition stirs his heart,
And burning thoughts of wonder part
From lip and sparkling eye.

What hath he said? With frowning face,
In whispered tones they speak,
And lines upon their tablets trace,
Which flush each ashen cheek;
The Inquisition's mystic doom
Sits on their brows severe,
And bursting forth in visioned gloom,
Sad heresy from burning tomb
Groans on the startled ear.

Courage, thou Genoese! Old Time
Thy splendid dream shall crown;
Yon Western Hemisphere sublime,
Where unshorn forests frown,
The awful Andes' cloud-wrapt brow,
The Indian hunter's bow,
Bold streams untamed by helm or prow,
And rocks of gold and diamonds, thou
To thankless Spain shalt show.

Courage, World-finder! Thou hast need!
In Fate's unfolding scroll,
Dark woes and ingrate wrongs I read,
That rack the noble soul.
On! on! Creation's secrets probe,
Then drink thy cup of scorn,
And wrapped in fallen Cæsar's robe,
Sleep like that master of the globe,
All glorious,—yet forlorn.

Lydia Huntley Sigourney.

The council convened at Salamanca and examined Columbus; but it presented to him an almost impenetrable wall of bigotry and prejudice. Long delays and adjournments followed; and for three years the suppliant was put off with excuses and evasions. At last, worn out with waiting and anxiety, he appealed to Ferdinand to give him a definite answer.

COLUMBUS TO FERDINAND

[January, 1491]

Illustrious monarch of Iberia's soil,
Too long I wait permission to depart;
Sick of delays, I beg thy list'ning ear—
Shine forth the patron and the prince of art.

While yet Columbus breathes the vital air,
Grant his request to pass the western main:
Reserve this glory for thy native soil,
And what must please thee more—for thy own reign.

Of this huge globe, how small a part we know—
Does heaven their worlds to western suns deny?—
How disproportion'd to the mighty deep
The lands that yet in human prospect lie!

Does Cynthia, when to western skies arriv'd,
Spend her sweet beam upon the barren main,
And ne'er illume with midnight splendor, she,
The natives dancing on the lightsome green?—

Should the vast circuit of the world contain
Such wastes of ocean, and such scanty land?—
'Tis reason's voice that bids me think not so,
I think more nobly of the Almighty hand.

Does yon fair lamp trace half the circle round
To light the waves and monsters of the seas?—
No—be there must beyond the billowy waste
Islands, and men, and animals, and trees.

An unremitting flame my breast inspires
To seek new lands amidst the barren waves,
Where falling low, the source of day descends,
And the blue sea his evening visage laves.

Hear, in his tragic lay, [Cordova's sage]:
"The time shall come, when numerous years are past,
The ocean shall dissolve the bonds of things,
And an extended region rise at last;

"And Typhis shall disclose the mighty land
Far, far away, where none have rov'd before;
Nor shall the world's remotest region be
Gibraltar's rock, or Thule's savage shore."

Fir'd at the theme, I languish to depart,
Supply the barque, and bid Columbus sail;
He fears no storms upon the untravell'd deep;
Reason shall steer, and skill disarm the gale.

Nor does he dread to lose the intended course,
Though far from land the reeling galley stray,
And skies above and gulphy seas below
Be the sole objects seen for many a day.

Think not that Nature has unveil'd in vain
The mystic magnet to the mortal eye:
So late have we the guiding needle plann'd
Only to sail beneath our native sky?

Ere this was found, the ruling power of all
Found for our use an ocean in the land,
Its breadth so small we could not wander long,
Nor long be absent from the neighboring strand.

Short was the course, and guided by the stars,
But stars no more shall point our daring way;
The Bear shall sink, and every guard be drown'd,
And great Arcturus scarce escape the sea,

When southward we shall steer—O grant my wish,
Supply the barque, and bid Columbus sail,
He dreads no tempests on the untravell'd deep,
Reason shall steer, and skill disarm the gale.

Philip Freneau.

Early in 1491 the council of Salamanca reported that the proposed enterprise was vain and impossible of execution, and Ferdinand accepted the decision. Indignant at thought of the years he had wasted, Columbus started for Paris, to lay his plan before the King of France. He was accompanied by his son, Diego, and stopped one night at the convent of La Rabida, near Palos, to ask for food and shelter. The prior, Juan Perez de Marchena, became interested in his project, detained him, and finally secured for him another audience of Isabella.

COLUMBUS AT THE CONVENT

[July, 1491]

Dreary and brown the night comes down,
Gloomy, without a star.
On Palos town the night comes down;
The day departs with a stormy frown;
The sad sea moans afar.

A convent-gate is near; 'tis late;
Ting-ling! the bell they ring.
They ring the bell, they ask for bread—
"Just for my child," the father said.
Kind hands the bread will bring.

White was his hair, his mien was fair,
His look was calm and great.
The porter ran and called a friar;
The friar made haste and told the prior;
The prior came to the gate.

He took them in, he gave them food;
The traveller's dreams he heard;
And fast the midnight moments flew,
And fast the good man's wonder grew,
And all his heart was stirred.

The child the while, with soft, sweet smile
Forgetful of all sorrow,
Lay soundly sleeping in his bed.
The good man kissed him then, and said:
"You leave us not to-morrow!

"I pray you rest the convent's guest;
The child shall be our own—
A precious care, while you prepare
Your business with the court, and bear
Your message to the throne."

And so his guest he comforted.
O wise, good prior! to you,
Who cheered the stranger's darkest days,
And helped him on his way, what praise
And gratitude are due!

John T. Trowbridge.

Isabella and Ferdinand were with their army before Granada, and received Columbus well; but his demands for emoluments and honors in the event of success were pronounced absurd; the negotiations were broken off, and again Columbus started for France. The few converts to his theories were in despair, and one of them, Luis de Santangel, receiver of the ecclesiastical revenues of Aragon, obtained an audience of the Queen, and enkindled her patriotic spirit. When Ferdinand still hesitated, she exclaimed, "I undertake the enterprise for my own crown of Castile. I will pledge my jewels to raise the money that is needed!" Santangel assured her that he himself was ready to provide the money, and advanced seventeen thousand florins from the coffers of Aragon, so that Ferdinand really paid for the expedition, after all.

THE FINAL STRUGGLE

From "The New World"

[January 6—April 17, 1492]

Yet had his sun not risen; from his lips
Fell in swift fervid accents his desire,
And Talavera's eyes of smouldering fire
Shone with a myriad doubts, a dark eclipse
Of faith hung round him, and the longed-for ships
Ploughed but the ocean of his star-lit dreams;
Time had not tried his soul enough with whips
And scorns, for so the rigid Master deems
He makes his servants fit
For the hard toils which knit
The perfect garment, firm and without seams,
The world shall wear at last; his hurt brain teems
With indignation and he turns away
Undaunted, and he girds him for the fray
Once more; but first he hears the words of his good friend,
Marchena, strong with trust in the far-shining end.

His wanderings reached at last the lonely door
Of calm La Rabida; there the silence came
Grateful upon his grief's consuming flame;
The simple cloisters gave him peace once more,
And the live ocean rolled up to the shore
In ceaseless voice of promise; through the pines
The sun looked down benignant, and the roar
Of the far world of rivalries declines
Into an inward murmur
With each day growing firmer,
Whose sense is conquest at the last; as shines
A lamp across a rocky path's confines,
Making the outlet clear, Juan Perez' faith
Who heard him and conceived his words no wraith
Of fevered fancy but the very truth, was light
To bring the Queen to know his purposes aright.

O noble priest and friend! you reached the court
And turned the Queen from conquest's mid career
To hearken; other triumphs glittered clear
Before her, and again from Huelva's port
The seeker came; he saw Granada's fort
Open its gates reluctant, and the King,
El Zogoibi, bewail his bitter sort
And loss which made the rich Te Deums ring
When on La Vela's tower
The cross bloomed like a flower
Of heaven's own growing; but the sudden spring,
Loud with birds silent long that strove to sing,
After the winter's weary voiceless reign,
Was overcast with storms of cold disdain;
Haughtily forth he fared and reached Granada's gates
When the clouds lifted and the persecuting fates

Relented from their fury; for the Queen
Listened unto the urgings manifold
Of Santangel, and counsel, wise and bold,
Of [the far-seeing Marchioness], whose keen
Divinings pierced the misty ocean's screen
And felt the deed must surely come to pass;
So they recalled him, and his life's changed scene
Grew bright with blooms and smile of thickening grass;
O royal woman then
Your hand received again
The keys of a great realm; in the clear glass
Of actions yet to be whose fires amass
Infinite stores of impulse toward the good,
Your image permanent lies; forth from the wood
Of beasts malicious and the unrelenting dread
You showed the way, but sought not from the gloom to tread.

The wind was fair, the ships lay in the bay,
And the blue sky looked down upon the earth;
Prophetic time laughed toward the nearing birth
Of the strong child with whom should come a day
That dulled all earlier hours. Forth on the way
With holy blessings said, and bellied sails,
And mounting joy that knows not let nor stay!
Lo! the undaunted purpose never fails!
O patient master, seer,
For whom the far is near,
The vision true, and the mere present pales
Its lustre, what mild seas and blossomed vales
Awaited you? haply a paradise
But not the one which drew your swerveless eyes;
Could you have known what lands were there beyond the main,
You surelier would have turned to gladsomeness from pain.

Louis James Block.

With the greatest difficulty, Columbus managed to secure three little vessels, the Santa Maria, the Pinta, and the Niña, and to enlist about a hundred and twenty men for the enterprise. Early in the morning of Friday, August 3, 1492, this tiny fleet sailed out from Palos and turned their prows to the west.

STEER, BOLD MARINER, ON!

[August 3, 1492]

Steer, bold mariner, on! albeit witlings deride thee,
And the steersman drop idly his hand at the helm.
Ever and ever to westward! there must the coast be discovered,
If it but lie distinct, luminous lie in thy mind.
Trust to the God that leads thee, and follow the sea that is silent;
Did it not yet exist, now would it rise from the flood.
Nature with Genius stands united in league everlasting;
What is promised by one, surely the other performs.

Friedrich von Schiller.

The fleet reached the Canaries without misadventure, but when the shores of Ferro sank from sight, the sailors gave themselves up for lost. Their terror increased day by day; the compass behaved strangely, the boats became entangled in vast meadows of floating seaweed; and finally the trade-winds wafted them so steadily westward that they became convinced they could never return. By October 4 there were ominous signs of mutiny, and finally, on the 11th, affairs reached a crisis.

THE TRIUMPH[2]

From "Psalm of the West"

[Dawn, October 12, 1492]

Santa Maria, well thou tremblest down the wave,
Thy Pinta far abow, thy Niña nigh astern:
Columbus stands in the night alone, and, passing grave,
Yearns o'er the sea as tones o'er under-silence yearn.
Heartens his heart as friend befriends his friend less brave,
Makes burn the faiths that cool, and cools the doubts that burn:—

"'Twixt this and dawn, three hours my soul will smite
With prickly seconds, or less tolerably
With dull-blade minutes flatwise slapping me.
Wait, Heart! Time moves.—Thou lithe young Western Night,
Just-crownèd king, slow riding to thy right,
Would God that I might straddle mutiny
Calm as thou sitt'st yon never-managed sea,
Balk'st with his balking, fliest with his flight,
Giv'st supple to his rearings and his falls,
Nor dropp'st one coronal star above thy brow
Whilst ever dayward thou art steadfast drawn!
Yea, would I rode these mad contentious brawls
No damage taking from their If and How,
Nor no result save galloping to my Dawn!

"My Dawn? my Dawn? How if it never break?
How if this West by other Wests is pieced,
And these by vacant Wests on Wests increased—
One Pain of Space, with hollow ache on ache
Throbbing and ceasing not for Christ's own sake?—
Big perilous theorem, hard for king and priest:
Pursue the West but long enough, 'tis East!
Oh, if this watery world no turning take!
Oh, if for all my logic, all my dreams,
Provings of that which is by that which seems,
Fears, hopes, chills, heats, hastes, patiences, droughts, tears,
Wife-grievings, slights on love, embezzled years,
Hates, treaties, scorns, upliftings, loss and gain,—
This earth, no sphere, be all one sickening plane!

"Or, haply, how if this contrarious West,
That me by turns hath starved, by turns hath fed,
Embraced, disgraced, beat back, solicited,
Have no fixed heart of Law within his breast,
Or with some different rhythm doth e'er contest
Nature in the East? Why, 'tis but three weeks fled
I saw my Judas needle shake his head
And flout the Pole that, East, he Lord confessed!
God! if this West should own some other Pole,
And with his tangled ways perplex my soul
Until the maze grow mortal, and I die
Where distraught Nature clean hath gone astray,
On earth some other wit than Time's at play,
Some other God than mine above the sky!

"Now speaks mine other heart with cheerier seeming:
Ho, Admiral! o'er-defalking to thy crew
Against thyself, thyself far overfew
To front yon multitudes of rebel scheming?
Come, ye wild twenty years of heavenly dreaming!
Come, ye wild weeks since first this canvas drew
Out of vexed Palos ere the dawn was blue,
O'er milky waves about the bows full-creaming!
Come set me round with many faithful spears
Of confident remembrance—how I crushed
Cat-lived rebellions, pitfalled treasons, hushed
Scared husbands' heart-break cries on distant wives,
Made cowards blush at whining for their lives,
Watered my parching souls, and dried their tears.

"Ere we Gomera cleared, a coward cried,
Turn, turn: here be three caravels ahead,
From Portugal, to take us: we are dead!—
Hold Westward, pilot, calmly I replied.
So when the last land down the horizon died,
Go back, go back! they prayed: our hearts are lead.—
Friends, we are bound into the West, I said.
Then passed the wreck of a mast upon our side.
See (so they wept) God's Warning! Admiral, turn!—
Steersman, I said, hold straight into the West.
Then down the night we saw the meteor burn.
So do the very heavens in fire protest:
Good Admiral, put about! O Spain, dear Spain!—
Hold straight into the West, I said again.

"Next drive we o'er the slimy-weeded sea.
Lo! here beneath (another coward cries)
The cursèd land of sunk Atlantis lies!
This slime will suck us down—turn while thou'rt free!—
But no! I said, Freedom bears West for me!
Yet when the long-time stagnant winds arise,
And day by day the keel to westward flies,
My Good my people's Ill doth come to be:
Ever the winds into the West do blow;
Never a ship, once turned, might homeward go;
Meanwhile we speed into the lonesome main.
For Christ's sake, parley, Admiral! Turn, before
We sail outside all bounds of help from pain!—
Our help is in the West, I said once more.

"So when there came a mighty cry of Land!
And we clomb up and saw, and shouted strong
Salve Regina! all the ropes along,
But knew at morn how that a counterfeit band
Of level clouds had aped a silver strand;
So when we heard the orchard-bird's small song,
And all the people cried, A hellish throng
To tempt us onward by the Devil planned,
Yea, all from hell—keen heron, fresh green weeds,
Pelican, tunny-fish, fair tapering reeds,
Lie-telling lands that ever shine and die
In clouds of nothing round the empty sky.
Tired Admiral, get thee from this hell, and rest!—
Steersman, I said, hold straight into the West.

"I marvel how mine eye, ranging the Night,
From its big circling ever absently
Returns, thou large low Star, to fix on thee.
Maria! Star? No star: a Light, a Light!
Wouldst leap ashore, Heart? Yonder burns—a Light.
[Pedro Gutierrez], wake! come up to me.
I prithee stand and gaze about the sea:
What seest? Admiral, like as land—a Light!
Well! [Sanchez of Segovia], come and try:
What seest? Admiral, naught but sea and sky!
Well! but I saw It. Wait! the Pinta's gun!
Why, look, 'tis dawn, the land is clear: 'tis done!
Two dawns do break at once from Time's full hand—
God's, East—mine, West: good friends, behold my Land!"

Sidney Lanier.

At daybreak of Friday, October 12 (N. S. October 22), the boats were lowered and Columbus, with a large part of his company, went ashore, wild with exultation. They found that they were on a small island, and Columbus named it San Salvador. It was one of the Bahamas, but which one is not certainly known.

COLUMBUS

Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the Gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores,
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: "Now must we pray,
For lo! the very stars are gone.
Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say?"
"Why, say 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'"

"My men grow mutinous day by day;
My men grow ghastly wan, and weak."
The stout mate thought of home; a spray
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,
If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"
"Why, you shall say at break of day,
'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,
Until at last the blanched mate said:
"Why, now not even God would know
Should I and all my men fall dead.
These very winds forget their way,
For God from these dread seas is gone.
Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"—
He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:
"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night.
He lifts his lip, he lies in wait,
With lifted teeth, as if to bite!
Brave Admiral, say but one good word:
What shall we do when hope is gone?"
The words leapt like a leaping sword:
"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
And peered through darkness. Ah, that night
Of all dark nights! And then a speck—
A light! a light! a light! a light!
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.
He gained a world; he gave that world
Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!"

Joaquin Miller.

Columbus reached Spain again on March 15, 1493, and at once sent word of his arrival to Ferdinand and Isabella, who were at Barcelona. He was summoned to appear before them and was received with triumphal honors. The King and Queen arose at his approach, directed him to seat himself in their presence, and listened with intense interest to his story of the voyage. When he had finished, they sank to their knees, as did all present, and thanked God for this mark of his favor.

THE THANKSGIVING FOR AMERICA

[Barcelona, April, 1493]

I
'Twas night upon the Darro.
The risen moon above the silvery tower
Of Comares shone, the silver sun of night,
And poured its lustrous splendors through the halls
Of the Alhambra.
The air was breathless,
Yet filled with ceaseless songs of nightingales,
And odors sweet of falling orange blooms;
The misty lamps were burning odorous oil;
The uncurtained balconies were full of life,
And laugh and song, and airy castanets
And gay guitars.
Afar Sierras rose,
Domes, towers, and pinnacles, over royal heights,
Whose crowns were gemmed with stars.
The Generaliffe,
The summer palace of old Moorish kings
In vanished years, stood sentinel afar,
A pile of shade, as brighter grew the moon,
Impearling fountain sprays, and shimmering
On seas of citron orchards cool and green,
And terraces embowered with vernal vines
And breathing flowers.
In shadowy arcades
Were loitering priests, and here and there
A water-carrier passed with tinkling bells.
There came a peal of horns
That woke Granada, city of delights,
From its long moonlight reverie. Again:—
The suave lute ceased to play, the castanet;
The water-bearer stopped, and ceased his song
The wandering troubadour.
Then rent the air
Another joyous peal, and oped the gates
And entered there a train of cavaliers,
Their helmets glittering in the low red moon,
The streets and balconies
All danced with wondering life. The train moved on,
And filled the air again the horns melodious,
And loud the heralds shouted:—

"Thy name, O Fernando, through all earth shall be sounded,
Columbus has triumphed, his foes are confounded!"

A silence followed.
Could such tidings be? Men heard and whispered,
Eyes glanced to eyes, feet uncertain moved,
Never on mortal ears had fallen words
Like these. And was the earth a star?
On marched the cavaliers,
And pealed again the horns, and again cried
The heralds:—

"Thy name, Isabella, through all earth shall be sounded,
Columbus has triumphed, his foes are confounded!"

All hearts were thrilled.
"Isabella!" That name breathed faith and hope
And lofty aim. Emotion swayed the crowds:
Tears flowed, and acclamations rose, and rushed
The wondering multitudes toward the plaza.
"Isabella! Isabella!" it filled
The air—that one word "Isabella!"
And now
'Tis noon of night. The moon hangs near the earth—
A golden moon in golden air; the peaks
Like silver tents of shadowy sentinels
Glint 'gainst the sky. The plaza gleams and surges
Like a sea. The joyful horns peal forth again,
And falls a hush, and cry the heralds:—

"Thy name, Isabella, shall be praised by all the living;
Haste, haste to Barcelona, and join the Great Thanksgiving!"

What nights had seen Granada!
Yet never one like this! The moon went down
And fell the wings of shadow, yet the streets
Still swarmed with people hurrying on and on.

II
Morn came,
With bursts of nightingales and quivering fires.
The cavaliers rode forth toward Barcelona.
The city followed, throbbing with delight.
The happy troubadour, the muleteer,
The craftsmen all, the boy and girl, and e'en
The mother—'twas a soft spring morn;
The fairest skies of earth those April morns
In Andalusia. Long was the journey,
But the land was flowers and the nights were not,
And birds sang all the hours, and breezes cool
Fanned all the ways along the sea.
The roads were filled
With hurrying multitudes. For well 'twas known
That he, the conqueror, viceroy of the isles,
Was riding from Seville to meet the king.
And what were conquerors before to him whose eye
Had seen the world a star, and found the star a world?
Once he had walked
The self-same ways, roofless and poor and sad,
A beggar at old convent doors, and heard
The very children jeer him in the streets,
And ate his crust and made his roofless bed
Upon the flowers beside his boy, and prayed,
And found in trust a pillow radiant
With dreams immortal. Now?

III
That was a glorious day
That dawned on Barcelona. Banners filled
The thronging towers, the old bells rung, and blasts
Of lordly trumpets seemed to reach the sky
Cerulean. All Spain had gathered there,
And waited there his coming; Castilian knights,
Gay cavaliers, hidalgos young, and e'en the old
Puissant grandees of far Aragon,
With glittering mail, and waving plumes, and all
The peasant multitude with bannerets
And charms and flowers.
Beneath pavilions
Of brocades of gold, the Court had met.
The dual crowns of Leon old and proud Castile
There waited him, the peasant mariner.
The trumpets waited
Near the open gates; the minstrels young and fair
Upon the tapestried and arrased walls,
And everywhere from all the happy provinces
The wandering troubadours.
Afar was heard
A cry, a long acclaim. Afar was seen
A proud and stately steed with nodding plumes,
Bridled with gold, whose rider stately rode,
And still afar a long and sinuous train
Of silvery cavaliers. A shout arose,
And all the city, all the vales and hills,
With silver trumpets rung.
He came, the Genoese,
With reverent look and calm and lofty mien,
And saw the wondering eyes and heard the cries
And trumpet peals, as one who followed still
Some Guide unseen.
Before his steed
Crowned Indians marched with lowly faces,
And wondered at the new world that they saw;
Gay parrots shouted from their gold-bound arms,
And from their crests swept airy plumes.
The sun
Shone full in splendor on the scene, and here
The old and new world met. But—

IV
Hark! the heralds!
How they thrill all hearts and fill all eyes with tears!
The very air seems throbbing with delight;
Hark! hark! they cry, in chorus all they cry:—

"[Á Castilla y á Leon, á Castilla y á Leon],
Nuevo mundo dio Colon!"

Every heart now beats with his,
The stately rider on whose calm face shines
A heaven-born inspiration. Still the shout:
"Nuevo mundo dio Colon!" how it rings!
From wall to wall, from knights and cavaliers,
And from the multitudinous throngs,
A mighty chorus of the vales and hills!
"Á Castilla y á Leon!"
And now the golden steed
Draws near the throne; the crowds move back, and rise
The reverent crowns of Leon and Castile;
And stands before the tear-filled eyes of all
The multitudes the form of Isabella.
Semiramis? Zenobia? What were they
To her, as met her eyes again the eyes of him
Into whose hands her love a year before
Emptied its jewels!
He told his tale:
The untried deep, the green Sargasso Sea,
The varying compass, the affrighted crews,
The hymn they sung on every doubtful eve,
The sweet hymn to the Virgin. How there came
The land birds singing, and the drifting weeds,
How broke the morn on fair San Salvador,
How the Te Deum on that isle was sung,
And how the cross was lifted in the name
Of Leon and Castile. And then he turned
His face towards Heaven, "O Queen! O Queen!
There kingdoms wait the triumphs of the cross!"

V
Then Isabella rose,
With face illumined: then overcome with joy
She sank upon her knees, and king and court
And nobles rose and knelt beside her,
And followed them the sobbing multitude;
Then came a burst of joy, a chorus grand,
And mighty antiphon—

"We praise thee, Lord, and, Lord, acknowledge thee,
And give thee glory!—Holy, Holy, Holy!"

Loud and long it swelled and thrilled the air,
That first Thanksgiving for the new-found world!

VI
The twilight roses bloomed
In the far skies o'er Barcelona.
The gentle Indians came and stood before
The throne, and smiled the queen, and said:
"I see my gems again." The shadow fell,
And trilled all night beneath the moon and stars
The happy nightingales.

Hezekiah Butterworth.

Royal favor is capricious and Columbus had his full share of enemies at court. These, in the end, succeeded in gaining the King's ear; Columbus was arrested in San Domingo and sent back to Spain in chains. Isabella ordered them struck off, and promised him that he should be reimbursed for his losses and restored to all his dignities; but the promise was never kept.

COLUMBUS IN CHAINS

[August, 1500]

Are these the honors they reserve for me,
Chains for the man who gave new worlds to Spain!
Rest here, my swelling heart!—O kings, O queens,
Patrons of monsters, and their progeny,
Authors of wrong, and slaves to fortune merely!
Why was I seated by my prince's side,
Honor'd, caress'd like some first peer of Spain?
Was it that I might fall most suddenly
From honor's summit to the sink of scandal?
'Tis done, 'tis done!—what madness is ambition!
What is there in that little breath of men,
Which they call Fame, that should induce the brave
To forfeit ease and that domestic bliss
Which is the lot of happy ignorance,
Less glorious aims, and dull humility?—
Whoe'er thou art that shalt aspire to honor,
And on the strength and vigor of the mind
Vainly depending, court a monarch's favor,
Pointing the way to vast extended empire;
First count your pay to be ingratitude,
Then chains and prisons, and disgrace like mine!
Each wretched pilot now shall spread his sails,
And treading in my footsteps, hail new worlds,
Which, but for me, had still been empty visions.

Philip Freneau.

On November 7, 1504, Columbus landed in Spain after a fourth voyage to America, during which he had endured sufferings and privations almost beyond description. He was a broken man, and the last blow was the death of Isabella, nineteen days after he reached Seville. Her death left him without patron or protector, and the last eighteen months of his life were spent in sickness and poverty. He died at Valladolid, May 20, 1506.