Classic Poem

I

After months of weary laboring through the endless ocean swells,
Where nor sky nor circling sea-rim of the land so longed for tells,
Where not once a blur of canvas, near or distant, ever spells

Messages of human kinship, rival voyage or homeward run;
And the eye can mark no progress, not an ell of sea-room won,
Where the heaving waste is storm-wracked or a-glitter with the sun,

Living only in white billows curled by blasts of viewless gales,
Scarred by flying fish or dolphin or a school of spouting whales,
But no land bird screams a welcome or rests, weary, on the rails.

Then the sudden cry of " Land-ho! " from the watchman on the mast
Fills the hearts of all with anguish for a joy too keen, too vast;
For the endless toil is ended, for the log is closed at last!

Though the land be barren desert, treeless rock, or island bare,
Still it seems a perfect Eden, sweet and exquisitely fair,
Where the feet may rest securely and the earth breath scent the air.

Savages may lurk in ambush, fierce wild beasts may haunt the shores,
Yet what eagerness to anchor, to exchange the shifting floors
Of the vessel and the ocean for the firm land that restores.

So the Pilgrims, when the low line of Cape Cod arose in sight,
Gazed in rapture at the prospect, felt their heavy hearts grow light,
Seeing such a goodly country, wooded down to cove and bight.

Then they all rejoiced together, giving God Almighty praise
That had granted them in safety, after months of weary days,
To behold the solid mainland where their feet should find new ways.

II

Bravely broke the tardy morning of that crisp November tide —
Was it Indian Summer loitering in her beauty russet-dyed? —
When those eager Pilgrims gathered on the leaning larboard side,

Straining tear-dewed eyes to question what the new land was to bring.
Should they flourish, should they perish, ere the bright capricious spring
Woke the fairies of the forest, brought the birds on fluttering wing?

They had left their homes in England, left the old tyrannic sway
Of the bigoted Church-mother who would force them to her way,
Though it went against their conscience such a rubric to obey;

They were satisfied to perish in a wilderness untrod
Rather than one moment falter in the faith they owed to God.
So they sang their hearts' thanksgiving, off the sand dunes of Cape Cod.

That from perils he had saved them, set their feet on stable earth,
Where by malice unmolested his new Canaan might have birth,
And a Scripture rule of living might determine human worth.

Here, without or priest or bishop, without incense, organs, stoles,
Scorning abbey and cathedral, a democracy of souls
Might erect their simple altars, read the Word from primal scrolls,

Live in peace like early Christians, with a blithe-fulness austere,
Bringing up industrious children in Jehovah's holy fear:
They would plant the sacred cornseed; God should bring it to full ear.

So conceive the desperate yearning for this land so promise bright
Rising in their raptured vision, like the morning after night,
Bathed in autumn's pallid sunshine, in its sylvan beauty dight,

Waiting for them while they skirted, weary-slow, the curving strand,
Searching for the sheltered harbor. At the master's quick command,
" Down the anchor! " what their hearts felt can we moderns understand?

III

When at last the Cape was doubled, there before them far and wide,
All a welter of bright waters, stretched a bay in lonely pride,
And at land the Cape's safe haven, where a thousand ships might ride.

Yet before the boats were lowered, while they sought for anchorage,
In the Mayflower's humble cabin, lay that pact's portentous page,
Era-marking, history-making, Freedom's primal priceless gauge,

Signed by all the Pilgrim Fathers — every name fair-written down,
From the learned courtly Carver to the coarse unlettered clown
Who could only make his crossmark, yet who thus attained a crown.

All that men of prophet vision, rare idealists, had dreamed
During long unnumbered ages, when the darkness darkest seemed,
Here in prototype was fashioned, like a sunrise softly streamed.

Mother-draft of constitutions, bodying equal rights for men,
Embryon of future freedom for each humblest citizen,
Most momentous Magna Charta e'er subscribed by human pen!

IV

As the Christ-child in the manger mid the wondering cattle lay
With the halo o'er him hovering, symbol of the dawning day,
Promising new life to all men who should his safe rule obey,

So that compact in the cabin of the Mayflower surely glowed
With a lambence supernatural, lighting up the mean abode
Of those poor home-seeking Pilgrims, driven far by Freedom's goad.

True, their eyes may not have seen it; they perchance were darkness blind,
Could not realize the marvel that all after ages find
In that document portentous by their rough hands glory-signed.

Somewhere, in some unseen covert, wafted thence by a mystic gale,
It is held and safely treasured, like a holier Holy Grail.
When the hour comes men will seek it and the quest shall nowise fail.

Pilgrims now in other purport skirt these shores, these sacred scenes,
Bare their heads in reverent memory, knowing what that compact means,
For their peace, their joy, their welfare, for Time's uncrowned kings and queens.

Here the Mayflower earliest anchored; here the Pilgrims disembarked;
Here their hearts with hope were quickened at the prospect round them arct —
Wooded slopes and sparkling waters and the harbor hillock-marked.

Well it is to raise the column, granite-firm and zenith-high,
In memorial of those heroes whose renown shall never die;
Art and Poesy and Music shall in praises of them vie.

Waving banners, booming cannon, shouts of multitudes shall fill
Heaven's unclouded empyrean with a universal thrill
At the promise of world freedom, peace, humanity, good-will.