WHEN this fair town was Nam-e-aug, A bleak, rough waste of hill and bog, In huts of seaweed, thatch, and log, Our fathers few, but strong and cheery, Sate down amid these deserts dreary. 'T was all a wild, unchristian wood; A fearful, boisterous solitude; A harbor for the wild-fowl's brood, Where countless flocks of every pinion Held o'er the shores a bold dominion. The sea-hawk hung his cumbrous nest, Oak-propped, on every highland crest; Cranes through the seedy marshes prest; The curlew, by the river lying, Looked on God's image, him defying. The eagle-king soared high and free, His shadow on the glassy sea A sudden ripple seemed to be; The sunlight in his pinions burning Shrouded him from eyes upturning. They came; the weary-footed band, The paths they cleared, the streams they spanned; The woodland genius grew more bland; In haste his tangled vines unweaving, Them and their hopes with joy receiving. Great hearts were those that hither came, -- A Winthrop of undying fame, A Brewster of an honored name, -- Great hearts, the growth of three great nations, Laid deep for us these firm foundations. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SONG OF COURAGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SCHOOLBOYS IN WINTER by JOHN CLARE THE OLD ARM-CHAIR by ELIZA COOK THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 18 by OMAR KHAYYAM MR. FLOOD'S PARTY by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |