HOW slow yon lonely vessel ploughs the main! Amid the heavy billows now she seems A toiling atom; then, from wave to wave Leaps madly, by the tempest lash'd, or reels Half wreck'd through gulfs profound. Moons wax and wane, But still that patient traveller treads the deep. -- I see an ice-bound coast toward which she steers With such a tardy movement, that it seems Stern Winter's hand hath turn'd her keel to stone, And seal'd his victory on her slippery shrouds. -- They land! they land! not like the Genoese With glittering sword, and gaudy train, and eye Kindling with golden fancies. Forth they come From their long prison, hardy forms that brave The world's unkindness, men of hoary hair, Maidens of fearless heart, and matrons grave, Who hush the wailing infant with a glance. Bleak Nature's desolation wraps them round, Eternal forests, and unyielding earth, And savage men, who through the thickets peer With vengeful arrow. What could lure their steps To this drear desert? Ask of him who left His father's home to roam through Haran's wild, Distrusting not the guide who call'd him forth, Nor doubting, though a stranger, that his seed Should be as ocean's sands. But yon lone bark Hath spread her parting sail. They crowd the strand. Those few, lone pilgrims. Can ye scan the wo That wrings their bosoms, as the last, frail link, Binding to man, and habitable earth, Is sever'd? Can ye tell what pangs were there, With keen regrets, what sickness of the heart, What yearnings o'er their forfeit land of birth, Their distant, dear ones? Long, with straining eye, They watch the lessening speck. Heard ye no shriek Of anguish, when that bitter loneliness Sank down into their bosoms? No! they turn Back to their dreary, famish'd huts, and pray! Pray, and the ills that haunt this transient life Fade into air. Up in each girded breast There sprang a rooted and mysterious strength, A loftiness, to face a world in arms, To strip the pomp from sceptres, and to lay, On duty's sacred altar, the warm blood Of slain affections, should they rise between The soul and God. Oh ye, who proudly boast, In your free veins, the blood of sires like these, Guard well their lineaments. Dread lest ye lose Their likeness in your sons. Should Mammon cling Too close around your heart, or wealth beget That bloated luxury which eats the core From manly virtue, or the tempting world Make faint the Christian purpose in your soul, Turn ye to Plymouth-rock, and where they knelt Kneel, and renew the vow they breath'd to God | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HUMPTY DUMPTY RECITATION [OR, SONG] by CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON TO THE NIGHTINGALE by ANNE FINCH SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: BENJAMIN PANTIER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS EXILED by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE by WALTER MITCHELL IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 28 by ALFRED TENNYSON ROUNDEL FOR THESE TIMES by ADELIA DOOLITTLE BAUER |