There's tempest in yon hornèd moon, And lightning in yon cloud: The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashes free While the hollow oak our palace is, 20 THE PILGRIM FATHERS JOHN PIERPONT JOHN PIERPONT (1785-1866) was born in Litchfield, Connecticut. He was a clergyman prominent in many reform movements. He also wrote a considerable body of verse much read in his day but now practically unknown. The poem, 'The Pilgrim Fathers,' was read at Plymouth on the anniversary of the Pilgrim Society in 1824. THE Pilgrim Fathers — where are they? The waves that brought them o'er As they break along the shore; Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day, The mists, that wrapped the Pilgrim's sleep, And the rocks yet keep their watch by the deep, To stay its waves of pride. But the snow-white sail that he gave to the gale, When the heavens looked dark, is gone; As an angel's wing, through an opening cloud, 15 Is seen, and then withdrawn. The Pilgrim exile-sainted name! The hill, whose icy brow Rejoiced, when he came, in the morning's flame, And the moon's cold light, as it lay that night Still lies where he laid his houseless head; But the Pilgrim - where is he? 20 The Pilgrim Fathers are at rest: When Summer's throned on high, 25 And the world's warm breast is in verdure dressed, Go, stand on the hill where they lie. The earliest ray of the golden day On that hallowed spot is cast; 30 And the evening sun as he leaves the world, Looks kindly on that spot last. The Pilgrim spirit has not fled: It walks in noon's broad light; And it watches the bed of the glorious dead, 35 With the holy stars, by night. ΙΟ WARREN'S ADDRESS AT BUNKER HILL It watches the bed of the brave who have bled, Till the waves of the bay, where the Mayflower lay, 40 WARREN'S ADDRESS AT THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL° JOHN PIERPONT STAND! the ground's your own, my braves! Will ye give it up to slaves? Will ye look for greener graves? Hope ye mercy still? What's the mercy despots feel? Read it on yon bristling steel! Fear ye foes who kill for hire? Who have done it! From the vale On they come! — And will ye quail? Let their welcome be! In the God of battles trust! Die we may, and die we must: 5 ΙΟ 15 LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS But, oh, where can dust to dust Be consigned so well, As where heaven its dews shall shed On the martyred patriot's bed, And the rocks shall raise their head, Of his deeds to tell? II 24 LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS FELICIA HEMANS FELICIA HEMANS (1793-1835) was a very popular poet during the early part of the present century, though she wrote little that will live as literature. 'Casabianca' is still a general favorite with young people, and the 'Landing of the Pilgrims' is worthy a place in the present collection, both on account of the spirited character of the verse and the historical interest connected with it. THE breaking waves dashed high Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, 5 They, the true-hearted, came; 10 12 LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame: Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear: They shook the depths of the desert's gloom 15 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; There were men with hoary hair Amidst that pilgrim band: Why had they come to wither there, 20 25 |