And the fruitful'st soil, Without your toil, Three harvests more,

All greater than your wish

And the ambitious vine
Crowns with his purple mass
The cedar reaching high
To kiss the sky,

The cypress, pine,

And useful sassafras;

To whom the Golden Age
Still nature's laws doth give,
No other cares attend,

But them to defend

From winter's rage,

That long there doth not live.

When as the luscious smell

Of that delicious land,

Above the seas that flows, The clear wind throws, Your hearts to swell Approaching the dear strand;

In kenning of the shore
(Thanks to God first given)

O you the happiest men,
Be frolic then!

Let cannons roar,

Frighting the wide heaven;

And in regions far,

Such heroes bring ye forth

As those from whom we came,

And plant our name

Under that star

Not known unto our North;

And as there plenty grows
Of laurel everywhere,—
Apollo's sacred tree,—
You it may see,
A poet's brow

To crown, that may sing there.

Thy Voyages attend

Industrious Hakluyt,

Whose reading shall inflame

Men to seek fame,

And much commend

To after-times thy wit.

Michael Drayton [1563-1631)

"THE WORD OF GOD TO LEYDEN CAME”

[AUGUST 15, 1620]

THE word of God to Leyden came,

Dutch town by Zuyder Zee:
Rise up, my children of no name,
My kings and priests to be.
There is an empire in the West,
Which I will soon unfold;

A thousand harvests in her breast,
Rocks ribbed with iron and gold.

Rise up, my children, time is ripe!
Old things are passed away.
Bishops and kings from earth I wipe;
Too long they've had their day.
A little ship have I prepared
To bear you o'er the seas;
And in your souls, my will declared,
Shall grow by slow degrees.

Beneath my throne the martyrs cry:
I hear their voice, How long?
It mingles with their praises high,
And with their victor song.

The thing they longed and waited for.
But died without the sight;

So, this shall be! I wrong abhor,
The world I'll now set right.

Leave, then, the hammer and the loom,

You've other work to do;

For Freedom's commonwealth there's room,
And you shall build it too.

I'm tired of bishops and their pride,
I'm tired of kings as well;
Henceforth I take the people's side,

And with the people dwell.

Tear off the mitre from the priest,
And from the king, his crown;
Let all my captives be released;
Lift up, whom men cast down.
Their pastors let the people choose,
And choose their rulers too;
Whom they select, I'll not refuse,
But bless the work they do.

The Pilgrims rose, at this, God's word,
And sailed the wintry seas:

With their own flesh nor blood conferred,
Nor thought of wealth or ease.

They left the towers of Leyden town,
They left the Zuyder Zee;

And where they cast their anchor down,

Rose Freedom's realm to be.

Jeremiah Eames Rankin [1828-1904]

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS

[NOVEMBER 19, 1620]

THE breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods, against a stormy sky,
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,

They, the true-hearted, came:
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
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

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, And the rocking pines of the forest roared; This was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim-band;

Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,

Lit by her deep love's truth;

There was manhood's brow, serenely high,

And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?

They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Aye, call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod!

They have left unstained what there they found

Freedom to worship God!

Felicia Dorothea Hemans [1793-1835]

THE MAYFLOWER

[DECEMBER 21, 1620]

Down in the bleak December bay
The ghostly vessel stands away;
Her spars and halyards white with ice,
Under the dark December skies.
A hundred souls, in company,
Have left the vessel pensively,-

Have reached the frosty desert there,
And touched it with the knees of prayer.

And now the day begins to dip,

The night begins to lower

Over the bay, and over the ship
Mayflower.

Neither the desert nor the sea
Imposes rites: their prayers are free;
Danger and toil the wild imposes,

And thorns must grow before the roses.
And who are these?-and what distress
The savage-acred wilderness

On mother, maid, and child may bring,
Beseems them for a fearful thing;

For now the day begins to dip,

The night begins to lower

Over the bay, and over the ship
Mayflower.

But Carver leads (in heart and health

A hero of the commonwealth)

The axes that the camp requires,

To build the lodge, and heap the fires.
And Standish from his warlike store
Arrays his men along the shore,