Where the remote Bermudas ride In the ocean's bosom unespied, From a small boat that row'd along The listening winds received this song: "What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the watery maze Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks That lift the deep upon their backs, Unto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own? He lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage: He gave us this eternal spring Which here enamels everything, And sends the fowls to us in care On daily visits through the air. He hangs in shades the orange bright Like golden lamps in a green night, And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows: He makes the figs our mouths to meet, And throws the melons at our feet; But apples plants of such a price, No tree could ever bear them twice! With cedars chosen by his hand From Lebanon he stores the land; And makes the hollow seas that roar Proclaim the ambergris on shore. He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel's pearl upon our coast; And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound His name. O let our voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, Which then perhaps rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexique bay!" --Thus sung they in the English boat A holy and a cheerful note: And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time. _--A. Marvell_ LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND The breaking waves dash'd high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches toss'd; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moor'd 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 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 soar'd From his nest by the white wave's foam; And the rocking pines of the forest roar'd-- 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! Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod. They have left unstain'd what there they found-- Freedom to worship God. _--Felicia Browne Hemans_ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS _IN THE SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM_