For we would rather never be, Than dwell where mind cannot be free, But bows beneath a despot's rod Even where it seeks to worship God. Blasts of heaven, onward sweep! Bear us o'er the troubled deep! O see what wonders meet our eyes! Another land, and other skies! Columbian hills have met our view! Adieu! Old England's shores, adieu! Here, at length, our feet shall rest, Hearts be free, and homes be blessed. As long as yonder firs shall spread Their green arms o'er the mountain's head,-- As long as yonder cliffs shall stand, Where join the ocean and the land,-- Shall those cliffs and mountains be Proud retreats for liberty. Now to the King of kings we'll raise The pæan loud of sacred praise; More loud than sounds the swelling breeze, More loud than speak the rolling seas! Happier lands have met our view! England's shores, adieu! adieu! THOMAS COGSWELL UPHAM. On November 19 (N. S.), nine weeks after leaving Plymouth, land was sighted, and in the evening of that day, the "band of exiles moored their bark" in Cape Cod harbor. LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS [November 19 (N. S.), 1620] The breaking waves dashed high On the 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 have 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 HEMANS.