1
We read Virginia's blazoned roll
Of heroes, and forthwith
Greets us upon the starry scroll
That homeliest name,—J OHN Smith !
He, tempest tost and weather worn,
And swept from zone to zone,
Of all John Smiths of woman born
Stands foremost and alone.
And still his face, through prison bars,
Or flushed on fields of fight,
All bronzed with toil and seamed with scars,
Beams on us, bold and bright,
As when, from Turkish chains scarce free,
With new, untiring quest,
He sought across the western sea
The far-off, fabled West.
As when, through morning's misty haze,
And dim, delusive shapes,
The sunlight pierced, and to his gaze
Unveiled Virginia's capes.
Fresh winds blew back the cloudy screen,
The headlands opened wide,
White lines of beach and forests green
Through the cleft channel guide.
Within, as past the capes he steered,
A new Atlantic lay,
So to his startled sight appeared
The vast, imperial bay.
Fed by five rivers, hurrying down
This ocean gate to seek,
Full well it wore its ancient crown,
The lordly Chesapeake.
Its broad breast, swept by gales of Spring,
Heaved silent and alone,
Save where the wild bird's restless wing
Across the wave was thrown.
Alone and silent, until now,
Through ocean's opened door,
Strange keels the trackless waters plough,
And coast the pathless shore.
Pale faces from the prows look out,
And o'er the wide expanse
Loud rings the white man's joyous shout,
Far darts his eager glance.
Soon in smooth seas the worn barks glide,
By the broad river's mouth,
Where now Point Comfort's sheltering side
Slopes gently toward the south.
Land, water, all that swims and grows,
The glad discoverers claim,
And give the river as it flows
Their English monarch's name.
Their anchors by the shore are cast,
Their tattered sails are furled,
And light at heart, their feet, at last,
Are on the Western World.
A few brave spirits, but at best
A roving, reckless band,
Their gallant leader, of the rest
The eye, the heart, the hand.
His the cool brain, the self-swayed will,
Stanch heart and steady nerve,
No chance could warp, no storm could chill,
No fate nor fortune swerve.
His the keen zest which Nature plants
In those whose souls she smites
With longings for her secret haunts
And undiscovered heights.
Along the wooded shore he strolled,
Where now the new-crowned James
Threw back, as from a shield of gold.
The shafts of sunset flames.
He mused on what those hills might hide,
Beyond the forest shore,—
What human homes, what pastures wide,
What veins of virgin ore.
And, like the flush of sunset's hour,
Across his fancy came
The golden hues of wealth and power,
The purple tints of fame.
A transient glory, for the gleam
Of sunset died away,
And from his sobered thought the dream
Passed with the parting ray.
O, then had some prophetic trance
His inner sight unsealed,
And all the future, at a glance,
In that rapt hour revealed,
As when by Chebar's lonely tide
The captive prophet gazed,
The opening heavens, far and wide,
With fiery visions blazed,
So had he caught by this lone strand,
In this dim twilight shade,
The coming glories of the land
Whose corner-stone he laid.
The sovereign State whose walls should rise,
Securely, day by day;
The mother of the brave and wise.
The light of Freedom's way.
A beacon through the first wild storm
That shook the infant land,
Till with new heavens, pure and warm,
Peace all its borders spanned.
In brighter years a chosen guide,
A leader tried and true,
When linked together, side by side,
The young republics grew.
Nor less his prophet's eye would mark
The fatal blot of shame,
The rayless shadow, deep and dark,
Which stained that virgin fame.
Foremost in love, so first in hate,
Falsest who most had vowed,
Its trust betrayed,—a rebel State,
With war's red furrows ploughed.
Here, where he stood, the fortress gun,
With dull, resounding jar,
Should greet each morning's lurid sun,
Each evening's baleful star.
And here, where night-winds swept the bay,
The fight be lost and won,
Which made of Hampton Roads that day
Another Marathon.
There the dark iron monster came,
Its fires by fury fanned,
There struck the Congress, sheathed in flame,
There sank the Cumberland.
From all her ports her broadsides poured,
Aloft her colors flew,
Fighting she sank, with all on board,
Brave captain, gallant crew!
There, through the parting war-cloud, crept
The strange mysterious craft;
From lip to lip the wonder leapt,—
“A cheese-box on a raft!”
Straight towards the fatal monster's hulk,
With steady course, she bore;
How frail beside its giant bulk
The little Monitor!
Swift from her turret's iron throat
The bolts of vengeance sped,
The monster's triple mail they smote,
And from the sea it fled.
So from Virginia's azure shield
The bar of shame shall fly,
And her clear future stand revealed,
A cloudless, stainless sky!
Of heroes, and forthwith
Greets us upon the starry scroll
That homeliest name,—J OHN Smith !
He, tempest tost and weather worn,
And swept from zone to zone,
Of all John Smiths of woman born
Stands foremost and alone.
And still his face, through prison bars,
Or flushed on fields of fight,
All bronzed with toil and seamed with scars,
Beams on us, bold and bright,
As when, from Turkish chains scarce free,
With new, untiring quest,
He sought across the western sea
The far-off, fabled West.
As when, through morning's misty haze,
And dim, delusive shapes,
The sunlight pierced, and to his gaze
Unveiled Virginia's capes.
Fresh winds blew back the cloudy screen,
The headlands opened wide,
White lines of beach and forests green
Through the cleft channel guide.
Within, as past the capes he steered,
A new Atlantic lay,
So to his startled sight appeared
The vast, imperial bay.
Fed by five rivers, hurrying down
This ocean gate to seek,
Full well it wore its ancient crown,
The lordly Chesapeake.
Its broad breast, swept by gales of Spring,
Heaved silent and alone,
Save where the wild bird's restless wing
Across the wave was thrown.
Alone and silent, until now,
Through ocean's opened door,
Strange keels the trackless waters plough,
And coast the pathless shore.
Pale faces from the prows look out,
And o'er the wide expanse
Loud rings the white man's joyous shout,
Far darts his eager glance.
Soon in smooth seas the worn barks glide,
By the broad river's mouth,
Where now Point Comfort's sheltering side
Slopes gently toward the south.
Land, water, all that swims and grows,
The glad discoverers claim,
And give the river as it flows
Their English monarch's name.
Their anchors by the shore are cast,
Their tattered sails are furled,
And light at heart, their feet, at last,
Are on the Western World.
A few brave spirits, but at best
A roving, reckless band,
Their gallant leader, of the rest
The eye, the heart, the hand.
His the cool brain, the self-swayed will,
Stanch heart and steady nerve,
No chance could warp, no storm could chill,
No fate nor fortune swerve.
His the keen zest which Nature plants
In those whose souls she smites
With longings for her secret haunts
And undiscovered heights.
Along the wooded shore he strolled,
Where now the new-crowned James
Threw back, as from a shield of gold.
The shafts of sunset flames.
He mused on what those hills might hide,
Beyond the forest shore,—
What human homes, what pastures wide,
What veins of virgin ore.
And, like the flush of sunset's hour,
Across his fancy came
The golden hues of wealth and power,
The purple tints of fame.
A transient glory, for the gleam
Of sunset died away,
And from his sobered thought the dream
Passed with the parting ray.
O, then had some prophetic trance
His inner sight unsealed,
And all the future, at a glance,
In that rapt hour revealed,
As when by Chebar's lonely tide
The captive prophet gazed,
The opening heavens, far and wide,
With fiery visions blazed,
So had he caught by this lone strand,
In this dim twilight shade,
The coming glories of the land
Whose corner-stone he laid.
The sovereign State whose walls should rise,
Securely, day by day;
The mother of the brave and wise.
The light of Freedom's way.
A beacon through the first wild storm
That shook the infant land,
Till with new heavens, pure and warm,
Peace all its borders spanned.
In brighter years a chosen guide,
A leader tried and true,
When linked together, side by side,
The young republics grew.
Nor less his prophet's eye would mark
The fatal blot of shame,
The rayless shadow, deep and dark,
Which stained that virgin fame.
Foremost in love, so first in hate,
Falsest who most had vowed,
Its trust betrayed,—a rebel State,
With war's red furrows ploughed.
Here, where he stood, the fortress gun,
With dull, resounding jar,
Should greet each morning's lurid sun,
Each evening's baleful star.
And here, where night-winds swept the bay,
The fight be lost and won,
Which made of Hampton Roads that day
Another Marathon.
There the dark iron monster came,
Its fires by fury fanned,
There struck the Congress, sheathed in flame,
There sank the Cumberland.
From all her ports her broadsides poured,
Aloft her colors flew,
Fighting she sank, with all on board,
Brave captain, gallant crew!
There, through the parting war-cloud, crept
The strange mysterious craft;
From lip to lip the wonder leapt,—
“A cheese-box on a raft!”
Straight towards the fatal monster's hulk,
With steady course, she bore;
How frail beside its giant bulk
The little Monitor!
Swift from her turret's iron throat
The bolts of vengeance sped,
The monster's triple mail they smote,
And from the sea it fled.
So from Virginia's azure shield
The bar of shame shall fly,
And her clear future stand revealed,
A cloudless, stainless sky!
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