9
I see a ship the distant ocean ride,
The Nautilus, her emblem, sails beside,
He, too, spreads canvass—which no storm can tear—
He steers a keel, too,—which no reef can snare!
Around her, dolphins gambol, near and far,
Like faithful dogs around their master's car;
They blow up wave on wave in frisking play,
The green sea-garden's fountains, crowned with spray.
And whither steers the ship through dancing waves?
Freighted with souls she rides o'er watery graves!
Wanderers from home, on a far Western strand
They seek, what yet they flee, a Fatherland!
Lo, a fair stranger is relieved one morn
Of a sweet burden, she so long had borne
In the ship's hold upon the heaving sea,
Out in mid-ocean there, a fruit-hung tree!
The captain, as a priest, with hands outspread,
Speaks prayer and blessing o'er the infant's head;
What higher grace could priestly hands impart
Than a still sunbeam stealing through the heart?
His hand scoops water from the ocean, now,
And sprinkles on the infant's placid brow:
‘Son of the sea, true son of human life!
Baptized into its mysteries and strife!
‘Lo, in the realm of winds and waters wild,
Thy mother, like the storm-bird, bears her child,—
Who, on the wing, high on the tossing flood,
Brings forth and rears, in flight, her tender brood!
‘Not spans of earth shalt thou call Fatherland,
The clod is not to man his home's dear strand!
Thy earliest type of life is wave and wind,
Such haply shall thy last be: wave and wind!
‘The cliffs look in upon their godchild's sleep,
The stooping tempest's tresses o'er thee sweep,
The sea, as nurse, thy cradle rocks and sings
The world's old song: Vain, vain are mortal things!
‘So shall the freaks of storm and mad-cap sea
One day the legends of thy childhood be!
Though tempests rave o'erhead, within thee sleeps
A pearl more precious than the ocean keeps.
‘And ye, old children of the old world, for you
Has Heaven this wide world-sea created, too,
Its waters your baptismal font shall be,
Come wash, and from your old arch-sin be free!
‘Out with old pride and tie him to the mast!
Behind you, like our wake, old fear flee fast!
Hate, envy, bigotry that chills the blood,—
Sink the accursed cargo in the flood!’—
And hark! far westward, bells are heard to chime,
Well suits the hum of bells this festal time!
See butterflies abroad on dancing wing,
Like blossoms wafted from the trees of spring!
The bells and butterflies are weaving now
A birthday garland round the infant's brow;
While, from the topmast, rings the loud ‘Huzza!
Land, land ahead! welcome America!’
All to the deck tumultuously pour;
The eye would land ere yet they touch the shore;
It questions and explores the far blue strand:
What bring'st thou me, my fancy's promised land?
He whom his home a crust of bread denied,
Sees orchards, golden corn-fields waving wide,
'Midst vine-clad hills the roomy cellar spies,
And giant granaries, bursting, greet his eyes.
He who, embittered, fled a priest-vexed land,
Looks for a great Pantheon by the strand,
Which, on those bigots flinging scorn and shame,
Opens to all the Gods, in One God's name.
And he whose hand is bloody still and sore
With fetters which in Fatherland he bore,
Hails a free people who, with dance and song,
Round Liberty's triumphal arches throng.
Old man who bring'st across the billowy sea
Life's little remnant, that wee property!
Thou dream'st of flowery woodlands green and still,
Where soon shall rise thy lone and lowly hill!
O wife, thou seest a neat, white cottage; there
One day shall rule thy quiet, faithful care;
Like Moses raised on Nebo's height, thy hand
Lifts up thy child to see the promised land!
'Tis yet far off! a belt of blueness dim
Stretches along the horizon's distant rim;
A blue streak rises from it, faint and soft,
Does obelisk, tower, or column soar aloft?
Now they are near! 'Tis but a tree! It stands
A solitary shaft; the top expands
A leafy dome, as if the obelisk tall
Bore a whole temple on its pedestal!
It is Mauritia's palm, in breezes soft
Waving its branches like green fans aloft!
From the crown's airy height the whispering breeze
Breathes, as from human lips, sweet sounds like these:
‘Fair welcome, stranger! Say, hath hunger led
Thy footsteps hither? See, my fruit is bread;
Art thirsty? drink my palm-wine; I will be
Field, fountain, vineyard, all at once, to thee!
‘If naked, in my bark shalt thou be dressed,
If weary, lie beneath me, as my guest,
My shadow, a light quilt shall o'er thee spread,
Yea, I will be thy fleecy flock and bed!
‘If thou wilt pray, I'll be thy green-arched dome,
And when o'er land and sea thine eye would roam,
In calm and storm my top thy watch shall be,
Church, tower and look-out shalt thou find in me!
‘Wild nature's sons live freely on this shore!
I am their kingdom, I their house and floor!
On bride's and infant's head my palm-wreaths fall,
I murmur a low dirge one day for all!
‘And cam'st thou floating like Diogenes,
Jump right to land! But kick into the seas
Thy cask behind thee as thou step'st ashore!
Not e'en thy tub is needed any more!’
The Nautilus, her emblem, sails beside,
He, too, spreads canvass—which no storm can tear—
He steers a keel, too,—which no reef can snare!
Around her, dolphins gambol, near and far,
Like faithful dogs around their master's car;
They blow up wave on wave in frisking play,
The green sea-garden's fountains, crowned with spray.
And whither steers the ship through dancing waves?
Freighted with souls she rides o'er watery graves!
Wanderers from home, on a far Western strand
They seek, what yet they flee, a Fatherland!
Lo, a fair stranger is relieved one morn
Of a sweet burden, she so long had borne
In the ship's hold upon the heaving sea,
Out in mid-ocean there, a fruit-hung tree!
The captain, as a priest, with hands outspread,
Speaks prayer and blessing o'er the infant's head;
What higher grace could priestly hands impart
Than a still sunbeam stealing through the heart?
His hand scoops water from the ocean, now,
And sprinkles on the infant's placid brow:
‘Son of the sea, true son of human life!
Baptized into its mysteries and strife!
‘Lo, in the realm of winds and waters wild,
Thy mother, like the storm-bird, bears her child,—
Who, on the wing, high on the tossing flood,
Brings forth and rears, in flight, her tender brood!
‘Not spans of earth shalt thou call Fatherland,
The clod is not to man his home's dear strand!
Thy earliest type of life is wave and wind,
Such haply shall thy last be: wave and wind!
‘The cliffs look in upon their godchild's sleep,
The stooping tempest's tresses o'er thee sweep,
The sea, as nurse, thy cradle rocks and sings
The world's old song: Vain, vain are mortal things!
‘So shall the freaks of storm and mad-cap sea
One day the legends of thy childhood be!
Though tempests rave o'erhead, within thee sleeps
A pearl more precious than the ocean keeps.
‘And ye, old children of the old world, for you
Has Heaven this wide world-sea created, too,
Its waters your baptismal font shall be,
Come wash, and from your old arch-sin be free!
‘Out with old pride and tie him to the mast!
Behind you, like our wake, old fear flee fast!
Hate, envy, bigotry that chills the blood,—
Sink the accursed cargo in the flood!’—
And hark! far westward, bells are heard to chime,
Well suits the hum of bells this festal time!
See butterflies abroad on dancing wing,
Like blossoms wafted from the trees of spring!
The bells and butterflies are weaving now
A birthday garland round the infant's brow;
While, from the topmast, rings the loud ‘Huzza!
Land, land ahead! welcome America!’
All to the deck tumultuously pour;
The eye would land ere yet they touch the shore;
It questions and explores the far blue strand:
What bring'st thou me, my fancy's promised land?
He whom his home a crust of bread denied,
Sees orchards, golden corn-fields waving wide,
'Midst vine-clad hills the roomy cellar spies,
And giant granaries, bursting, greet his eyes.
He who, embittered, fled a priest-vexed land,
Looks for a great Pantheon by the strand,
Which, on those bigots flinging scorn and shame,
Opens to all the Gods, in One God's name.
And he whose hand is bloody still and sore
With fetters which in Fatherland he bore,
Hails a free people who, with dance and song,
Round Liberty's triumphal arches throng.
Old man who bring'st across the billowy sea
Life's little remnant, that wee property!
Thou dream'st of flowery woodlands green and still,
Where soon shall rise thy lone and lowly hill!
O wife, thou seest a neat, white cottage; there
One day shall rule thy quiet, faithful care;
Like Moses raised on Nebo's height, thy hand
Lifts up thy child to see the promised land!
'Tis yet far off! a belt of blueness dim
Stretches along the horizon's distant rim;
A blue streak rises from it, faint and soft,
Does obelisk, tower, or column soar aloft?
Now they are near! 'Tis but a tree! It stands
A solitary shaft; the top expands
A leafy dome, as if the obelisk tall
Bore a whole temple on its pedestal!
It is Mauritia's palm, in breezes soft
Waving its branches like green fans aloft!
From the crown's airy height the whispering breeze
Breathes, as from human lips, sweet sounds like these:
‘Fair welcome, stranger! Say, hath hunger led
Thy footsteps hither? See, my fruit is bread;
Art thirsty? drink my palm-wine; I will be
Field, fountain, vineyard, all at once, to thee!
‘If naked, in my bark shalt thou be dressed,
If weary, lie beneath me, as my guest,
My shadow, a light quilt shall o'er thee spread,
Yea, I will be thy fleecy flock and bed!
‘If thou wilt pray, I'll be thy green-arched dome,
And when o'er land and sea thine eye would roam,
In calm and storm my top thy watch shall be,
Church, tower and look-out shalt thou find in me!
‘Wild nature's sons live freely on this shore!
I am their kingdom, I their house and floor!
On bride's and infant's head my palm-wreaths fall,
I murmur a low dirge one day for all!
‘And cam'st thou floating like Diogenes,
Jump right to land! But kick into the seas
Thy cask behind thee as thou step'st ashore!
Not e'en thy tub is needed any more!’
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