LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS.
261
THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM
FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND.
Look now abroad—another race has fill'd
Those populous borders—wide the wood recedes,
And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are till'd;
The land is full of harvests and green meads.
Bryant.
The breaking waves dash'd high
On a stem 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.
