Columbus En Voyage.
By LISCHEN M. MILLER.
WHAT lies beyond and still beyond That far dim line of sun-kissed sea? Lie there the golden shores of Ind, The isles of spice and clove and balm, Soft-cradled in a sea of calm, Or fanned by perfume-burdened wind? Oh for wide wings and strong and free — To sweep, and sail, and seek and see !
wind-swept waste of tossing sea! Beyond thy limitless, profound, And voiceless depths, Hope reaches hands. I cannot rest, I cannot rest! In all my own, or other lands There is not any rest for me Till I have pierced thy mystery.
O wild Atlantic! whose broad breast No daring prow has ever pressed, Beyond the bounds of dark and light How many leagues thy billows roll! What mighty secrets must be thine! Yet something whispers in my soul, Aye, thrills through all my daytime thoughts And echoes in my dreams at night, That all thy secrets shall be mine.
They say my hopes are wild and high, They tell me I am mad with dreams. Oh give me ships, but ships, and I Will leave no sea unsailed, or prove The verity of that I speak. I will find all I sail to seek, Unlock the ocean's gates, and pour The wealth of India at their door; On every shore, in every land, Wherever God's fair sunlight gleams, Will plant the cross, the cross shall stand.
What, Cosa, ho! Who murmurs now? (The men are sullen, sick witn dread Of unknown dangers. Ah! they fear We sail so far we cannot find The homeward way.) What do I hear? Turn back? Turn traitors at Lie last? No, no. Sail on! Sail hard and fast! Obey the promise-laden wind, And leave all thought of fear behind.
The smooth sea like a river runs. We sail into the autumn sun's Warm place of dreams. Upon my brow I feel the spice-breatu of Cathay, And feel anew, my soul arise.
Away! We claim no cowards here!
Curse-laden lips and angry eyes Divert me not. Forward, forward ! I say. This is no time to turn or stay. Brave men of Arragon, Castile, And from Cantabrian summits blue, Stand staunch and steadfast, firm and true!
Within my soul I know — I feel We draw anear the looked-for land. With every mile my hopes increase. The sea, the air is full of signs. The dove, white-breasted, weary-winged, The dog rose' briared branch of bloom, The soft air laden with perfume Give welcome. Your avowed despair With our high purpose ill inclines. Back to your places ! Foul or fair We turn not till we toucn the strand Of some rich, ocean-cradled land.
Is that a star? Low down and dim It seems to kiss the ocean's rim. And yet — it moves! 'Tis gone. Alas! Did I but dream I saw it pass? My eyes are grown so worn of sight With this long watching day and night I know not when I see aright. At times my very senses reel, My heart turns faint with hope deferred. Weary and worn, day after day I watch the great sun rise and wheel Across the hollow of the sky In awful splendor — flushed and red Lie rocked in his great ocean bed.
Night after night, in silentness Upon my tired heart seems to press The solemn solitude of these Unfathomed, vast and trackless seas. The very stars above my head Grow pale, and fade, and fail in aread. And then, it is as if I heard God's voice whisper to my soul Through the still night; and at tfae word Grim doubt and darkness seem to roll To nothingness.
Lo, faint and far,
Again that trembling, tossing star.
Ho, Pedro! here, your eyes are true;
What gleams athwart the gloom of night?
It is no star! O God, a light!
Land, land at last! Ho, comrades, land!
Upon your knees! Lift heart and hand!
