THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS A MRS. FELICIA HEMANS SMALL congregation of Separatists, a radical branch of the Puritans who rebelled against the Established Church of England, succeeded (1608) in escaping from England to Holland to avoid the wrath of James I. They endured severe hardships in Holland for twelve years, and finally they decided to go to America where "they hoped to build up a strong, prosperous English colony, enjoying entire liberty of worship and advancing the gospel in those remote parts of the world." A band of less than a hundred Pilgrims sailed for America in the Mayflower and, after carefully exploring the Massachusetts coast, landed December 21, 1620, in what has since been known as Plymouth harbor. The rock on which they landed is still proudly shown the traveler as he visits the historic scenes at Plymouth. To one who has visited Plymouth with its rocky shores and forest-covered hills, the opening picture of the poem is wonderfully vivid. To one who has read the history of the hardships endured, and the obstacles met and overcome by the Pilgrim Fathers, the remaining stanzas are a triumph-song. Mrs. Hemans was English by birth and primarily English in sympathy, but this spectacle of true heroism fired her English heart and she sang this exquisite song to the English speaking people when England's pride was still sorely irritated from a second defeat at the hands of the descendants of these indomit able colonists. THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky And the heavy night hung dark, The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark Not as the conqueror comes, Not with the roll of the stirring drums, Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; They shook the depths of the desert gloom 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! What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? - Aye, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod. They have left unstained what there they found Freedom to worship God. SUGGESTIVE EXERCISES 1. Give a brief sketch of the history of the Pilgrim Fathers. Explain "band of exiles." 2. What were the conditions under which they landed at Plymouth? 3. How did their welcome differ from that of a conqueror returning home? 4. How can you account for their spirit as shown in stanzas four and five? 5. Explain “They sought a faith's pure shrine." 6. Why call the soil upon which they landed "holy ground” ? 7. Explain fully the last two lines. 8. What is shown of the character of the pilgrims in this poem? 9. What in later history justifies your conclusion? 10. For what do you think this poem should be most highly prized? REFERENCES TENNYSON: England and America in 1782. PIERPONT: The Pilgrim Fathers. SWEETSER: The Pilgrims. EVERETT: The Voyage of the Mayflower. BUTTERWORTH: The Thanksgiving in Boston Harbor. SIGOURNEY: The Indian's Welcome to the Pilgrim Fathers. ELLSWORTH: The Mayflower. JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY: The Mayflower. "TH THE LAST LEAF OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES HIS poem," says Holmes, "was suggested by the appearance in one of our streets of a venerable relic of the Revolution (Major Thomas Melville), said to be one of the parties who threw the tea overboard in Boston Harbor. He was a fine monumental specimen in his cocked hat and knee breeches, with his buckled shoes and sturdy cane. The smile with which I, as a young man, greeted him, meant no disrespect to an honest fellow-citizen whose costume was out of date, but whose patriotism never changed with years." "His aspect among crowds of a later generation," Holmes explained further, "reminded me of a withered leaf which has held to its stem, through the storms of autumn and winter, and finds itself still clinging to its bough while the new growths of spring are bursting their buds and spreading their foliage all around it." Edward Everett Hale, in speaking intimately of men and events during the past eighty years said: "Among the reminiscences of a little boy sitting on his nurse's knees to see the passers-by, I recall old Major Melville. He used to be called 'the last of the Boston Tea Party.' Doctor Holmes wrote a very pretty poem about him, which he called 'The Last Leaf on the Tree.'" The poem is, as Abraham Lincoln suggested, "inexpressibly touching," and it calls forth mingled smiles and tears. Every heart feels the deeper pathos of this |