Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/169

168 Or, crush'd by battle-thunders, sink 'Neath whelming waters dark, Yet leave no chasm on History's page, Like yon forsaken bark.

Oh, May-Flower! stricken May-Flower! So scourged by Winter's wrath, What bear'st thou to this chilling clime, Along thy billowy path? And the May-Flower boldly answer'd,   As towards the shore she drew, "Seed for a nation of the free,   Unblenching souls and true."

Hoarse voices from the wilderness Spake out when storms were high, "Were there no graves beyond the main,   That here ye come to die?" But sweetly on the Sabbath breeze An answering anthem peal'd, "Our leader is the Lord of Hosts,   Our fortress and our shield."

Down sank the ancient forest, And up the roof-tree sprang, The tall corn ripen'd on the lea, The soldier's watchword rang; Gaunt Famine, like a hungry wolf, Was stoutly held at bay, And the mother lull'd her wailing babe With England's holy lay.