Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Lydia HuntleySigourney73 The Indians Welcome to the Pilgrim Fathers
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Around, the sterile plain;
The rock-bound coast rose frowning nigh;
Beyond,—the wrathful main:
Chill remnants of the wintry snow
Still choked the encumbered soil,
Yet forth those Pilgrim Fathers go
To mark their future toil.
In summer’s ripening pride,
And there the church-spire woo the skies
Its sister-school beside.
Perchance mid England’s velvet green
Some tender thought reposed,
Though nought upon their stoic mien
Such soft regret disclosed.
A red-browed chieftain came,
With towering form, and haughty stride,
And eye like kindling flame:
No wrath he breathed, no conflict sought,
To no dark ambush drew,
But simply to the Old World brought
The welcome of the New.
Upon thy race unborn;
Was there no seer,—thou fated Man!—
Thy lavish zeal to warn?
Thou in thy fearless faith didst hail
A weak, invading band,
But who shall heed thy children’s wail
Swept from their native land?
The lordship o’er thy waves,
The region of thine infant dreams
And of thy father’s graves,—
But who to yon proud mansions, piled
With wealth of earth and sea,
Poor outcast from thy forest wild,
Say, who shall welcome thee?