BROAD paddles uplifting, the spray from the Behring | |
| Baptized all the bells under lee of the isle; | |
| Their Boston inscription glad Russians were spelling, | |
| As the vessel that bore them dipped colors the while. | |
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| The Arctic sun setting, for happy leave-taking, | 5 |
| With red hand anointed each slumbering tongue, | |
| Till, sweeter than song-birds at early morn waking, | |
| The first chime of bells in that distant clime rung! | |
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| And lo! the sea-eagle, broad pinions just poising, | |
| From Mount St. Elias far inland to sweep, | 10 |
| Drooped wings in amaze, and his proud neck upraising, | |
| With wonder-lit eyeballs gazed far o’er the deep. | |
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| O’er Yukan’s calm waters their light baider guiding, | |
| Koloschians heard chime from isle of St. Paul; | |
| And each to next rower, in deep awe confiding, | 15 |
| Low whispered: “I hear the great Spirit’s footfall!” | |
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| Their oars drip apeak, and they wait for strange vision; | |
| Aurora her magical banners unrolls; | |
| As statue sits helmsman, while borne from far mission, | |
| The silvery music enraptures all souls! | 20 |
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| And leader of dog-sledge, his furry ears raising, | |
| As flies the long yourt over deep-crusted snow, | |
| Hears echoed carillon the Son of God praising, | |
| And pauses, unmindful of whip’s cruel blow! | |
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| His hood of rich sable the voyageur loosens; | 25 |
| Like sword-hilt that slippeth from paralyzed hand, | |
| The lash leaves his grasp, while he eagerly listens, | |
| His keen glances roving o’er sea and o’er land. | |
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| E’en St. Michael’s sentry, the melody hearing, | |
| Feels tears from his eyelids like summer rain fall; | 30 |
| The scenes of his childhood forever endearing, | |
| Those echoes delicious that moment recall! | |
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| A New England homestead before him is dawning; | |
| He sees the red cottage in flowery dell; | |
| The group at the doorway one still summer morning, | 35 |
| And dear mother waving her sailor farewell! | |
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| His pent-up emotion no longer restraining, | |
| The musket clangs earthward, and cheer upon cheer | |
| The garrison startles; all rush to the paling, | |
| And soft, dying echoes now charm every ear! | 40 |
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| With white wine and biscuit the fishermen hardy | |
| A feast held, to honor the bells of each isle; | |
| “To salvation’s Rossignol never be tardy,” | |
| Said priest, draining goblet with rapturous smile. | |
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| Ring on, thou sweet Angelus! the old story telling! | 45 |
| For precious souls herald a glad second birth; | |
| Salvation’s hand holding, so patient and willing, | |
| The chain whose bright links shall encircle the earth! | |
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