| |
| FROM San Domingo’s crowded wharf | |
| Fernandez’ vessel bore, | |
| To seek in unknown lands afar | |
| The Indian’s golden ore. | |
| And hid among the freighted casks, | 5 |
| Where none might see or know, | |
| Was one of Spain’s immortal men, | |
| Three hundred years ago! | |
| |
| But when the fading town and land | |
| Had dropped below the sea, | 10 |
| He met the captain face to face, | |
| And not a fear, had he! | |
| “What villain thou?” Fernandez cried, | |
| “And wherefore serve us so?” | |
| “To be thy follower,” he replied | 15 |
| Three hundred years ago. | |
| |
| He wore a manly form and face, | |
| A courage firm and bold, | |
| His words fell on his comrades’ hearts, | |
| Like precious drops of gold. | 20 |
| They saw not his ambitious soul; | |
| He spoke it not—for lo! | |
| He stood among the common ranks | |
| Three hundred years ago. | |
| |
| But when Fernandez’ vessel lay | 25 |
| At golden Darien, | |
| A murmur, born of discontent, | |
| Grew loud among the men: | |
| And with the word there came the act; | |
| And with the sudden blow | 30 |
| They raised Balboa from the ranks, | |
| Three hundred years ago. | |
| |
| And while he took command beneath | |
| The banner of his lord, | |
| A mighty purpose grasped his soul, | 35 |
| As he had grasped the sword. | |
| He saw the mountain’s fair blue height | |
| Whence golden waters flow; | |
| Then with his men he scaled the crags, | |
| Three hundred years ago. | 40 |
| |
| He led them up through tangled brakes, | |
| The rivulet’s sliding bed, | |
| And through the storm of poisoned darts | |
| From many an ambush shed. | |
| He gained the turret crag—alone— | 45 |
| And wept! to see below, | |
| An ocean, boundless and unknown, | |
| Three hundred years ago. | |
| |
| And while he raised upon that height | |
| The banner of his lord, | 50 |
| The mighty purpose grasped him still, | |
| As still he grasped his sword. | |
| Then down he rushed with all his men, | |
| As headlong rivers flow, | |
| And plunged breast-deep into the sea, | 55 |
| Three hundred years ago. | |
| |
| And while he held above his head | |
| The conquering flag of Spain, | |
| He waved his gleaming sword, and smote | |
| The waters of the main: | 60 |
| For Rome! for Leon! and Castile! | |
| Thrice gave the cleaving blow; | |
| And thus Balboa claimed the sea, | |
| Three hundred years ago. | |
| |
