HE rests from toil; the portals of the tomb | |
| Close on the last of those unwearying hands | |
| That wove their pictured webs in History’s loom, | |
| Rich with the memories of three distant lands. | |
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| One wrought the record of the Royal Pair | 5 |
| Who saw the great Discoverer’s sail unfurled, | |
| Happy his more than regal prize to share, | |
| The spoils, the wonders, of the sunset world. | |
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| There too, he found his theme; upreared anew, | |
| Our eyes beheld the vanished Aztec shrines, | 10 |
| And all the silver splendors of Peru | |
| That lured the conqueror to her fatal mines. | |
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| Nor less remembered he who told the tale | |
| Of empire wrested from the strangling sea; | |
| Of Leyden’s woe, that turned his readers pale, | 15 |
| The price of unborn freedom yet to be; | |
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| Who taught the New World what the Old could teach; | |
| Whose silent hero, peerless as our own, | |
| By deeds that mocked the feeble breath of speech | |
| Called up to life a State without a Throne. | 20 |
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| As year by year his tapestry unrolled, | |
| What varied wealth its glowing length displayed! | |
| What long processions flamed in cloth of gold! | |
| What stately forms their flowing robes arrayed! | |
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| Not such the scenes our later craftsman drew; | 25 |
| Not such the shapes his darker pattern held; | |
| A deeper shadow lent its sober hue, | |
| A sadder tale his tragic task compelled. | |
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| He told the red man’s story; far and wide. | |
| He searched the unwritten records of his race; | 30 |
| He sat a listener at the Sachem’s side, | |
| He tracked the hunter through his wildwood chase. | |
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| High o’er his head the soaring eagle screamed; | |
| The wolf’s long howl rang nightly; through the vale | |
| Tramped the lone bear; the panther’s eyeballs gleamed; | 35 |
| The bison’s gallop thundered on the gale. | |
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| Soon o’er the horizon rose the cloud of strife,— | |
| Two proud, strong nations battling for the prize,— | |
| Which swarming host should mould a nation’s life, | |
| Which royal banner flout the western skies. | 40 |
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| Long raged the conflict; on the crimson sod | |
| Native and alien joined their hosts in vain; | |
| The lilies withered where the Lion trod, | |
| Till Peace lay panting on the ravaged plain. | |
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| A nobler task was theirs who strove to win | 45 |
| The blood-stained heathen to the Christian fold; | |
| To free from Satan’s clutch the slaves of sin; | |
| Their labors, too, with loving grace he told. | |
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| Halting with feeble step, or bending o’er | |
| The sweet-breathed roses which he loved so well, | 50 |
| While through long years his burdening cross he bore, | |
| From those firm lips no coward accents fell. | |
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| A brave, bright memory! his stainless shield | |
| No shame defaces and no envy mars! | |
| When our far future’s record is unsealed, | 55 |
| His name will shine among its morning stars. | |
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