["The vessel landed in December at a place that has since obtained the name of Forefathers' Rock, The first person that stepped out of the boat upon the rock, is said to have been a girl of the name of Mary Chilton."]
Parley's Tales.
Before thee a wilderness, stretching wide— Behind thee was ocean, strong in pride! Did not thy heart within thee fail, Fair girl of England! thy cheek turn pale, When, ocean-dangers o'ercome and past, Thou didst find but a dreary home at last? When, weary of waves and the water's roar, Thou didst long for the dark green earth once more. The wild birds' song, and the quiet breeze, And the peaceful hum of the distant seas,— For the vine-clad cottage beside the spring, And the songs which thy childhood loved to sing?
In fancy I oft have pictured thee, Young traveler over a bounding sea, Standing upon an unknown shore, The waves behind thee, the wilds before, With one hand pressed to thy bosom near, And one extended in awe and fear: I have pictured thee on the sea-worn rock, Free from the storm and the tempest-shock, And thought of the home of thy infant glee; Have fancied what thy heart said to thee, As thou didst stand, by the sky defined, With a look half sorrowful, half resigned.
There were kind ones with thee, the loved, the true; Yet over the water thy fond heart flew, And ties just broken were clasped again, And bound once more in a silken chain; The memories of childhood were dear to thee— They are dear to us ever, on land or sea. Perchance there were written upon thy heart Scenes, which thy tongue might never impart. Perchance there were whispered within thine ear Words, none other than thine might hear, For thee to remember, forever and aye, When the scenes of thy girlhood were far away!
They are passed forever, those happy hours, Vanished away with the birds and flowers! They are gone! and their memories will return But as the sunset, above an urn Where the heart's best treasures, though rich and rare, Must rest forever—forever there! They are gone, but the music of far-off streams Will be heard by thee in thy nightly dreams, And words that have reached thee, familiar words, Will melt through thy heart like the song of birds. Breathing of home to thy dreaming mind, Of hopes far distant, but unconfined.
What was thy fate? Did an early grave Wait for thy passage over the wave? Did the mournful memories of days long past Thy grieved heart haunt, till it broke at last? Did the murmured voices of other times Call back thy spirit to fairer climes, To visit once more thy birds and flowers, To live again life's perfumed hours? Or did the violet spring above A bosom whose every throb was love, And the wild bird build her nest on high, Unconscious of her who slumbered nigh?
Or did the forest retreat before Thine eyes from the ever-sounding shore? Did blooming gardens bedeck the ground— Did peaceful dwellings appear around— Till thou sawest, at life's "eventful close," The "wilderness blossom as the rose?" From the deep, dim woods did thy prayer ascend, When thou watchedst the evening shadows blend? Like incense from out the fragrant sod, Didst thou pour thy spirit-voice abroad, Hallowing the woods, so dark and dim, With the solemn sound of thy vesper-hymn?
Ah! who may tell? there are none on earth That may tell of thee, of thy timid work, Of the love that dwelt in thy quiet breast, For all earth's children, pure, unsuppressed. We know not if beauty upon thy brow Had placed her signet;—what matter, now? We only know that thy foot trod here, That thy name was Mary—that thou wert dear; For every one hath some kindred heart, As every soul hath a better part; That at last thine eyes saw the stars no more, And thy spirit went to the unknown shore.
