PILGRIMS IN SUNNY CLIMES.*

WHERE the remote Bermudas ride
In th' ocean's bosom unespy'd;
From a small boat that row'd along,
The list'ning wind received this song:

"What should we do but sing His praise,
That led us through the wat'ry maze,
Unto an isle so long unknown,

And yet far kinder than our own?

Where He the huge sea-monster wracks,
That lift the deep upon their backs.
He lands us on a grassy stage,

Safe from the storms' and prelates' rage.

He gave us this eternal spring,
Which here enamels every thing;
And sends the fowls to us in care,

On daily visits through the air.

*The above lines do not refer to the Pilgrim Fathers, but to a settlement at the Bermudas under somewhat similar circumstances, as is evidenced by the allusion to immunity from persecution for conscience sake. By the third patent of the Virginia Company, granted in 1612, the Bermudas, and all islands within three hundred leagues of the coast, were included within the limits of their jurisdiction. These islands they sold to 120 of their own members, who became a distinct corporation, under the name of the Somers' Islands Company.-See "Stith's Virginia," p. 127, App. 4.

George Mourt, writing of the Pilgrims of Plymouth, says: "The example of the Honourable Virginia and Bermudas Companies encountering with so many disasters, and that for divers years together, with an unwearied resolution, the good effects whereof are now eminent, may prevail as a spur of preparation also touching this no less hopeful country. Though yet an infant, their extent and commodities are as yet not fully known; after time will unfold

more.'

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PILGRIMS IN SUNNY CLIMES.

He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night;
And does in the pomegranates close
Jewels more rich than ocean shows.
He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet;
But apples plants of such a price,
No tree could ever bear them twice.
With cedars chosen by His hand,
From Lebanon, He stores the land;
And makes the hollow seas that roar
Proclaim the ambergrease on shore.
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The Gospel's pearl upon our coast;
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple, where to sound His name.
Oh! let our voice His praise exalt,
Till it arrive at heaven's vault;
Which, then (perhaps) rebounding, may
Echo beyond the Mexique Bay."

Thus sung they, in the English boat,
An holy and a cheerful note;
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.

ANDREW MARVELL.

THE MISSION OF THE PILGRIMS.

THEY Come-that coming who shall tell?
The eye may weep, the breast may swell;
But the poor tongue in vain essays
A fitting note for them to raise.
We hear the after-shout that rings
For them who smote the power of kings ;
The swelling triumph all would share :
But who the dark defeat would dare,
And boldly meet the wrath and woe
That wait the unsuccessful blow?

It were an envied fate, we deem,
To live a land's recorded theme

When we are in the tomb.
We, too, might yield the joys of home,
And waves of winter darkness roam,
And tread a shore of gloom,

Knew we those waves, through coming time,
Should roll our names to every clime;
Felt we that millions on that shore
Should stand, our memory to adore.
But no glad vision burst in light
Upon the pilgrim's aching sight;

D

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THE MISSION OF THE PILGRIMS.

Their hearts no proud hereafter swelled;
Deep shadows veiled the way they held;
The yell of vengeance was the trump of fame ;
Their monument, a grave without a name.

Yet strong in weakness, there they stand
On yonder icebound rock,

Stern and resolved, that faithful band,
To meet fate's rudest shock.

Though anguish rends the father's breast,
For them, his dearest and his best,

With him the waste who trod;

Though tears that freeze the mother sheds.
Upon her children's houseless heads-
The Christian turns to God!

In grateful adoration now,

Upon the barren sands they bow;

What tongue of joy e'er woke such prayer

As bursts in desolation there!

What arm of strength e'er wrought such power

As waits to crown that feeble hour!

There into life an infant empire springs!

There falls the iron from the soul,
There Liberty's young accents roll

Up to the King of kings!

To fair creation's farthest bound

That thrilling summons yet shall sound;

The dreaming nations shall awake,

And to their centre earth's old kingdoms shake.

THE MISSION OF THE PILGRIMS.

Pontiff and Prince, your sway

Must crumble from that day.

Before the loftier throne of Heaven,

The band is raised, the pledge is given-
One monarch to obey, one creed to own:

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That monarch, God; that creed, His Word alone.

Spread out earth's holiest records here,
Of days and deeds to reverence dear.
A zeal like this what pious legends tell!
On kingdoms built

In blood and guilt,

The worshippers of vulgar triumph dwell,
But what exploits with theirs shall page
Who rose to bless their kind,
Who left their nation and their age,

Man's spirit to unbind?

Who boundless seas passed o'er

And boldly met, in every path,

Famine, and frost, and heathen wrath,

To dedicate a shore,

Where Piety's meek train might breathe their vow, And seek their Maker with an unshamed brow; Where Liberty's glad race might proudly come, And set up there an everlasting home!

O, many a time it hath been told,
The story of those men of old :