THREE DAYS.
On the deck stood Columbus; the ocean's expanse,
Untried and unlimited, swept by his glance.
"Back to Spain!" cry his men; "put the vessel about!
We venture no farther through danger and doubt."
"Three days, and I give you a world," he replied;
"Bear up, my brave comrades—three days shall decide."
He sails—but no token of land is in sight;
He sails—but the day shows no more than the night;
On, onward he sails, while in vain o'er the lee
The lead is plunged down through a fathomless sea.
The second day's past, and Columbus is sleeping,
While mutiny near him its vigil is keeping.
"Shall he perish?" "Ay, death!" is the barbarous cry.
"He must triumph to-morrow, or, perjured, must die!"
Ungrateful and blind! shall the world-linking sea,
He traced, for the future his sepulcher be?
Shall that sea, on the morrow, with pitiless waves,
Fling his corse on that shore which his patient eye craves?
The corse of a humble adventurer, then.
One day later—Columbus, the first among men.
But, hush! he is dreaming! A veil on the main,
At the distant horizon, is parted in twain;
And now on his dreaming eye—rapturous sight—
Fresh bursts the New World from the darkness of night.
O vision of glory! how dazzling it seems;
How glistens the verdure! how sparkle the streams!
How blue the far mountains! how glad the green isles!
And the earth and the ocean, how dimpled with smiles!
"Joy! joy!" cries Columbus, "this region is mine!"
Ah, not e'en its name, wondrous dreamer, is thine.