Again pause, before going to the last stanza. Elbert Hubbard and his wife, both of whom were public speakers and readers of high order, regarded this sixth stanza as an anticlimax. Personally, I do not. Properly given, it is a most powerful climax to a most powerful poem. Ask yourself: After the expression of an overwhelming emotion, what natural reaction is felt? One of weariness. Add this thought to the thoughts expressed in the words. Long and endless vigils, harassment from his men, doubts in his own soul, which, however, he dare not voice. 25. That night was so dark because, crushed by long-continued opposition, and his body weakened by constant watchfulness, and the urge of his passion, even he lost hope. But thanks be to God, there are men like Columbus, who, even when hope seems gone, when there is no light whatever in “that night of all dark nights” still persist. For, is it not darkest just before dawn? Suddenly our minds are transferred to the lookout man. He sees a speck. 26. Wonderingly he looks at it again and again, until he is assured it is a light, so he gives the warning cry: “A light!” 27. Now notice the repetition of the word light. Four times it appears. Why? Most critics account such repetitions as proofs of an author’s weakness, but they little know Joaquin Miller who so regard his repetitions. Let your brain work awhile. Remember, Columbus and his sailors have been weeks away from land, sailing on unknown, uncharted seas. They are becoming used to seeing no land, nothing but seas upon which even the winds have lost their way. Yet the lookout sees a light. He satisfies himself. He gives the signal call: “A light!” For dramatic purposes we can imagine that every one on the vessel hears it. Incredulously they call out a query: “A light?” It cannot be! But, sure of himself, and seeing it more clearly each moment, the lookout assertingly replies, “A light! I tell you!” Then, all doubt removed, filled with joy, their fears dispersed, their bodings and apprehensions removed, the sailors hysterically and joyously unite in the cry: “A light!” and the reason for the four “a lights!” is made clear.
Now, the poet, 28, changes the thought and rapidly introduces figures of speech. The light on the first land seen by Columbus ultimately grows to the “starlit flag of freedom” of the United States, the flag of the people, the flag of a true republic, the flag of genuine democracy. But it grew further, 29. That light, and that flag, grew to be “Time’s burst of dawn.” In other words, until all men, everywhere, in every way, are free, mankind is still in the night. The dawn comes only when men can be themselves, as God intended they should when he created them. Hence triumphant joy should be expressed in speaking of this flag, and what it means to the world.
Then, calmly, quietly, bring the mind back to the admiral. What did he gain? 30. “A world.” And he gave that world its grandest lesson, that of persistence in following the vision of the higher and larger things, On, Sail on!
COLUMBUS
Behind him lay the gray Azores(1)
Behind the Gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores,(2)
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate(3) said: “Now must we pray,
For lo! the very stars are gone.