II
[August 15, 1590]
The breath of spring was on the sea;
Anon the Governor stepped
His good ship's deck right merrily,—
His promise had been kept.
"See, see! the coast-line comes in view!"
He heard the mariners shout,—
"We'll drop our anchors in the Sound
Before a star is out!"
"Now God be praised!" he inly breathed,
"Who saves from all that harms;
The morrow morn my pretty ones
Will rest within my arms."
At dawn of day they moored their ship,
And dared the breakers' roar:
What meant it? not a man was there
To welcome them ashore!
They sprang to find the cabins rude;
The quick green sedge had thrown
Its knotted web o'er every door,
And climbed the chimney-stone.
The spring was choked with winter's leaves,
And feebly gurgled on;
And from the pathway, strewn with wrack,
All trace of feet was gone.
Their fingers thrid the matted grass,
If there, perchance, a mound
Unseen might heave the broken turf;
But not a grave was found.
They beat the tangled cypress swamp,
If haply in despair
They might have strayed into its glade:
But found no vestige there.
"The pine! the pine!" the Governor groaned;
And there each staring man
Read in a maze, one single word,
Deep carven,—Cro-a-tàn!
But cut above, no cross, no sign,
No symbol of distress;
Naught else beside that mystic line
Within the wilderness!