The Landing of the Pilgrims

Felicia Dorothea Hemans

1793 to 1835

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Track 1

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Not as the flying come,
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
The soil where first they trod!
There was woman's fearless eye,
Away from their childhood's land?
Ay, call it holy ground,—
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
This was their welcome home!
When a band of exiles moored their bark
They sought a faith's pure shrine.
With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;
There was manhood's brow serenely high,
In silence and in fear;
The ocean eagle soared
And the rocking pines of the forest roared—
And the stars heard, and the sea;
Freedom to worship God!
From his nest by the white wave's foam;
The hills and waters o'er,
They have left unstained what there they found—
The breaking waves dashed high
And the heavy night hung dark
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?—
To the anthem of the free.
Amidst that pilgrim band:
Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came,—
They shook the depths of the desert's gloom
Why had they come to wither there
Lit by her deep love's truth;
Their giant branches tossed;
There were men with hoary hair
And the woods against a stormy sky
Amidst the storms they sang;
On the wild New England shore.
What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
And the fiery heart of youth.

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