 | Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems |  |
1.
It was two hundred years ago,When moved the world so very slow,
And when the wide Atlantic Sea
Appeared like an eternity:—
Few who crossed it e'er returned,—
'T was then the Pilgrim fathers earned,
And not alone by faith and prayers,
Homes and graves for them and theirs.
Stern the struggle, sharp the strife,
Many a pilgrim hero died;
There was many a childless wife;
Many a widowed bride,—
Many a first-born, sleeping child
Awakened by the war-whoop yell,—
Midnight flames, and ravage wild,
Before the savage tribes they quell.
| Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems | |