The lily and the totem, or, The Huguenots in
Florida a series of sketches, picturesque and historical, of the colonies of Coligni, in North America, 1562-1570 |
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| 3. | III.
THE VOYAGE. |
 | The lily and the totem, or, The Huguenots in
Florida |  |
III.
THE VOYAGE.
“And leave thy flock to perish?”—Thus the voice,
Reproachful to the patriarch.—“No,” he cried,
“They shall partake the sweet security,
Of the far home of refuge thou assign'st.
They shall go forth from bondage and from death:
The path made free to them, their feet shall take;
My counsels shall direct them, and my soul
Still struggle in their service. Those who fly,
Best moved by fond obedience,—with few ties
To fasten the devoted heart to earth,
And looking but to heaven;—and those who still,
With that fond passion of home which fetters me,
Prefer to look upon their graves in France,—
Shall equally command my care and toil,
Though not alike my presence. They who go forth
To the far land of promise which awaits them,
Mine eye shall watch across the mighty deep,
And still my succors reach them, while the power
Is mine for human providence; and still,
Even from the fearful eminence of death,
Reproachful to the patriarch.—“No,” he cried,
“They shall partake the sweet security,
Of the far home of refuge thou assign'st.
They shall go forth from bondage and from death:
The path made free to them, their feet shall take;
My counsels shall direct them, and my soul
Still struggle in their service. Those who fly,
Best moved by fond obedience,—with few ties
To fasten the devoted heart to earth,
And looking but to heaven;—and those who still,
With that fond passion of home which fetters me,
Prefer to look upon their graves in France,—
Shall equally command my care and toil,
Though not alike my presence. They who go forth
To the far land of promise which awaits them,
Mine eye shall watch across the mighty deep,
And still my succors reach them, while the power
Is mine for human providence; and still,
Even from the fearful eminence of death,
469
My spirit, parting from its shrouding clay,
Survey them with the thought of one who loves,
Glad in the safety which it could not share!”
Even as he said,—a little band went forth
Still resolute for God;—having no home,
But that made holy by his privilege;
Their prayers unchecked, their pure rites undisturbed,
They bending at high altars, with no dread,
Lest other eyes than the elect should see,
Their secret smokes arise.
To a wild shore,
Most wild, but lovely,—o'er the deeps they came;
Propitious winds at beck, and God in heaven,
Looking from bluest skies. From the broad sea,
Sudden, the grey lines of the wooing land,
Stretched out its sheltering haven, and afar,
Implored them, with its smiles, through gayest green,
That to the heart of the lone voyagers,
Spoke of their homes in France.
“And here,” they cried,
“Cast anchor! We will build our temples here!
This solitude is still security,
And freedom shall compensate all the loss
Known first in loss of home! Yet naught is lost,—
All rather gained, that human hearts have found
Most dear to hope and its immunities,
If that we win that freedom of the soul,
It never knew before! Here should we find
Our native land,—the native land of soul,
Survey them with the thought of one who loves,
Glad in the safety which it could not share!”
Even as he said,—a little band went forth
Still resolute for God;—having no home,
But that made holy by his privilege;
Their prayers unchecked, their pure rites undisturbed,
They bending at high altars, with no dread,
Lest other eyes than the elect should see,
Their secret smokes arise.
To a wild shore,
Most wild, but lovely,—o'er the deeps they came;
Propitious winds at beck, and God in heaven,
Looking from bluest skies. From the broad sea,
Sudden, the grey lines of the wooing land,
Stretched out its sheltering haven, and afar,
Implored them, with its smiles, through gayest green,
That to the heart of the lone voyagers,
Spoke of their homes in France.
“And here,” they cried,
“Cast anchor! We will build our temples here!
This solitude is still security,
And freedom shall compensate all the loss
Known first in loss of home! Yet naught is lost,—
All rather gained, that human hearts have found
Most dear to hope and its immunities,
If that we win that freedom of the soul,
It never knew before! Here should we find
Our native land,—the native land of soul,
470
Where conscience may take speech,—where truth take root,
And spread its living branches, till all earth
Grows lovely with their heritage. From the wild
Our pray'rs shall rise to heaven; nor shall we build
Our altars in the gloomy caves of earth,
Dreading each moment lest the accusing smokes,
That from our reeking censers may arise,
Shall show the imperial murderer where we hide.”
And spread its living branches, till all earth
Grows lovely with their heritage. From the wild
Our pray'rs shall rise to heaven; nor shall we build
Our altars in the gloomy caves of earth,
Dreading each moment lest the accusing smokes,
That from our reeking censers may arise,
Shall show the imperial murderer where we hide.”
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| The lily and the totem, or, The Huguenots in
Florida | |