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56
NABOTH
Great honour hath Boston, the city, won of late in a glorious fray
With a handful of Portuguese fishers on that island just down in the bay.
The fishers were poor and defenceless, the city was wealthy and strong,
Hath it not been ever from old time that the poor to the spoiler belong?
With a handful of Portuguese fishers on that island just down in the bay.
The fishers were poor and defenceless, the city was wealthy and strong,
Hath it not been ever from old time that the poor to the spoiler belong?
It is twice twenty years since their fathers in the lap of a favouring breeze
Put out from the far Western Islands and hitherward sailed over seas.
The islands of summer to rearward sank slowly from sight in the wave,
As they spread out their sails to the sunshine and swift through the water they drave.
And they came, after many days' sailing, to a sea-fronting, sand-girted town,
With a fringe of white sand dunes to northward and southward the fishing smacks brown,
That lies at the end of a sea-daring, sea-cleaving spear of the land,
And after long tossing on billows it was good in that fair town to stand.
Put out from the far Western Islands and hitherward sailed over seas.
The islands of summer to rearward sank slowly from sight in the wave,
As they spread out their sails to the sunshine and swift through the water they drave.
And they came, after many days' sailing, to a sea-fronting, sand-girted town,
With a fringe of white sand dunes to northward and southward the fishing smacks brown,
That lies at the end of a sea-daring, sea-cleaving spear of the land,
And after long tossing on billows it was good in that fair town to stand.
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And some of them said, “We will dwell here, nor seek otherwhere for a home,”
But the rest were not of this liking, and once again sped o'er the foam
Till they came to the harbour of Boston, and arrived there in sight of the town,
They brought their staunch vessel to anchor in the lee of a yellow cliff's frown.
A long, narrow isle was before them, and on it they landed that day,
And built them rude huts by the sea beach, where the women and children might stay.
But the rest were not of this liking, and once again sped o'er the foam
Till they came to the harbour of Boston, and arrived there in sight of the town,
They brought their staunch vessel to anchor in the lee of a yellow cliff's frown.
A long, narrow isle was before them, and on it they landed that day,
And built them rude huts by the sea beach, where the women and children might stay.
And the busy years past and they prospered, these fishers from over the main,
Till the elder men died and were buried, and over their labour and pain,
But their children remained on Long Island, and followed a sea-faring life,
As their fathers before them, in peace, with never the murmurs of strife,
Till Boston, the city, grew jealous, like Ahab, the the ruler, of old,
When he longed for the vineyard of Naboth, which he from his gates could behold.
No vineyard was this on Long Island, but a few scanty acres of beach,
Yet even there did the city her covetous fingers outreach.
Though the fishermen begged for their homesteads, the strong city answered them “Nay,”
For she wanted, in spite of her riches, those few acres just down in the bay.
So she gathered together her servants and sent them to Long Island strand,
And they tore down the fisher-folk homes and strewed the wreck over the land,
While the Portuguese women bewailed them, but their husbands stood sullen aside
And wondered that God in the heavens could the wrongs of His servants abide.
Thus the work of destruction went onward, while a cloud of dust covered the place
Where the men from the distant Azores had nourished a peace-loving race,
Till the grey of the long August twilight came down on that isle in the sea
And covered the work of the spoilers, and the morrow was yet to be.
Then the masterful foemen of Boston shame-facedly hurried away,
While the curses of those they had plundered rang after them over the bay
As they ring in the ears of Almighty who bringeth the strongest to shame,
Who heedeth the griefs of the humble and divideth the praise from the blame.
But His ways are still hid in the future and the city is great in her pride,
And the men in her fair council chambers the Portuguese fishers deride;
And still in the streets of the city the deed of those foemen they praise,
Who drave from Long Island the fishers on those sunshiny midsummer days.
Till the elder men died and were buried, and over their labour and pain,
But their children remained on Long Island, and followed a sea-faring life,
As their fathers before them, in peace, with never the murmurs of strife,
Till Boston, the city, grew jealous, like Ahab, the the ruler, of old,
When he longed for the vineyard of Naboth, which he from his gates could behold.
No vineyard was this on Long Island, but a few scanty acres of beach,
58
Though the fishermen begged for their homesteads, the strong city answered them “Nay,”
For she wanted, in spite of her riches, those few acres just down in the bay.
So she gathered together her servants and sent them to Long Island strand,
And they tore down the fisher-folk homes and strewed the wreck over the land,
While the Portuguese women bewailed them, but their husbands stood sullen aside
And wondered that God in the heavens could the wrongs of His servants abide.
Thus the work of destruction went onward, while a cloud of dust covered the place
Where the men from the distant Azores had nourished a peace-loving race,
Till the grey of the long August twilight came down on that isle in the sea
And covered the work of the spoilers, and the morrow was yet to be.
Then the masterful foemen of Boston shame-facedly hurried away,
While the curses of those they had plundered rang after them over the bay
59
Who heedeth the griefs of the humble and divideth the praise from the blame.
But His ways are still hid in the future and the city is great in her pride,
And the men in her fair council chambers the Portuguese fishers deride;
And still in the streets of the city the deed of those foemen they praise,
Who drave from Long Island the fishers on those sunshiny midsummer days.
Thus honour abundant did Boston achieve in a glorious fray
With a handful of Portuguese fishers on that island just down in the bay.
And so long as the church-bells of Boston ring out from her myriad towers,
So long will the praises be chanted of these valorous foemen of ours
Who divided in sunder the roof-trees that sheltered a peace-loving folk,
Who shattered in fragments their hearth-stones and quenched forever their smoke.
With a handful of Portuguese fishers on that island just down in the bay.
And so long as the church-bells of Boston ring out from her myriad towers,
So long will the praises be chanted of these valorous foemen of ours
Who divided in sunder the roof-trees that sheltered a peace-loving folk,
Who shattered in fragments their hearth-stones and quenched forever their smoke.
1887
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