Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE DEATH OF COLMAN, by THOMAS FROST First Line: Twas juet spoke - the half moon's mate Last Line: One choking thought -- the loneliness! Subject(s): Hudson, Henry (1550-1611); Native Americans; Sailing & Sailors; Solitude; Indians Of America; American Indians; Indians Of South America; Seamen; Sails; Loneliness | ||||||||
'T WAS Juet spoke -- the Half Moon's mate: And they who Holland's ship of state Compass'd with wisdom, listening sate: Discovery's near-extinguished spark Flared up into a blaze, When Man-na-hat-ta's virgin hills, Enriched by Autumn's days, First fell on our impatient sight, And soothed us with a strange delight Bidden by fevered trade, our keel Had ploughed unbeaten deeps; From many a perfume-laden isle To the dark land that sleeps Forever in its winter robe, Th' unsocial hermit of the globe. But we, who sought for China's strand By ocean ways untried, Forgot our mission when we cast Our anchor in a tide That kissed a gem too wondrous fair For any eastern sea to wear! Entranced, we saw the golden woods Slope gently to the sands; The grassy meads, the oaks that dwarfed Their kin of other lands; And from the shore the balmy wind Blew sweeter than the spice of Ind. As he whose eyes, though opened wide, Are fixed upon a dream, So Colman -- one who long had held Our Hudson's warm esteem -- Gazed on the gorgeous scene, and said, "Ere even's shades are overspread, "Proudly our flag on yonder height Shall tell of Holland's gain; Proclaiming her to all the earth The sovereign of the main." And quickly from the Half Moon's bow We turned the longboat's yielding prow. The measured flashing of the oars Broke harshly on the ear; And eye asked eye -- for lips were mute -- What Holland hearts should fear; For true it is our hearts were soft, Save his, who held the flag aloft. And suddenly our unshaped dread Took direful form and sound. For from a near nook's rocky shade, Swift as pursuing hound, A savage shallop sped, to hold From stranger feet that strand of gold. And rageful cries disturbed the peace That on the waters slept; And Echo whispered on the hills, As though an army crept, With flinty axe and brutal blade, Through the imperforate forest shade. "What! are ye cravens?" Colman said; For each had shipped his oar. He waved the flag: "For Netherland, Pull for yon jutting shore!" Then prone he fell within the boat, A flinthead arrow through his throat! And now full many a stealthy skiff Shot out into the bay; And swiftly, sadly, pulled we back To where the Half Moon lay; But he was dead -- our master wept -- He smiled, brave heart, as though he slept. Then to the seaward breeze our sail With woful hearts we threw; And anchored near a sandy strip That looks o'er ocean blue: And there we kissed and buried him, While surges sang his funeral hymn. And many a pitying glance we gave, And many a prayer we said, As from that grave we turned, and left The dark sea with her dead; For -- God of Waves! -- none could repress One choking thought -- the loneliness! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN ABEYANCE by DENISE LEVERTOV IN A VACANT HOUSE by PHILIP LEVINE SUNDAY ALONE IN A FIFTH FLOOR APARTMENT, CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS by WILLIAM MATTHEWS SILENCE LIKE COOL SAND by PAT MORA THE HONEY BEAR by EILEEN MYLES |
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