Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE FIRST THANKSGIVING [FEBRUARY 22, 1631], by CLINTON SCOLLARD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE FIRST THANKSGIVING [FEBRUARY 22, 1631], by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: It was captain pierce of the lion
Last Line: That mounted morn and noon and eve on that first thanksgiving day!
Subject(s): Holidays; Thanksgiving Day


IT was Captain Pierce of the Lion who strode the streets of London,
Who stalked the streets in the blear of morn and growled
in his grisly beard;
By Neptune! quoth this grim sea-dog, I fear that my master 's undone!
'T is a bitter thing if all for naught through the drench
of the deep I've steered!

He had come from out of the ultimate West through the
spinning drift and the smother,
Come for a guerdon of golden grain for a hungry land afar;
And he thought of many a wasting maid, and of many a sad-eyed mother,
And how their gaze would turn and turn for a sail at the harbor bar.

But famine lay on the English isle, and grain was a hoarded treasure,
So ruddy the coin must gleam to loose the lock of the
store-house door;
And under his breath the Captain groaned because of his
meagre measure,
And the grasping souls of those that held the keys to the
precious store.

But he flung a laugh and a fleer at doubt, and braving the
roaring city
He faced them out -- those moiling men whose greed had
grown to a curse --
Till at last he found in the strenuous press a heart that
was moved to pity,
And he gave the Governor's bond and word for what he
lacked in his purse.

So the Lion put her prow to the West in the wild and windy weather,
Her sails all set, though her decks were wet with the
driving scud and the foam;
Never an hour would the Captain hold his staunch little
craft in tether,
For the haunting thought of hungry eyes was the lure that
called him home.

Sooth, in the streets of Boston-town was the heavy sound of sorrow,
For an iron frost had bound the wold, and
the sky hung bleak and dread;
Despair sat dark on the face of him who dared to think of the morrow,
When not a crust could the goodwife give if the children
moaned for bread.

But hark, from the wintry waterside a loud and lusty cheering,
That sweeps the sullen streets of the town as a wave the
level strand!
A sail! a sail! upswelled the cry, speeding the vessel steering
Out of the vast of the misty sea in to the waiting land.

Turn the dimming page of the past that the dust of the
years is dry on,
And see the tears in the eyes of Joy as the ship draws in
to the shore,
And see the genial glow on the face of Captain Pierce of the Lion,
As the Governor grips his faithful hand and blesses him
o'er and o'er!

Oh, the rapture of that release! Feasting instead of fasting!
Happiness in the heart of the home, and hope with its silver ray!
Oh, the songs of prayer and praise to the Lord God everlasting
That mounted morn and noon and eve on that first Thanksgiving Day!





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