* * * * *
[Footnote 1: Used by courteous permission of the publishers,
Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., Boston.]

JOAQUIN MILLER
AMERICA, 1841-

COLUMBUS

Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind him the gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores,
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: "Now must we pray,
For lo! the very stars are gone.
Brave Admiral, speak; what shall I say?"
"Why, say: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'"

"My men grow mutinous day by day;
My men grow ghastly wan and weak,"
The stout mate thought of home; a spray
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,
If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"
"Why, you shall say, at break of day,
'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"

They sailed and sailed as winds might blow,
Until at last the blanched mate said: