The worthy Sir George Somers knight, and others of commaund; Maister George Pearcy, which is brother unto Northumberland. Sir Fardinando Wayneman knight, and others of good fame, Where they unto their labour fall, as men that meane to thrive; Let's pray that heaven may blesse them all, and keep them long alive. Those men that vagrants liv'd with us, have there deservèd well; Their governour writes in their praise, as divers letters tel. And to th' adventurers thus he writes be not dismayed at all, Wee hope to plant a nation, where none before hath stood. To glorifie the lord tis done, and to no other end; He that would crosse so good a worke, to God can be no friend. There is no feare of hunger here for corne much store here growes, Much fish the gallant rivers yield, tis truth without suppose. Great store of fowle, of venison, of grapes and mulberries, And for an instance of their store, the noble Delaware Hath for the present hither sent, to testifie his care In managing so good a worke, to gallant ships, by name The Blessing and the Hercules, well fraught, and in the same Two ships, are these commodities, furres, sturgeon, caviare, Blacke walnut-tree, and some deale boords, with such they laden are; Some pearle, some wainscot and clapbords, with some sassafras wood, And iron promist, for tis true their mynes are very good. Then, maugre scandall, false report, or any opposition, To such as to Virginia do purpose to repaire; And when that they shall hither come, each man shall have his share. Day wages for the laborer, and for his more content, A house and garden plot shall have; besides, tis further ment That every man shall have a part, and not thereof denaid, Upon delivery of such coyne unto the Governour, The number of adventurers, that are for this plantation, Are full eight hundred worthy men, some noble, all of fashion. Good, discreete, their worke is good, and as they have begun, May Heaven assist them in their worke, and thus our newes is done. THE OLD CANOE ["While the authorship of this beautiful poem has been credited to General Pike, it has also been denied that he wrote it, and he himself is said to have stated that the honor did not belong to him but to a young lady, whose name has never been mentioned, to the knowledge of the editor of this volume." ('General Albert Pike's Poems,' Fred W. Allsopp, Publisher: Little Rock, Arkansas, 1900, page 87). The poem first appeared in a short-lived paper published before the War, in Little Rock.] Where the rocks are gray, and the shore is steep, Where the reeds and rushes are long and lank, The useless paddles are idly dropped, Like a sea-bird's wing that the storm has lopped, And the solemn owl, with its dull tu-whoo, The stern half sunk in the slimy wave And the green moss creeps o'er its dull decay, Like the hand that plants o'er the tomb a flower, While many a blossom of loveliest hue The currentless waters are dead and still, It floats the length of its rusty chain; As the shore is kissed at each turn anew, Oh, many a time, with careless hand, I have pushed it away from the pebbly strand! To see that the faces and boats were two But now, as I lean o'er the crumbling side But I love to think of the hours that sped As I rocked where the whirls their white spray shed, RESIGNATION By ST. GEORGE TUCKER [The author of these lines was born on the island of Bermuda, July 10, 1752, and died in Nelson County, Virginia, November 10, 1828. The poem was a favorite with John Adams and may be found in nearly all anthologies of American verse.] Days of my youth, Ye have glided away; Hairs of my youth, Ye are frosted and gray; Your keen sight is no more; Cheeks of my youth, Ye are furrowed all o'er; Strength of my youth, All your vigor is gone; Your gay visions are flown. Days of my youth, I wish not your recall; I'm content ye should fall; Eyes of my youth, You much evil have seen; Cheeks of my youth, Bathed in tears have you been; Thoughts of my youth, You have led me astray; Strength of my youth, Why lament your decay? Days of my age, Ye will shortly be past; Pains of my age, Yet awhile can ye last; Joys of my age, In true wisdom delight; Be religion your light; Dread ye not the cold sod; Be ye fixed on your God. THE SOLDIER BOY [This poem was written in Lynchburg, Virginia, May 18, 1861, and signed H. M. L. It has been frequently republished but the name of the author remains unknown.] I give my soldier boy a blade, In fair Damascus fashioned well; That for no mean or hireling trade, |