ΤΟ 35 20 COLUMBUS BY JOAQUIN MILLER BEHIND him lay the gray Azores; Behind, the Gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of shores, The good mate said: "Now we must pray, Brave Admiral, speak; what shall I say?" "My men grow mutinous day by day; 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"" They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, Should I and all my men fall dead. For God from these dread seas is gone. Now speak, brave Admiral; speak and say" - They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: With lifted teeth, as if to bite! Brave Admiral, say but one good word; "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, 5 And peered through darkness. Ah, that night ΤΟ Of all dark nights! And then a speck A light! A light! A light! A light! It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. 1. What are the Azores? The Gates of Hercules? 2. Why did the mate come to the Admiral? Is it a fact in history that Columbus's men mutinied? What were the mate and the men afraid of? 3. Explain the reference in lines 13 and 14, page 178. 4. When is Columbus Day? Why is it on that date? What would be a good motto to adopt for Columbus Day? 5. The author of this poem, Joaquin Miller (1841-1912), was himself a pioneer; hence his admiration for Columbus. Miller belongs to the days of overland voyaging across our country; to the days of gold rushes in the West and Northwest. (Permission granted to use "Columbus" by the Harr Wagner Publishing Co., publishers of Joaquin Miller's Complete Poems.) ARMISTICE. DAY This is an actual occurrence, related by American soldiers on their return from the Great War. First read the selection through rapidly to sense the spirit of the occasion. IT T WAS early on an autumn morning- November 11, 1918. The right wing of a division of American soldiers was resting upon a little French village just back of the line of battle. The thunder of distant German "heavies" 5and the nearer, sharper detonation of the 75's shook the stone houses along the three streets of the old town; but the villagers had become used to the bombardment and were not disturbed in the least by it. It was only the usual morning fusillade. Nor did it worry the fine young fellows in khaki who were lounging about the benches in the little green at the convergence of the three highways or sitting on the steps of the stone church that held the place of honor in the green itself. The storm of big guns and the crackle of small arms Is had come to be a routine part of their lives-terrible at first but now only annoying. But on this particular morning both citizens and soldiers were more keenly conscious than usual of the background of roaring guns. Since the afternoon before, the rumor had 20 persistently gone round that this day was to be one of moment. Speculation on what was meant by the tale drew the soldiers and townspeople into little groups of expectant talkers. Was the drive on Metz to begin? Were the combined forces of the Allies about to start a still heavier drive against the Germans? Or had the Germans had enough at last? Breakfast passed, and still no news. The morning wore away, and the great guns were roaring at each other more savagely than ever. A relief of front-trench soldiers 5 marched stolidly away down one of the roads. War had apparently become the established order; peace was nowhere in sight. Suddenly across the little green hobbled the one-legged sexton of the church, a white-haired veteran of the '70's. 10 He hammered his crutch furiously on the cobblestone walk in his endeavor to reach the church steps in a hurry. Up the steps he pounded, and disappeared behind the doors. A violent fusillade of heavy cannon shook the very foundation stones. Then silence dead, vacant, oppressive silence. 15 Soldiers half leaped up and looked at each other in amazement. What had happened to the guns? From the belfry came the sharp peal of the bell - seven magic strokes that brought from all directions a green full of citizens and soldiers, eyes askance upon the church. 2 As the last echo died out, the church doors opened, and out strode the priest, followed by the sexton. Slowly the priest turned to the expectant crowd. He extended his uplifted hand and knelt. Impelled by the strong feeling of the situation, the crowd followed his 25 example until the entire green was filled by kneeling people. Men knelt then and there who had never before knelt to pray. Slowly and distinctly the priest returned thanks for the victory that had come; the horrors of war were ended at last. He rose. The crowd rose also, but a deathlike silence of awe was upon them. The shift from war to peace was too 30 |