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THE CONGRESS OF WOMEN.

If no land cheered their failing hopes, with speed He would return according to their will;

But give him three days yet, for good or ill.

For all his years of patient study, left

Three days to crown with triumph; or, bereft

Of opportunity and the laurel wreath

Of victory by those minds so far beneath

His own grand genius. Faith undimmed still shone

And nerved him those three days; although alone,

He braved derision, ridicule and scorn.

And when the third day came, on its bright morn The sun arose, climbed high, and slowly set.

A waste of waters circled, but regret

Not then assailed Columbus; day was ended,

But westward, where the sky and water blended, Obscured by sunset’s softly fading glow,

He ceaseless vigil kept untiring, though The twilight darkening fell upon the deep,

And stars appeared their nightly guard to keep.

As still he gazed and gazed, a sudden light An instant gleamed on his enraptured sight.

Could he believe? Could hope and faith depart,

And blissful certainty possess his heart?

Not long he doubted, when again it came;

No more with transient beam, but steady flame.

He knew his work accomplished; ocean’s bound Was passed and measured—proved the world was round And like the egg he used for demonstration To others, great in influence and station,

Reputed wise, whose favor to attain He argued, plead, desired and hoped in vain,

For Plato’s “ opposite continent ” to find,

He dreamed not but to reach the farther Ind.

While yet he pondered, loudly surging out From tall main-top-mast came the joyous shout Of “ Land! the Land! ” the long wished land ahead!

Up rushed the crew, and quick the anchor sped Down from its moorings. Now to him advanced His followers all, and, bowing, hardly glanced High as his face; but he, serene and calm,

Most graciously received them, and as balm On painful wound, the words that from him fell To their accusing conscience. It were well To leave them thus, but truth compels the end,

And to that shameful story none can lend A palliating circumstance or grace,

That aught detracts from its revolting face.

What then received he for this gift to men?

Attend, it shall be named, although the pen,

With trembling indignation scarce controlled,

Shrinks from the task its features to unfold.

Vile envy roused devouring jealousy,

Calumniation blighting touched, and he,

Through selfishness, was sacrificed by those Pretended friends who secretly were foes.