John Bannister Tabb

Columbus

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'Tis read of one, a ferryman of old,
St. Christopher, who on his shoulders bore,
Across the torrent to the welcome shore,
The infant Christ. The alien waters rolled
Their weltering weight tumultuous; but 'tis told
The pilot swerved not 'mid the desperate roar,
Till, landed safe, his tottering burden sore
He trembled, lost in reverence, to behold.
And thou, to me, in that prophetic dream,
Which led thee westward o'er the wandering main,
Christ-laden, to the land whereof no gleam
Had cleft the compass of the narrower brain,
The legendary Christopher dost seem,
Fulfilling all his destiny again.

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