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Columbus
Behind
him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores,
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: "Now we must 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! and on!' "
They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,
Until at last the blanched mate said:
"Why, now not even God would know
Should I and all my men fall dead.
These very winds forget their way,
For God from these dead seas is gone.
Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say" --
He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!"
They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:
"This mad sea shows his teeth tonight.
He curls his lip, he lies in wait,
With lifted teeth, as if to bite!
Brave Admiral, say but one good word:
What shall we do when hope is gone?"
The words leapt like a leaping sword:
"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"
Then pale and worn, he kept his deck,
And peered through darkness. Ah, that night
Of all dark nights! And then a speck --
A light! a light! at last a light!
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.
He gained a world; he gave that world
Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!"
About
Joaquin Miller (1937-1913)
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Miller was born near Liberty, Indiana.
When he was young, Miler went to California during the early gold rush
in search of wealth and adventure. Apart from becoming a cook for a
group of miners, he wrote poems at the kitchen.
During his time in California, he was
also wounded from an arrow when a battle broke between the settlers and
Indian tribes.
Apart from being a cook (he had scurvy
from his own cooking) and a miner, Miller had also
been a judge and a Pony Express Rider. A poet who takes poetry to his
heart, Miller was "very
imaginative" about this age, place of birth and even his name.
After spending some time in Europe,New
York and Alaska (where he lost an ear an a part of his toe from
frostbite) he settled in Oakland and went on real estate hunting spree.
Starting from a small land he managed to
expand his estate to 70 acres. He built his residence, grew
fruits and wrote poetry there.
His adventurous life did not end even
during his death. It was said that his funeral got out of hand and mobs
went on ransacking his place for souvenirs. Police also had to "rescue"
his corpse.
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as
a self help and motivational material
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