The child the while, with soft,
sweet smile,
Forgetful of all sorrow,
Lay soundly sleeping in his bed.
The good man kissed him there, and said:
“You leave us not to-morrow!
“I pray you, rest the
convent’s guest;
This child shall be our own—
A precious care, while you prepare
Your business with the court, and bear
Your message to the throne.”
And so his guest he comforted.
O wise, good prior! to you,
Who cheered the stranger’s darkest days,
And helped him on his way, what praise
And gratitude are due!
J.T. Trowbridge.
By permission of the author.
* * * *
*
Where is Palos? What is it noted for?
Who was the “good man” spoken of in the
poem?
In the line “The traveler’s dreams he
heard,” who was the traveler? Relate the
story of his dreams. Why are they called dreams?
Did the dreams become facts? In what way?
How did the monks of this convent assist Columbus?
How did the Queen of Spain assist him?
Why is it that in the geography of our country we
meet with so many
Catholic names?
* * * *
*
Memory Gem:
Press on!
There’s no such word as fail!
Push nobly
on! The goal is near!
Ascend the
mountain! Breast the gale!
Look upward,
onward,—never fear!
[Illustration:]
* * * *
*
9
A great many centuries ago, when the earth was even
more beautiful than it is now, there grew in one of
the many valleys a dainty little fern leaf. All
around the tiny plant were many others, but none of
them so graceful and delicate as this one I tell you
of. Every day the cheery breezes sought out their
playmate, and the merry sunbeams darted in and out,
playing hide-and-seek among reeds and rushes; and when
the twilight shadows deepened, and the sunbeams had
all gone away, the little fern curled itself up for
the night with only the dewdrops for company.
So day after day went by: and no one knew of,
or found the sweet wild fern, or the beautiful valley
it grew in. But—for this was a very
long time ago—a great change took place
in the earth; and rocks and soil were upturned, and
the rivers found new channels to flow in.
Now, when all this happened, the little fern was quite
covered up with the soft moist clay, and perhaps you
think it might as well never have lived as to have
been hidden away where none could see it.
But after all, it was not really lost; for hundreds
of years afterwards, when all that clay had become
stone, and had broken into many fragments, a very
wise and learned man found the bit of rock upon which
was all the delicate tracery of the little fern leaf,
with outline just as perfect and lovely as when, long,
long ago it had swayed to the breezes in its own beautiful
valley.
