A Hero

Like many another I have crossed             Oftener than once the broad Atlantic,         And - feeling qualms when tempest-tossed,             Have shuddered at the waves gigantic,                 Fearing that really nevermore                 I'd find myself again ashore.         Then when - upset - and scarce awake,             In moments of perturbed reflection,         My wandering thoughts would slowly take             Time and again the same direction.                 I'd think of that adventurous man,                 Who crossed the sea - first of my clan.         'Tis not for me to hope to find             Upon my family tree's broad branches         Ancestors wholly to my mind;             I know that I am taking chances                 In digging them up from the past                 To deck this hardy tree at last.         Indeed I would not waste my breath,             And even less my ink and paper,         To prove from Queen Elizabeth             Is my descent (some cut this caper),                 Nor in King Alfred root my tree -                 Here's jocund genealogy.         A Governor or two, of course, -             Or even a Colonial preacher         I'd not despise, - nor yet perforce             A good Selectman, stern of feature,                 Provided they came early here.                 Such ancestors to me are dear.         Yet of them all the man I hold             A mighty hero - none seems greater -         Is he - that honest man and bold -             Whether Psalm-singer, or bear-baiter,                 First of my name to reach the strand,                 Of this almost unpeopled land.         He may have been of high estate,             He may have been a simple yeoman,         Undaunted by an adverse fate,             Brave was he as the bravest Roman.                 At naught he quailed, his heart was stout,                 When he for the New World set out.         Compared with mine - a little skiff             His boat was, on the untracked ocean,         Comforts were scarce, and breezes stiff -             No luxuries, - though I've a notion                 Billows were just as high as now,                 While Danger sat upon the prow.         Just where would be his landing-place.             He hardly knew when waves he tossed on         While my woes at sea efface             By merely murmuring, "Home is Boston."                 Yet he had left his all behind                 In the new world his all to find.         "R-E-E-D" - "E-I" - "E-A,"             Just how we spell it need not matter.         The name we honor here today             Each clan may claim with equal clatter         British, euphonious, clear and short,             Rede me a name of better sort!          Read at a meeting of a Genealogical Society.