Felipa, Wife of Columbus.

MORE than the compass to the mariner,

Wast thou, Felipa, to his dauntless soul.

Through adverse winds that threatened wreck, and nights

Of rayless gloom, thou pointed ever to

The North Star of his great ambition. He

Who once has lost an Eden, or has gained

A paradise by Eve's sweet influence,

Alone can know how strong a spell lies in

The witchery of a woman's beckoning hand.

And thou didst draw him, tide-like, higher still,

Felipa, whispering the lessons learned

From thy courageous father, till the flood

Of his ambition burst all barriers

And swept him onward to his longed-for goal.

Before the jewels of a Spanish queen

Built fleets to waft him on his untried way,

Thou gavest thy wealth of wifely sympathy

To build the lofty purpose of his soul.

And now the centuries have cycled by,

Till thou art all-forgotten by the throng

That lauds the great Pathfinder of the deep.

It matters not in that infinitude

Of space, where thou dost guide thy spirit-bark

To undiscovered lands, supremely fair.

If to this little planet thou couldst turn

And voyage, wraithlike, to its cloud-hung rim,

Thou wouldst not care for praise. And if, perchance,

Some hand held out to thee a laurel bough,

Thou wouldst not claim one leaf, but fondly turn

To lay thy tribute, also, at his feet.