And still to us it tells of that
mighty force that brought it here in the dim past - to be the
corner stone of our republic. Its ringing text is still sounding
from shore to shore.
"Tradition has kept the memory of the rock on which the Pilgrims
first set foot, and which lay on the foot of the hill. It has
become an historic spot, to which the name Forefathers' Rock has
been given. No other in America possesses such hallowed
associations or has so often been celebrated in song and story."
"Here," said De Toqueville, "is a stone which the feet of a few
outcasts pressed for an instant, and the stone became famous. It
is treasured by a nation. Its very dust is shared as a relic.
And what has become of the gateways of a thousand palaces? Who
cares for them?"
Tradition also says that Mary Chilton and John Allen were the
first to leap upon this rock, as we read in the lines to Mary
Chilton -
"The first on Plymouth Rock to leap!
Among the timid flock she stood,
Rare figure, near the May Flower's prow,
With heart of Christian fortitude,
And light heroic on her brow."
But whoever was the first to step upon this stone, that act we
now cherish as the first one toward the founding of a nation,
and as typical of the heroism and daring of its founders. "And
such it will stand for all time as one of the grand stepping-
stones of history."
We wander once more along Town Brook listening to its soothing
voice as the evening shadows begin to gather upon it. The sun,
like an orb of fire, is sinking in a vast sea of gold through
which a few fleecy clouds of a delicate rose color are slowly
drifting. The shadowy forms of the night-hawk are plainly seen
as they sweep the heavens for their evening meal of insects. We
catch their eerie cries that fall from the rosy depths of the
waning sunset to the darkening glades around us, and we hear the
breeze softly sighing as it caresses the myriad leaves of the
forest. The water of the brook grows dim in the deepening
shadows. It is the sweetest hour of the day, and as this song of
peace floats out over the twilight woods it calls to holy
thoughts. It is as if one heard the Angelus of a distant
village.
On returning to Plymouth Rock hotel we were impressed with the
crowded streets, for from far and near people had gathered to
witness the Tercentenary of the Landing of the Pilgrims. In the
gray half light of the evening we saw a majestic elm whose
gigantic size told of an earlier time.
