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Into Tibet The CIA s first atomic spy and his secret
expedition to Lhasa Laird Thomas Digital Instant
Download
Author(s): Laird Thomas
ISBN(s): 9780802117144, 0802117147
File Details: PDF, 20.38 MB
Year: 2002
Language: english
r
I
Sooth
China Sea
 INTO TIBET
T H E C I A ' S F I R S TA T O M I C SPY
A N D H I S SECRET EXPEDITION TO L H A S A

THOMAS LAIRD

GROVEP R E S S N E W YORK
 [:ol)yright 0 2002 by T h o m a s Laird

All rights reserved. N o part of this book may bc reprotlucetl in any form o r by any electronic or
mech;~nic;~l
means, including information storilge a n d retrieval systems, without permission in
writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, w h o may quote brief passages in a review. Any
m e ~ n b e r sof educational institutions wishing t o photocopy part or all of the work for classroo~nuse,
or publishers w h o would like to obtain per~nissionto include the work in a n anthology, should sentl
their inquiries to Grove/Atlantic, Inc., 841 Broadway, N e w York, N Y 10003.

Publt~.hed.iimultuneoujly in Cunudu
P~.intedin the United Stutej of A m e 1 . i ~ ~

FIRST L;.I)ITI( IN

Library of Clongress Clataloging-in-Publication Data

I,aird, Thomas.
Into Tibet : T h e CIA'S first atomic spy ant1 his secret expetlition to 1,hasa / b y Thomas Laird.
p. c m .
ISBN 0-8021-1714-7
1. United States-Relations-China-Tibet. 2. Tibet ((lhina)-Kclations-Unitcd
St:~tcs. 3. Espionage, Americi~n-(:him-Tibet. I. Title: America's secret exl>edition to
Lhasa. 11. Title.
E l 83.8.1-55 L35 2002
303.48'273051 5-dc2 1

Grove P r n s
H4 I Brn;~tIw:~y
N c w York, N Y 10003
 TO J A N N F E N N E R

AND M Y PARENTS,

LOIS WILSON AND TOMMY LAIRD

 CONTENTS

Author's Note xi
...
Preface xi11

PART ONE W H Y THEY WENT 1

.Shegar-Hunglung, Tibet, April 29,1950 3

.An Atomic Monopoly, An Atomic Peace, 1945 to 1949 8
.Strategic Services Unit, H Q , Peking, March 5, 1946 10
.U.S. Embassy, Nanking, March 1946 18
.Alphabet Soup, 1946-1947 22
.The American Consulate, Tihwa, March 25, 1946 23
*Murray Hill, 1943-1g50 24
.Kokto@i, ETR, May 15,1946 25
.At the Chingil River Ford, April 10,1947 27
.The White House and the Potala, March 1947 29
*Osman Bator, Douglas Mackiernan, and Uranium,
May and June 1947 30
mPegge Lyons and Douglas Mackiernan, Tihwa, Sinkiang,
July and August 1947 35
.CIA Headquarters, Washington, D.C., July 1947 41
 CONTENTS

.The AEC and AFSWP, July 1947 43

ePegge and Doug, Shanghai and Tihwa, September 1947 44
.The U.S. Army Advisory Group H Q , Nanking, China,
September 25, I 947 46
.Shanghai to Peking, September 25-29, 1947 47
eUSS Preiident Polk, off the China Coast, October 4, 1947 49
eBessac's Cover, Peking, China, October 15, 1947 51
*The Crag Hotel, Penang, Malaysia, October 21, 1947 53
.Frank Bessac and Prince De, Peking, China, October 1947 55
.The Green Lantern, January to August 1948 57
.Douglas Mackiernan and Atomic Explosions,
1948 to March 10, 1949 69
.Department of State, Washington D.C., April 19, 1949 74
.The Raid on the U-2 Mine, Sinkiang and the ETR,
April or May 1949 76
.Hawaii, June I, 1996 78
.The Russian Atomic Test Site, Semipalatinsk, Kazakhstan,
August 29, 1949 81

PART TWO THE JOURNEY TO TIBET 91

.Tibet, Summer of 1949 93

eDingyuanying, Inner Mongolia, August 1949 97
*Hami to Tihwa, Sinkiang, September 9,1949 103
mTihwa-Urumchi, the People's Republic ofChina,
September 26, 1949 107
.Leaving Tihwa, September 27,1949 I 12
.Lake Barkol, with the Kazak Horde of Osman Bator,
October 29, 1949 115
.The White House, October 31,1949 120
*Fairfax, California, November 1949 121
*Around the Taklamakan Desert,
October 30-November 29, 1949 124
.Washington, D.C., November and December 1949 127
.The Fourteenth Dalai Lama, Dharamsala, India,
December I , 1994 131
 CONTENTS

@I>eanAcheson, January I 2, I 950 I 32

@Shanghai,the I'eople's Republic of (Ihina,
January 30, 1950 I 34
@Fairfax,California, January jo and j 1, I 950 135
@Pekingand Washington, I).(:.,January 20, I 950 140
@SenatorMcCarthy's Speech, Wheeling, West Virginia,
February 9, 1950 142
@AchesonMeets Lowell Thomas, February I 7, r cjgo I 44
@Winterat Timurlik, November 29,1949, to March 20, 1950 145
@ ALetter to Tibet, State-CIA Relations, March 30, 1950 153
@McCarthyand Lattimore, Washington, D.C., April 1950 I 56
@Acrossthe Changthang, March and April 1950 158
*Morning, April 29, I 950 r 69
ashegar-Hunglung, Tibet, April 29, I 950 171
*When They Heard Mackiernan Was Dead 177

PART THREE THROUGH TIBET A N D HOME A G A I N 181

*Nomads and Grenades, April 30 and May I , I 950 I 83

*The Arrow Letter, Tibet, May I, 1950 185
@ T h eU.S. Embassy, New Delhi, India, May 2, 1950 187
mShentsa Dzong, Tibet, May 6, I 950 I 88
@ShentsaDzong, Tibet, May I I , 1950 191
@Tripto Lhasa, May and June 1950 193
@Tibet,Taiwan, and China, Spring 1950 197
*Lhasa, Tibet, June I I , 1950 199
@Mr.Latrash's Lhasa "Assets," Calcutta and Lhasa,
Winter and Spring 1949-1950 206
@ T h eFourteenth Dalai Lama, "A U.S. Agent Passing
Through Lhasa," December I , I 994 209
@Fairfax,California, June r I , I 950 21 1
@Meetingthe Dalai Lama, Lhasa, Tibet, June I 950 2 I 2
@Dinnerat Tride Lingka, Lhasa, Tibet, June I 5,1950 215
@ T h eTibetan Foreign Bureau, Lhasa. Tibet, June 16.1950 219
@CarvingCrosses, Lhasa, Tibet, July 30,1950 227
@ T h eFlogging, Lhasa, Tibet, July 1950 229
 CONTENTS

.The Potala, Lhasa, Tibet, July 1950 230

.Last Days in Lhasa, Late July 1950 233
aMackiernan's Death Announced, July 29,1950 238
.Minister Shakabpa Visits the U.S. Consulate, Calcutta, India,
August 4, 1950 241
.The Earthquake, August 15,1950 242
.Latrash and Bessac, Calcutta, India, August 29, 1950 244
.The U.S. Embassy, New Delhi, India,
August 30-September 22, 1950 246
.Calcutta, India, September 15,1950 247
.Mrs. Douglas Mackiernan Goes to Washington,
October 4, 1950 248
mBessac in Washington, D.C., October 1950 249
.The State Department, Washington, D.C.,
October 18, 1950 252
aBethesda, Maryland, and Drukha Monastery,
October 19, 1950 255
.Washington, D.C., October 27and 28, 1950 260
mPegge and John, First Meeting, Washington, D.C.,
November 8, 1950 261
.Lfe Magazine, November 13, 1950 262
.Pegge and John, Washington, D.C., November 24,1950 263
.Tibet, Winter 1950-1951 264
.Winter of the Cold War,Washington, D.C., 1950-1951 270
aTihwa, Xinjiang, the People's Republic of China,
April 29, I 951 273
.Epilogue: Zvansov, Bessac, Mackiernan, and Tibet 274

Notes 289
Bibliography 335
Acknowledgments 345
Index 351
 AUTHOR'S NOTE

DURING S I X YEARS of research, I tracked down thousands of pages

of U.S. government documents, dozens of letters, two diaries, and
the survivors of these events. Several of the government documents
quoted in this story were obtained only through Freedom of Infor-
mation Act requests that took several years to bear fruit. Every as-
sertion of fact in this book is based on these documents, published
sources, or interviews with specialists, eyewitnesses, and the survi\lors
of the journey. When you see a conversation in quotation marks in
this book, they indicate that a person who was at that location at that
time recalls those words being said. O r the quotations were recorded
in writing at the time or shortly afterward. T h e tense of these quota-
tions has sometimes been altered to fit them into the narrative. If
conversations are not in quotes, it indicates that after exhaustive re-
search I believe that this is what was said.
Occasionally, recalling events of fifty years ago, survivors' recol-
lections fail, or are at odds with others' memories; when this is so I
indicate that in the source notes and tell you what happened to the
best of my understanding. Descriptions of places and weather and
clothes are based on testimony from the survivors, published accounts.
and my own experiences in Tibet.
 AUTHOR'S NOTE

I have given myself more leeway with descriptive passages. I have

occasionally conflated events or conversations, which did occur, into
one time and place; these few instances are also noted in the source
notes. A few names have been changed, but only for minor chamc-
ters. For the ease of the average reader I have chosen to use the stan-
dard spellings for place and people names that were current in America
at the time when the events in this book took place. T h u s today's
Xinjiang is Sinkiang, Xian is Sian, Beijing is Peking, and Osman
Batur is Osman Bator.
It is important that the reader understand that when I believe there
is doubt about what happened, or what was said, I alert you to that
doubt-if not in the text, then in the source notes. For fifty years great
pains were taken, and even now continue to be taken, to conceal what
truly happened before, during, and after this expedition.
 PREFACE

INTO TIBET T E L L S the story of a secret American expedition to

Tibet in 1949 and 1950 that has never before been told. Only two of
the five men who set out survived. Theirs was a two-thousand-mile,
one-year trek, and it is one of the most remarkable adventure stories
of the twentieth century. T h e two survivors are the only Americans
alive today who have walked across Tibet. However, their story is
more than just an adventure tale. T h e survivors are the last Ameri-
cans ever to meet the Dalai Lama in independent Tibet. China in-
vaded Tibet six weeks after they left the country. Yet today these men
and their journey are not part of history. T h e primary purpose of this
book is to tell as much about their remarkable iourney as we are al-
lowed to know.
T h e facts remained hidden behind a cover story for fifty years. T h e
moment I stumbled upon the first hints of this adventure in the dusty
files of the National Archives in Washington, D.C., I felt great sym-
pathy with the men who had trekked through the Himalayas half a
century ago. Although I am an American, at forty-eight I have spent
more of iny life in the Himalayas than in the United States. I first
arrived in Nepal in 1972, a nineteen-year-old kid, traveling alone
overland from Europe. I have been based in Nepal since. and have
 PREFACE

made more than fifty treks in the Himalayas. In 1991 I became the
Asiatweek reporter for Nepal.
For much of 1991 and 1992I lived in Mustang, a remote Buddhist
barony within Nepal that juts u p through the Himalayas onto the
Tibetan Plateau. T h e people, their culture, and their language are
essentially Tibetan, though Nepal has ruled the area since about 1770.
T h e feudal serfs of Mustang were liberated from their noble masters
only in 1956. Incredible fourteenth-century Tibetan Buddhist murals
have survived in Mustang, while the Chinese have destroyed 90 percent
of such art in Tibet. Mustang became a time capsule of preinvasion
Tibet-made more alluring by the fact that it was a forbidden land.
T h e Nepalese government forbade foreigners to visit Mustang during
the thirty years before my one-year permit was issued. Nepal and China
had not forgotten the covert Central Intelligence Agency support for
a Tibetan guerrilla movement based in Mustang after the Chinese
invasion of Tibet in 1950. When the United States halted support
to the Tibetans in the rg70s, China and Nepal agreed to disarm the
guerrillas. Nepalese sensitivities to this Cold W a r history-and,
some said, Chinese pressure-kept Mustang closed to all non-Nepalese
during the 1970s and 1980s even as tourism became Nepal's major
industry. Mustang became the most coveted travel destination in Nepal.
In 1990 Nepal erupted into revolution. My photography of violent
clashes in front of the Royal Palace in Kathmandu was published in
many international news magazines. T h e new government that came
to power felt I had risked my life getting pictures out to the world.
T h e new prime minister asked me if there was something I wanted
in Nepal, after having lived there for twenty years. I said 1 wanted to
go to Mustang. So in 1991 the government issued me the first (and
only) one-year travel permit for Mustang. I spent most of my time
there shooting 50,000 photographs, working on a book that Peter
Matthiessen and I eventually published, titled East of Lo Monthang:
In the Land of Mustang.
At the end of my year in Mustang 1 was eager to fly to the National
Archives in Washington, D.C. A number of searing experiences drove
me there.
Weapons air-dropped into Mustang by the C I A have never been
properly removed from the area. While I was there two teenagers
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Now out reefs! brace the yards! lively there!
O, no more to homeward breeze shall her swelling bosom spread,
But love’s expectant eye bid despair
Set her raven watch eternal o’er the wreck in ocean’s bed.
Board your tacks! cheerly, boys! But for them,
Their last evening gun is fired, their gales are overblown;
O’er their smoking deck no starry flag shall stream;
They’ll sail no more, they’ll fight no more, for their gallant
ship’s gone down.
Bear a hand!
 AN the life-boat! Man the life-boat!
Help, or yon ship is lost!
Man the life-boat! Man the life-boat!
See how she’s tempest-tossed.
No human power in such an hour
The gallant bark can save;
Her mainmast gone, and running on,
She seeks her watery grave.
Man the life-boat! Man the life-boat!
See, the dreaded signal flies!
Ha! she’s struck, and from the wreck
Despairing shouts arise.

O, speed the life-boat! Speed the life-boat!

O God, their efforts crown!
She dashes on; the ship is gone,
Full forty fathoms down.
And see, the crew are struggling now
Amidst the tempest roar.
They’re in the boat, they’re all afloat,—
Hurrah! they’ve gained the shore.
Bless the life-boat! Bless the life-boat!
O God, thou’lt hear our prayer!
Bless the life-boat! Bless the life-boat!
No longer we’ll despair.
 Y good blade carves the casques of men,
My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure.
The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,
The hard brands shiver on the steel,
The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly,
The horse and rider reel:
They reel, they roll in clanging lists,
And when the tide of combat stands,
Perfume and flowers fall in showers,
That lightly rain from ladies’ hands.

How sweet are looks that ladies bend

On whom their favors fall!
For them I battle till the end,
To save from shame and thrall:
But all my heart is drawn above,
My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine:
I never felt the kiss of love,
Nor maiden’s hand in mine.
More bounteous aspects on me beam,
Me mightier transports move and thrill;
So keep I fair through faith and prayer
A virgin heart in work and will.

When down the stormy crescent goes,

A light before me swims,
Between dark stems the forest glows,
I hear a noise of hymns:
Then by some secret shrine I ride;
I hear a voice, but none are there;
The stalls are void, the doors are wide,
The tapers burning fair.
Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,
The silver vessels sparkle clean,
The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,
And solemn chants resound between.

Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres

I find a magic bark;
I leap on board: no helmsman steers:
I float till all is dark.
A gentle sound, an awful light!
Three angels bear the holy Grail:
With folded feet, in stoles of white,
On sleeping wings they sail.
Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!
My spirit beats her mortal bars,
As down dark tides the glory slides,
And star-like mingles with the stars.

When on my goodly charger borne

Through dreaming towns I go,
The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,
The streets are dumb with snow.
The tempest crackles on the leads,
And, ringing, springs from brand and mail;
But o’er the dark a glory spreads,
And gilds the driving hail.
I leave the plain, I climb the height;
No branchy thicket shelter yields;
But blessed forms in whistling storms
Fly o’er waste fens and windy fields.
A maiden knight, to me is given
Such hope, I know not fear;
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven
That often meet me here.
I muse on joy that will not cease,
Pure spaces clothed in living beams,
Pure lilies of eternal peace,
Whose odors haunt my dreams;
And, stricken by an angel’s hand,
This mortal armor that I wear,
This weight and size, this heart and eyes,
Are touched, are turned to finest air.

The clouds are broken in the sky,

And through the mountain-walls
A rolling organ-harmony
Swells up, and shakes and falls.
Then move the trees, the copses nod,
Wings flutter, voices hover clear:
“O just and faithful knight of God,
Ride on! the prize is near.”
So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;
By bridge and ford, by park and pale,
All armed I ride, whate’er betide,
Until I find the holy Grail.
 ANUTE was by his nobles taught to fancy
That, by a kind of royal necromancy,
He had the power old Ocean to control.
Down rushed the royal Dane upon the strand,
And issued, like a Solomon, command,—poor soul!

“Go back, ye waves, you blustering rogues,” quoth he;

“Touch not your lord and master, Sea;
For by my power almighty, if you do—”
Then, staring vengeance, out he held a stick,
Vowing to drive old Ocean to Old Nick,
Should he even wet the latchet of his shoe.

The sea retired,—the monarch fierce rushed on,

And looked as if he’d drive him from the land;
But Sea, not caring to be put upon,
Made for a moment a bold stand.

Not only made a stand did Mr. Ocean,

But to his waves he made a motion,
And bid them give the king a hearty trimming.
The order seemed a deal the waves to tickle,
For soon they put his Majesty in pickle,
And set his royalties, like geese, a swimming.
All hands aloft, with one tremendous roar,
Sound did they make him wish himself on shore;
His head and ears they most handsomely doused,—
Just like a porpoise, with one general shout,
The waves so tumbled the poor king about.
No anabaptist e’er was half so soused.

At length to land he crawled, a half-drowned thing,

Indeed, more like a crab than like a king,
And found his courtiers making rueful faces;
But what said Canute to the lords and gentry,
Who hailed him from the water, on his entry,
All trembling for their lives or places?

“My lords and gentlemen, by your advice,

I’ve had with Mr. Sea a pretty bustle;
My treatment from my foe, not overnice,
Just made a jest for every shrimp and mussel.

“A pretty trick for one of my dominion!

My lords, I thank you for your great opinion.
You’ll tell me, p’r’aps, I’ve only lost one game
And bid me try another,—for the rubber.
Permit me to inform you all, with shame,
That you’re a set of knaves and I’m a lubber.”
 LINK—clink—clink! goes our windlass.
“Ahoy!” “Haul in!” “Let go!”
Yards braced and sails set,
Flags uncurl and flow.
Some eyes that watch from shore are wet,
(How bright their welcome shone!)
While, bending softly to the breeze,
And rushing through the parted seas,
Our gallant ship glides on.
Though one has left a sweetheart,
And one has left a wife,
’Twill never do to mope and fret,
Or curse a sailor’s life.
See, far away they signal yet,—
They dwindle—fade—they’re gone:
For, dashing outwards, bold and brave,
And springing light from wave to wave,
Our merry ship flies on.
Gay spreads the sparkling ocean;
But many a gloomy night
And stormy morrow must be met
Ere next we heave in sight.
The parting look we’ll ne’er forget,
The kiss, the benison,
As round the rolling world we go.
God bless you all! Blow, breezes blow!
Sail on, good ship, sail on!
 t was St. Mary’s eve; and all poured forth,
As to some grand solemnity. The fisher
Came from his islet, bringing o’er the waves
His wife and little one; the husbandman
From the Firm Land, along the Po, the Brenta,
Crowding the common ferry. All arrived;
And in his straw the prisoner turned and listened,
So great the stir in Venice. Old and young
Thronged her three hundred bridges; the grave Turk,
Turbaned, long-vested, and the cozening Jew,
In yellow hat and threadbare gabardine,
Hurrying along. For, as the custom was,
The noblest sons and daughters of the state,
They of patrician birth, the flower of Venice,
Whose names are written in the “Book of Gold,”
Were on that day to solemnize their nuptials.
At noon, a distant murmur through the crowd,
Rising and rolling on, announced their coming;
And never from the first was to be seen
Such splendor or such beauty. Two and two
(The richest tapestry unrolled before them),
First came the brides in all their loveliness;
Each in her veil, and by two bridemaids followed.
Only less lovely, who behind her bore
The precious caskets that within contained
The dowry and the presents. On she moved,
Her eyes cast down, and holding in her hand
A fan, that gently waved, of ostrich feathers.
Her veil, transparent as the gossamer,
Fell from beneath a starry diadem;
And on her dazzling neck a jewel shone,
Ruby or diamond or dark amethyst;
A jewelled chain, in many a winding wreath,
Wreathing her gold brocade.
Wreathing her gold brocade.
 Before the church,
That venerable pile on the sea-brink,
Another train they met,—no strangers to them,—
Brothers to some, and to the rest still dearer,
Each in his hand bearing his cap and plume,
And, as he walked, with modest dignity
Folding his scarlet mantle, his tabarro.
They join, they enter in, and up the aisle
Led by the full-voiced choir, in bright procession,
Range round the altar. In his vestments there
The patriarch stands; and while the anthem flows,
Who can look on unmoved? Mothers in secret
Rejoicing in the beauty of their daughters;
Sons in the thought of making them their own;
And they, arrayed in youth and innocence,
Their beauty heightened by their hopes and fears.
At length the rite is ending. All fall down
In earnest prayer, all of all ranks together;
And stretching out his hands, the holy man
Proceeds to give the general benediction,
When hark! a din of voices from without,
And shrieks and groans and outcries, as in battle;
And lo! the door is burst, the curtain rent,
And armed ruffians, robbers from the deep,
Savage, uncouth, led on by Barbarigo
And his six brothers in their coats of steel,
Are standing on the threshold! Statue-like,
Awhile they gaze on the fallen multitude,
Each with his sabre up, in act to strike;
Then, as at once recovering from the spell,
Rush forward to the altar, and as soon
Are gone again, amid no clash of arms,
Bearing away the maidens and the treasures.
Where are they now? Ploughing the distant waves,
Their sails all set, and they upon the deck
Standing triumphant. To the east they go,
Steering for Istria, their accursed barks
(Well are they known, the galliot and the galley)
Freighted with all that gives to life its value
The richest argosies were poor to them!
Now might you see the matrons running wild
Along the beach; the men half armed and arming;
One with a shield, one with a casque and spear;
One with an axe, hewing the mooring-chain
Of some old pinnace. Not a raft, a plank,
But on that day was drifting. In an hour
Half Venice was afloat. But long before,—
Frantic with grief, and scorning all control,—
The youths were gone in a light brigantine,
Lying at anchor near the arsenal;
Each having sworn, and by the holy rood,
To slay or to be slain.
And from the tower
The watchman gives the signal. In the east
A ship is seen, and making for the port;
Her flag St. Mark’s. And now she turns the point,
Over the waters like a sea-bird flying.
Ha! ’tis the same, ’tis theirs! From stern to prow
Hung with green boughs, she comes, she comes, restoring
All that was lost!
Coasting, with narrow search.
Friuli, like a tiger in his spring,
They had surprised the corsairs where they lay,
Sharing the spoil in blind security,
And casting lots; had slain them one and all,—
All to the last,—and flung them far and wide
Into the sea, their proper element.
Him first, as first in rank, whose name so long
Had hushed the babes of Venice, and who yet
Breathing a little, in his look retained
The fierceness of his soul.
 Thus were the brides
Lost and recovered. And what now remained
But to give thanks? Twelve breastplates and twelve crowns,
Flaming with gems and gold, the votive offerings
Of the young victors to their patron saint,
Vowed on the field of battle, were erelong
Laid at his feet; and to preserve forever
The memory of a day so full of change,
From joy to grief, from grief to joy again,
Through many an age, as oft as it came round,
’Twas held religiously with all observance.
The Doge resigned his crimson for pure ermine;
And through the city in a stately barge
Of gold were borne, with songs and symphonies,
Twelve ladies young and noble. Clad they were
In bridal white with bridal ornaments,
Each in her glittering veil; and on the deck
As on a burnished throne, they glided by.
No window or balcony but adorned
With hangings of rich texture; not a roof
But covered with beholders, and the air
Vocal with joy. Onward they went, their oars
Moving in concert with the harmony,
Through the Rialto to the ducal palace;
And at a banquet there, served with due honor,
Sat, representing in the eyes of all—
Eyes not unwet, I ween, with grateful tears—
Their lovely ancestors, the “Brides of Venice.”
 HE breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark

The hills and water o’er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear;
They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard, and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free!
The ocean eagle soared
From his nest by the white wave’s foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roared,—
This was their welcome home.

There were men with hoary hair

Amidst that pilgrim band:
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood’s land?

There was woman’s fearless eye,

Lit by her deep love’s truth;
There was manhood’s brow, serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?

Bright jewels of the mine,
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
They sought a faith’s pure shrine!

Aye, call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod;
They have left unstained what there they found,—
Freedom to worship God.
 LAS! The days of chivalry are fled,
The brilliant tournament exists no more;
Our loves are cold, and dull as ice or lead,
And courting is a most enormous bore.

In those good “olden times,” a “ladye bright”

Might sit within her turret or her bower,
While lovers sang and played without all night,
And deemed themselves rewarded by a flower.

Yet if one favored swain would persevere,

In despite of her haughty scorn and laugh,
Perchance she threw him, with the closing year,
An old odd glove, or else a worn-out scarf.

Off then, away he’d ride o’er sea and land,

And dragons fell and mighty giants smite
With the tough spear he carried in his hand;
And all to prove himself her own true knight.
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