NATIOWAULYRICS fe'i;ii*iij.tl 9MHMMDBB FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library http://archive.org/details/nationallyricsOOwhit NATIONAL L^K!ei3 v: 933 liY /v r 'f JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. .With Illustrations by George G. White, H. Fenn, and Charles A. Barry. BOSTON: TICK NOR AND FIELDS. 1866. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by TICKXOR AND FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co. Cambridge. CONTENTS. ♦ Page Stanzas . ' 7 Clerical Oppressors u The Christian Slave I] Stanzas for the Times 15 The Farewell . . , 18 Lines on reading the Message of Governor Ritner . . 21 Massachusetts to Virginia 23 The Branded Hand 27 rsxAs . 29 To Faneitl Hall 33 The Pine-Tree 34 Lines scggssted rt a Visit to Washington .... 36 Yorktown 40 The "Watchers . 4? Lines written on the Adoption of Pincknet's Resolutions, etc. 46 The Crisis 48 Randolph of Roanoke 51 The Angels of Bcena Vista 55 Democracy 58 Thy "Will be done 61 "Ein feste Bcrg ist Unser Gott" 61 astr.ea at the capitol 6$ The Pass of the Sierra 67 The Battle Autumn of 1862 69 MlTHRIDATES AT CUI03 71 The Proclamation 72 At Port Royal "4 Ichabod 78 Ocr State 79 iv CONTENTS. Stanzas for the Times — 1850 80 A Sabbath Scene 82 Rantocl 86 Brown of Ossawatomie 89 The Rendition 90 Lines on the Passage of the Personal Liberty Bill . . 91 The Poor Voter on Election Day ..*... 93 The Eye of Election 94 Le Marais du Cygne 97 Barbara Frietchie 100 Laus Deo 103 NOT unto us who did but seek The word that burned within to speak, Not unto us this day belong The triumph and exultant song. Upon us fell in early youth The burden of unwelcome truth, And left us, weak and frail and few, The censor's painful work to do. Thenceforth our life a fight became, The air we breathed was hot with blame ; For not witli gauged and softened tone We made the bondman's cause our own. We bore, as Freedom's hope forlorn, The private hate, the public scorn ; Yet held through all the paths we trod Our faith in man and trust in God. We prayed and hoped; but still, with awe. The coming of the sword we saw ; "We heard the aearing .take, Thrilling up from each valley, tiung down from each height, " Our Country and Liberty ! — God for the Riom I " MASSACHUSETTS TO VIRGINIA. THE blast from Freedom's Northern hills, upon its Southern way, Bears greeting- to Virginia from Massachusetts Bay : — No word of haughty challenging, nor battle bugle's | Nor steady tread of marching tiles, nor clang of horsemen's steel. No trains of deep-mouthed cannon along our highways go — Around our silent arsenal> untrodden lies the snow; And to the land-breeze of our ports, upon their errands for, A thousand sails of commerce swell, but none are spread for war. We hear thy threat. Virginia ! thy stormy words and high, Swell harshly on the Southern -winds which melt along our sky ; Yet, not one brown, hard hand foregoes its honest labor here — No hewer of our mountain oaks suspends his axe in fear. Wild are the waves which lash the reefs along St. George's bank — Cold on the shore of Labrador the fog lies white and dank ; Through storm and wave, and blinding mist, stout are the hearts which man The n^hiiiLi-^niacks of Marblehead, the sea-boats of Cape Ann. The cold north light and wintry sun glare on their icy forms, Bent grimly o'er their straining lines or wrestling with the storms ; as the winds they drive before, rough as the waves they roam, They laugh to BOOrn the darer'fl threat against their rocky home. TA- XATIONAL LYRICS What means the Old Dominion ? Hath she forgot the day When o'er her conquered valleys swept the Briton's steel array ! How side by side, with sons of hers, the Massachusetts men Encountered Tarleton's charge of fire, and stout Cornwallis, then ? Forgets she how the Bay State, in answer to the call Of her old House of Burgesses, spoke out from Faneuil Hall ? When, echoing back her Henry's cry, came pulsing on each breath Of Northern winds, the thrilling sounds of "Liberty or Death ! " What asks the Old Dominion ! If now her sons have proved False to their fathers' memory — false to the faith they loved, If she can scoff at Freedom, and its great charter spurn, Must we of Massachusetts from truth and duty turn ? We hunt your bondmen, flying from Slavery's hateful hell — Our voices, at your bidding, take up the bloodhound's yell — We gather, at your summons, above our fathers' graves, From Freedom's holy altar-horns to tear your wretched slaves ! Thank God ! not yet so vilely can Massachusetts bow ; The spirit of her early time is with her even now ; Dream not because her Pilgrim blood moves slow, and calm, and cool, She thus can stoop her chainless neck, a sister's slave and tool ! All that a sister State should do, all that a free State may, Heart, hand, and purse we proffer, as in our early day; But that one dark loathsome burden ye must stagger with alone, And reap the bitter harvest which ye yourselves have sown ! Hold, while ye may, your struggling slaves, and burden God's free air With woman's shriek beneath the lash, and manhood's wild de- spair ; Cling closer to the " cleaving curse " that writes upon your plains The blasting of Almighty wrath against a land of chains. MASSACHUSETTS TO VIRGINIA. 25 Still shame your gallant ancestry, the cavaliers of old, By watching round the shambles where human flesh is sold — Gloat o'er the new-born child, and count his market value, when The maddened mother's cry of woe shall pierce the slaver's den ! Lower than plummet soundeth, sink the Virginian name ; Plant, if ye will, your fathers' graves with rankest weeds of shame ; Be, if ye will, the scandal of God's fair universe — We wash our hands forever, of your sin, and shame, and curse. A voice from lips whereon the coal from Freedom's shrine hath been, Thrilled, as but yesterday, the hearts of Berkshire's mountain men : The echoes of that solemn voice are sadly lingering still In all our sunny valleys, on every wind-swept hill. And when the prowling man-thief came hunting for his prey Beneath the very Bhadow of Bunker's shaft of gray, How, through the free lips of the son, the father's warning spoke ; How, from its bonds of trade and sect, the Pilgrim city broke ! A hundred thousand right arms were lifted up on high, — A hundred thousand voices sent back their loud reply ; Through the thronged towns of Essex the startling summons rang, And up from bench and loom and wheel her young mechanics sprang ! The voice of free, broad Middlesex — of thousands as of one — The shaft of Bunker calling to that of Lexington — From Norfolk's ancient villages ; from Plymouth's rocky bound To where Nantucket feels the arms of ocean close her round ; — i rich and rural Worcester, where through the calm repose Of cultured vales and fringing woods the gentle Nashua flows, To where Wachuset'fl wintry blasts the mountain larches stir, Swelled up to Heaven the thrilling cry of " God save Latimer ! " 3 26 NATIONAL LYRICS. And sandy Barnstable rose up, wet with the salt sea spray — And Bristol sent her answering shout down Narragansett Bay ! Along the broad Connecticut old Hampden felt the thrill, And the cheer of Hampshire's woodmen swept down from Holyoke Hill. The voice of Massachusetts ! Of her free sons and daughters — Deep calling unto deep aloud — the sound of many waters ! Against the burden of that voice what tyrant power shall stand ? No fetters in the Bay State! No slave upon her land! Look to it well, Virginians ! In calmness we have borne, In answer to our faith and trust, your insult and your scorn ; You Ve spurned our kindest counsels — you 've hunted for our lives — And shaken round our hearths and homes your manacles and gyves! We wage no war — we lift no arm — we fling no torch within The fire-damps of the quaking mine beneath your soil of sin ; We leave ye with your bondmen, to wrestle, while yc can, With the strong upward tendencies and God-like soul of man ! But for us and for our children, the vow which we have given For freedom and humanity, is registered in Heaven ; No slave-hunt in our borders — no pirate on our strand ! No fetters in the Bay State — no slave upon our land! THE BRANDED HAND. 27 THE BRANDED HAND. 1846. WELCOME home again, brave seaman ! with thy thoughtful brow and gray, And the old heroic spirit of our earlier, better day, — With that front of calm endurance, on whose steady nerve, in vain Pressed the iron of the prison, smote the fiery shafts of pain ! Is the tyrant's brand upon thee? Did the brutal cravens aim To make God's truth thy falsehood, his holiest work thy shame ? When, all blood-quenched, from the torture the iron was withdrawn, How laughed their evil angel the baffled fools to scorn ! They change to wrong, the duty which God hath written out On the great heart of humanity too legible for doubt ! They, the loathsome moral lepers, blotched from footsole up to crown, Give to shame what God hath given unto honor and renown ! Why. that brand is highest honor ! — than its traces never yet Upon old armorial hatchments was a prouder blazon set ; And thy unborn generations, as they tread our rocky strand, Shall tell with pride the story of their father's branded hand ! As the Templar home was welcome, bearing back from Syrian wars The scars of Arab lances, and of Paynim seimetars, The pallor of the prison and the shackle's crimson span, meet thee, so we greet thee, truest friend of God and man ! ;flred for the ransom of the dear Redeemer's grave, Thou for his living presence in the bound and bleeding slave ; He for a soil no longer by the feet of angels tm Thou for the true Sbechinah, the present home of God ! 28 NATIONAL LYRICS. For, while the jurist sitting with the slave-whip o'er him swung, From the tortured truths of freedom the lie of slavery wrung, And the solemn priest to Moloch, on each God-deserted shrine, Broke the bondman's heart for bread, poured the bondman's blood for wine, — While the multitude in blindness to a far-off Saviour knelt, And spurned, the while, the temple where a present Saviour dwelt ; Thou beheld'st Him in the task-field, in the prison-shadows dim, And thy mercy to the bondman, it was mercy unto Him ! In thy lone and long night-watches, sky above and wave below, Thou did'st learn a higher wisdom than the babbling schoolmen know ; God's stars and silence taught thee, as his angels only can, That the one, sole sacred thing beneath the cope of heaven, is Man ! That he who treads profanely on the scrolls of law and creed, In the depth of God's great goodness may find mercy in his need ; But woe to him who crushes the soul with chain and rod, And herds with lower natures the awful form of God ! Then lift that manly right hand, bold ploughman of the wave ! Its branded palm shall prophesy, " Salvation to the Slave ! " Hold up its fire-wrought language, that whoso reads may feel His heart swell strong within him, his sinews change to steel. Hold it up before our sunshine, up against our Northern air, — Ho ! men of Massachusetts, for the love of God look there ! Take it henceforth for your standard, — like the Bruce's heart of yore, In the dark strife closing round ye, let that hand be seen before ! And the tyrants of the slave-land shall tremble at that sign, When it points its finger Southward along the Puritan line : Woe to the State-gorged leeches, and the Church's locust band, When they look from slavery's ramparts on the coming of that hand ! TEXAS. 2 9 TEXAS. VOICE OF NEW ENGLAND. UP the hill-side, down the glen, Rouse the sleeping citizen ; Summon out the might of men ! 3 o NATIONAL LYRICS. Like a lion growling low — Like a night-storm rising slow — Like the tread of unseen foe — It is coming — it is nigh ! Stand your homes and altars by ; On your own free thresholds die. Clang the bells in all your spires ; On the gray hills of your sires Fling to heaven your signal-fires. From Wachuset, lone and bleak, Unto Berkshire's tallest peak, Let the flame-tongued heralds speak. O, for God and duty stand, Heart to heart and hand to hand, Round the old graves of the land. Whoso shrinks or falters now, Whoso to the yoke would bow, Brand the craven on his brow ! Freedom's soil hath only place For a free and fearless race — None for traitors false and base. Perish party — perish clan ; Strike together while ye can, Like the arm of one strong man. Like that angel's voice sublime, Heard above a world of crime. Crying of the end of time — "With one heart and with one mouth, Let the North unto the South Speak the word befitting both : TEXAS. 31 " What though Issachar be strong ! Ye may load his back with wrong Overmuch and over long : Patience with her cup o'errun, With her weary thread outspun, Murmurs that her work is done. Make our Union-bond a chain, Weak as tow in Freedom's strain Link by link shall snap in twain. Vainly shall your sand-wrought rope Bind the starry cluster up, Shattered over heaven's blue cope ! Give us bright though broken rays, Rather than eternal haze, Clouding o'er the full-orbed blaze. ■- • Take your land of sun and bloom ; Only leave to Freedom room For her plough, and forge, and loom ; Take your slavery-blackened vales ; Leave us but our own free gales, Blowing on our thousand sails. Boldly, or with treacherous art, Strike the blood-wrought chain apart ; Break the Union's mighty heart ; Work the ruin, if ye will ; Pluck upon your heads an ill Which shall grow and deepen still. With your bondman's right arm bare, With his heart of black despair, Stand alone, if stand ye dare ! 32 NATIONAL LYRICS. Onward with your fell design ; Dig the gulf and draw the line : Fire beneath your feet the mine : Deeply, when the wide abyss Yawns between your land and this, Shall ye feel your helplessness. By the hearth, and in the bed, Shaken by a look or tread, Ye shall own a guilty dread. And the curse of unpaid toil, Downward through your generous soil Like a fire shall burn and spoil. Our bleak hills shall bud and blow, Vines our rocks shall overgrow, Plenty in our valleys flow ; — And when vengeance clouds your skies, Hither shall ye turn your eyes, As the lost on Paradise ! We but ask our rocky strand, Freedom's true and brother band, Freedom's strong and honest hand, — Valleys by the slave untrod, And the Pilgrim's mountain sod, Blessed of our fathers' God ! " TO FANEUIL HALL. 33 TO FANEUIL HALL. 1844. MEN ! — if manhood still yc claim, If the Northern pulse can thrill, Roused by wrong or stung by shame, Freely, strongly still : — Let the sounds of traffic die : Shut the mill-gate — leave the stall — Fling the axe and hammer by — Throng to Faneuil Hall ! Wrongs which freemen never brooked — Dangers grim and fierce as they, Which, like couching lions, looked On your father's way ; — These your instant zeal demand, Shaking with their earthquake-call Every rood of Pilgrim land — Ho, to Faneuil Hall ! From your capes and sandy bars — From your mountain-ridges cold, Through whose pines the westering stars Stoop their crowns of gold — Come, and with your footsteps wake Echoes from that holy wall : Once again, for Freedom's sake, Rock your fathers' hall ! Up, and tread beneath your feet Every cord by parry spun ; Let your hearts together beat Afl the heart of one. 34 NATIONAL LYRICS. Banks and tariffs, stocks and trade, Let them rise or let them fall : Freedom asks your common aid — Up, to Faneuil Hall ! Up, and let each voice that speaks Ring from thence to Southern plains, Sharply as the blow which breaks Prison-bolts and chains ! Speak as well becomes the free — Dreaded more than steel or ball, Shall your calmest utterance be, Heard from Faneuil Hall ! Have they wronged us 1 Let us then Render back nor threats nor prayers ; Have they chained our free-born men ? Let us unchain theirs ! Up ! your banner leads the van, Blazoned " Liberty for all ! " Finish what your sires began — Up, to Faneuil Hall ! THE PINE-TREE. 1846. LIFT again the stately emblem on the Bay State's rusted shield, Give to Northern winds the Pine-Tree on our banner's tattered field, Sons of men who sat in council with their Bibles round the board, Answering England's royal missive with a firm, " Thus saith the Lord ! " Rise again for home and freedom ! — set the battle in array ! — What the fathers did of old time we their sons must do to-day. THE PINE-TREE. 35 Tell us not of banks and tariffs — cease your paltry peddler cries — Shall the good State sink her honor that your gambling stocks may rise ? Would ye 1 tarter man for cotton ? — That your gains may sum up higher, Must we ki>s the feet of Moloch, pass our children through the tire ? I> the dollar only real ? — God and truth and right a dream 1 Weighed against your lying ledgers must our manhood kick the beam ? < J my God ! — for that free spirit, which of old in Boston town Smote the Province House with terror, struck the crest of Andros down ! — For another strong-voiced Adams in the city's streets to cry : " Up for God and Massachusetts ! — Set your feet on Mammon's lie! Perish banks and perish traffic — spin your cotton's latest pound — But in Heaven's name keep your honor — keep the heart o' the Bay State sound ! " Where 's the max for Massachusetts ? — Where 's the voice to speak her free ? — Where 's the hand to light up bonfires from her mountains to the sea ! B ats her Pilgrim pulse no longer ! — Sits she dumb in her de- spair ? — Has she none to break the silence ? — Has she none to do and dare ? i > my God ! for one right worthy to lift up her rusted shield, And to plant again the Pine-Tree in her banner's tattered field ! 36 NATIONAL LYRICS. LINES, SUGGESTED BY A VISIT TO THE CITY OF WASHINGTON IN THE 12th month of 1845. WITH a cold and wintry noon-light, On its roofs and steeples shed, Shadows weaving with the sunlight From the gray sky overhead, Broadly, vaguely, all around me, lies the half-built town outspread. Through this broad street, restless ever, Ebbs and flows a human tide, Wave on wave a living river ; Wealth and fashion side by side ; Toiler, idler, slave and master, in the same quick current glide. Underneath yon dome, whose coping Springs above them, vast and tall, Grave men in the dust are groping For the largess, base and small, Which the hand of Power is scattering, crumbs which from its table fall. Base of heart ! They vilely barter Honor's wealth for party's place : Step by step on Freedom's charter Leaving footprints of disgrace ; For to-day's poor pittance turning from the great hope of their race. Yet, where festal lamps are throwing Glory round the dancer's hair, Gold-tressed, like an angel's flowing Backward on the sunset air; And the low quick pulse of music beats its measures sweet and rare : LINES. 37 There to-night shall woman's glances. Star-like, welcome give to them, Fawning fouls with >hy advai Seek to touch their garments' hem, With the tongue of flattery glozing deeds which God and Truth condemn. From this glittering lie my vision Takes a broader, sadder range, Full before me have arisen Other pictures dark and strange; From the parlor to the prison must the scene aud witness change. Hark ! the heavy gate is swinging On its hinges, harsh and slow ; One pale prison lamp is flinging On a fearful group below Such a light as leaves to terror whatsoe'er it does not show. Pitying God ! — Is that a WOMAN ( )n whose wrist the shackles clash ? Is that shriek she utters human, Underneath the stinging lash ? Are they men whose eves of madness from that sad procession flash? Still the dance goes gayly onward ! What is it to Wealth and Pride ? That without the stars are looking On a scene which earth should hide ? That the BLAVB-ship lies in waiting, rocking on Potomac's tide! Vainly to that mean Ambition Which, upon a rival's fall, Wind- above its old condition, Witli a reptile's Blimy crawl, Shall the pleading voice of sorrow, shall the slave in anguish call ! 38 NATIONAL LYRICS, Vainly to the child of Fashion, Giving to ideal woe Graceful luxury of compassion, Shall the stricken mourner go ; Hateful seems the earnest sorrow, beautiful the hollow show ! Nay, my words are all too sweeping ; In this crowded human mart, Feeling is not dead, but sleeping ; Man's strong will and woman's heart, In the coming strife for Freedom, yet shall bear their generous part. And from yonder sunny valleys, Southward in the distance lost, Freedom yet shall summon allies Worthier than the North can boast, "With the Evil by their hearth-stones grappling at severer cost. Now, the soul alone is willing . Faint the heart and weak the knee ; And as yet no lip is thrilling With the mighty words " Be Free ! " Tarrieth long the land's Good Angel, but his advent is to be ! Meanwhile, turning from the reve 1 To the prison-cell my sight, For intenser hate of evil, For a keener sense of right, Shaking off thy dust, I thank thee, City of the Slaves, to-night ! " To thy duty now and ever ! Dream no more of rest or stay ; Give to Freedom's great endeavor All thou art and hast to-day " : — Thus, above the city's murmur, saith a Voice, or seems to say. Ye with heart and vision gifted To discern and love the right, LIXES. 39 Whose worn faces have been lifted To the slowly-growing light, Where from Freedom's sunrise drifted slowly back the murk of night ! — '©* Ye who through long years of trial Still have held your purpose fast, While a lengthening shade the dial From the westering sunshine cast, And of hope each hour's denial seemed an echo of the last ! — my brothers ! O my sisters ! Would to God that ye were near, Gazing with me down the vistas Of a sorrow strange and drear ; W^ould to God that ye were listeners to the Voice I seem to hear ! With the storm above us driving, With the false earth mined below — Who shall marvel if thus striving We have counted friend as foe ; Unto one another giving in the darkness blow for blow. Well it may be that our natures Have grown sterner and more hard, And the freshness of their features Somewhat harsh and battle-scarred, And their harmonies of feeling overtasked and rudely jarred. Be it so. It should not swerve us From a purpose true and brave ; Dearer Freedom's rugged service Than the pastime of the slave ; r is the storm above it than the quiet of the grave. Let us then, uniting, burs- All our idle feuds in du£ And to future conflicts carry Mutual faith and common ton Always he who most forgiveth in his brother is most just- 4 o NATIONAL LYRICS, From the eternal shadow rounding All our sun and starlight here, Voices of our lost ones sounding Bid us be of heart and cheer, Through the silence, down the spaces, falling on the inward ear. Know we not our dead are looking Downward with a sad surprise, All our strife of words rebuking With their mild and loving eyes ? Shall we grieve the holy angels ? Shall we cloud their blessed skies ? Let us draw their mantles o'er us Which have fallen in our way ; Let us do the work before us, Cheerly, bravely, while we may, Ere the long night-silence cometh, and with us it is not day ! YORKTOWN. FROM Yorktown's ruins, ranked and still, Two lines stretch far o'er vale and hill : Who curbs his steed at head of one ? Hark ! the low murmur : Washington ! Who bends his keen, approving glance Where down the gorgeous line of France Shine knightly star and plume of snow ? Thou too art victor, Rochambeau ! The earth which bears this calm array Shook with the war-charge yesterday, Ploughed deep with hurrying hoof and wheel, Shot-sown and bladed thick with steel ; YORK TO WX. 41 October's clear and noonday sun Paled in the breath-smoke of the gun, And down night's double blackness fell, Like a dropped star, the blazing shell. Now all is hushed : the gleaming lines Stand moveless as the neighboring pines ; While through them, sullen, grim, and slow, The conquered hosts of England go : O Tiara's brow belies his dress, Gay Tarleton's troop rides bannerless : Shout, from thy fired and wasted homes, Thy scourge, Virginia, captive comes ! Nor thou alone : with one glad voice Let all thy sister States rejoice ; Let Freedom, in whatever clime She waits with sleepless eye her time, Shouting from cave and mountain wood, Make glad her desert solitude, While they who hunt her quail with fear : The New World's chain lies broken here ! But who are they, who, cowering, wait Within the shattered fortress gate ? Dark tillers of Virginia's soil, Classed with the battle's common spoil, With household stuffs, ^id fowl, and swine, With Indian weed and planters' wine, With stolen beeves, and foraged corn, — Are they not men, Virginian born 1 O, veil your faces, young and brave ! Sleep, Scammel, in thy soldier grave ! Sons of the Northland, ye who set Stout hearts against the bayonet, And with steady footfall near The moated battery's blazing tier, Turn your scarred faces from the sight, Let shame do homage to the right ! 4 42 NAT I OX AL LYRICS. Lo ! threescore years have passed ; and where The Gallic timbrel stirred the air, With Northern drum-roll, and the clear, Wild horn-blow of the mountaineer, While Britain grounded on that plain The arms she might not lift again, As abject as in that old day The slave still toils his life away. O, fields still green and fresh in story, Old days of pride, old names of glory, Old marvels of the tongue and pen, Old thoughts which stirred the hearts of men, Ye spared the wrong ; and over all Behold the avenging shadow fall ! Your world-wide honor stained with shame, — Your freedom's self a hollow name ! Where 's now the flag of that old war ? Where flows its stripe ? Where burns its star ? Bear witness, Palo Alto's day, Dark Vale of Palms, red Monterey, Where Mexic Freedom, young and weak, Fleshes the Northern eagle's beak : Symbol of terror and despair, Of chains and slaves, go seek it there ! Laugh, Prussia, midst thy iron ranks ! Laugh, Russia, from thy Neva's banks ! Brave sport to see the fledgling born Of Freedom by its parent torn ! Safe now is Speilberg's dungeon cell, Safe drear Siberia's frozen hell : With Slavery's flag o'er both unrolled, What of the New World fears the Old ? THE WATCHERS. 43 THE WATCHERS. BESIDE a stricken field I stood ; On the torn turf, on grass and wood, Hung heavily the dew of blood. Still in their fresh mounds lay the slain, But all the air was quick with pain And gusty sighs and tearful rain. 44 NATIONAL LYRICS. Two angels, each with drooping head And folded wings and noiseless tread, Watched by that valley of the dead. The one, with forehead saintly bland And lips of blessing, not command, Leaned, weeping, on her olive wand. The other's brows were scarred and knit, His restless eyes were watch-fires lit, His hands for battle-gauntlets fit. " How long ! n — I knew the voice of Peace, — " Is there no respite ? — no release ? — When shall the hopeless quarrel cease ? " Lord, how long ! — One human soul Is more than any parchment scroll, Or any flag thy winds unroll. " What price was Ellsworth's, young and brave ? How weigh the gift that Lyon gave, Or count the cost of Winthrop's grave ? " brother ! if thine eye can see, Tell how and when the end shall be, What hope remains for thee and me." Then Freedom sternly said : " I shun No strife nor pang beneath the sun, When human rights are staked and won. " I knelt with Ziska's hunted flock, I watched in Toussaint's cell of rock, I walked with Sidney to the block. " The moor of Marston felt my tread, Through Jersey snows the march I led, My voice Magenta's charges sped. THE WATCHERS. " But now, through weary day and night, I watch a vague and aimless tight For leave to strike one blow aright. " On either side my foe they own : One guards through love his ghastly throne, And one through fear to reverence grown. M Why wait we longer, mocked, betrayed, By open foes, or those afraid To speed thy coming through my aid ? " "Why watch to see who win or fall ? — I shake the dust against them all, I leave them to their senseless brawl." " Nay/' Peace implored : " yet longer wait ; The doom is near, the stake is great : God knoweth if it be too late. " Still wait and watch ; the way prepare Where I with folded wings of prayer May follow, weaponless and bare." " Too late ! " the stern, sad voice replied, " Too late ! " its mournful echo sighed, In low lament the answer died. A rustling as of wings in flight, An upward gleam of lessening white, So passed the vision, sound and sight. But round me, like a silver bell Rung down the listening sky to tell Of holy help, a Bweet voice fell. " Still hope and trust," it sang ; " the rod Most fall, the wine-press must be trod, But all is possible with God ! " 45 46 NATIONAL LYRICS. LINES, WRITTEN ON THE ADOPTION OF PINCKNEY'S RESOLUTIONS, IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES, AND THE PASSAGE OF CALHOUN'S "BILL FOR EXCLUDING PAPERS, WRITTEN OR PRINTED, TOUCH- ING THE SUBJECT OF SLAVERY FROM THE U. S. POST-OFFICE," IN THE SENATE OF THE UNITED STATES. MEN of the North-land ! where 's the manly spirit Of the true-hearted and the unshackled gone ? Sons of old freemen, do we but inherit Their names alone 1 Is the old Pilgrim spirit quenched within us, Stoops the strong manhood of our souls so low, That Mammon's lure or Party's wile can win us To silence now ! Now, when our land to ruin's brink is verging, In God's name, let us speak while there is time ! Now, when the padlocks for our lips are forging, Silence is crime ! What ! shall we henceforth humbly ask as favors Rights all our own ? In madness shall we barter, For treacherous peace, the freedom Nature gave us, God and our charter ? Here shall the statesman forge his human fetters, Here the false jurist human rights deny, And, in the church, their proud and skilled abettors Make truth a lie ? Torture the pages of the hallowed Bible, To sanction crime, and robbery, and blood 9 And, in Oppression's hateful service, libel Both man and God ? LINES. Shall our New England stand erect no longer, But stoop in chains upon her downward way, Thicker to gather on her limbs and stronger Day after day ? O no ; methinks from all her wild, green mountains — From valleys where her slumbering fathers lie — From her blue rivers and her welling fountains, And clear, cold sky — From her rough coast, and isles, which hungry Ocean Gnaws with his surges — from the fisher's skiff, With white sail swaying to the billows' motion Round rock and cliff — From the free fireside of her unbought farmer — From her free laborer at his loom and wheel — From the brown smith-shop, where, beneath the hammer, Rings the red steel — From each and all, if God hath not forsaken Our land, and left us to an evil choice, Loud as the summer thunderbolt shall waken A People's voice Startling and stern ! the Northern winds shall bear it Over Potomac's to St. Mary's wave ; And buried Freedom shall awake to hear it Within her grave. O, let that voice go forth ! The bondman sighing By Santee's wave, in Mississippi's cane, Shall feel the hope, within his bosom dying, Revive again. Let it go forth ! The millions who are gazing Sadly upon us from afar, shall smile, And unto God devout thank>i:ivin^ raising, Bless us the while. 47 48 NATIONAL LYRICS. O, for your ancient freedom, pure and holy, For the deliverance of a groaning earth, For the wronged captive, bleeding, crushed, and lowly, Let it go forth ! Sons of the best of fathers ! will ye falter With all they left ye perilled and at stake ? Ho ! once again on Freedom's holy altar The fire awake ! Prayer-strengthened for the trial, come together, Put on the harness for the moral fight, And, with the blessing of your Heavenly Father, Maintain the Right ! THE CRISIS. WRITTEN ON LEARNING THE TERMS OF THE TREATY W r ITH MEXICO. ACROSS the Stony Mountains, o'er the desert's drouth and sand, The circles of our empire touch the Western Ocean's strand ; From slumberous Timpanogos, to Gila, wild and free, Flowing down from Neuva Leon to California's sea ; And from the mountains of the East, to Santa Rosa's shore, The eagles of Mexitli shall beat the air no more. O Vale of Rio Bravo ! Let thy simple children weep ; Close watch about their holy fire let maids of Pecos keep ; Let Taos send her cry across Sierra Madre's pines, And Algodones toll her bells amidst her corn and vines ; For lo ! the pale land-seekers come, with eager eyes of gain, Wide scattering, like the bison herds on broad Salada's plain. THE CRISIS. 49 Let Sacramento's herdsmen heed what sound, the winds bring down, Of footsteps on the crisping snow, from cold Neveda's crown ! Full hot and fast the Saxon rides, with rein of travel slack, And, bending o'er his saddle, leaves the sunrise at his back ; By many a lonely river, and gorge of fir and pine, On many a wintry hill-top, his nightly camp-fires shine. O countrymen and brothers ! that land of lake and plain, Of salt wastes alternating with valleys fat with grain ; Of mountains white with winter, looking downward, cold, serene, On their feet with spring-vines tangled and lapped in softest geeen ; Swift through whose black volcanic gates, o'er many a sunny vale, Wind-like the Arapahoe sweeps the bison's dusty trail ! Great spaces yet untravelled, great lakes whose mystic shores The Saxon rifle never heard, nor dip of Saxon oars ; Great herds that wander all unwatched, wild steeds that none have tamed, Strange fish in unknown streams, and birds the Saxon never named ; Deep mines, dark mountain crucibles, where Nature's chemic powers Work out the Great Designer's will : — all these ye say are ours ! Forever ours ! for good or ill, on us the burden lies ; God's balance, watched by angels, is hung across the skies. Shall Justice, Truth, and Freedom, turn the poised and trembling scale ? Or shall the Evil triumph, and robber Wrong prevail 1 Shall the broad land o'er which our flag in starry splendor waves, Forego through us its freedom, and bear the tread of slaves 1 The day is breaking in the East, of which the prophets told, And brightens up the sky of Time the Christian Age of Gold : Old Might to Right is yielding, battle blade to clerkly pen, Earth's monarchs are her peoples, and her serfs stand up as men ; The isles rejoice together, in a day are nations born, And the slave walks free in Tunis, and by Stamboul's Golden Horn ! 5o NATIONAL LYRICS. Is this, O countrymen of mine ! a day for us to sow The soil of new-gained empire with slavery's seeds of woe ? To feed with our fresh life-blood the old world's cast-off crime, Dropped, like some monstrous early birth, from the tired lap of Time? To run anew the evil race the old lost nations ran, And die like them of unbelief of God, and wrong of man ? Great Heaven ! Is this our mission ? End in this the prayers and tears, The toil, the strife, the watchings of our younger, better years ? Still, as the old world rolls in light, shall ours in shadow turn, A beamless Chaos, cursed of God, through outer darkness borne 1 Where the far nations looked for light, a blackness in the air ? "Where for words of hope they listened, the long wail of despair ? The Crisis presses on us ; face to face with us it stands, With solemn lips of question, like the Sphinx in Egypt's sands ! This day we fashion Destiny, our web of Fate we spin ; This day for all hereafter choose we holiness or sin ; Even now from starry Gerizim, or Ebal's cloudy crown, We call the dews of blessing or the bolts of cursing down ! By all for which the martyrs bore their agony and shame ; By all the warning words of truth with which the prophets came ; By the Future which awaits us ; by all the hopes which cast Their faint and trembling beams across the blackness of the Past ; And by the blessed thought of Him who for Earth's freedom died, my people ! O my brothers ! let us choose the righteous side. So shall the Northern pioneer go joyful on his way ; To wed Penobscot's waters to San Francisco's bay ; To make the rugged places smooth, and sow the vales with grain ; And bear, with Liberty and Law, the Bible in his train : The mighty West shall bless the East, and sea shall answer sea, And mountain unto mountain call : Praise God, for we are free ! RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE. RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE. O MOTHER Earth ! upon thy lap Thy weary ones receiving, And o'er them, silent as a dream, Thy grassy mantle weaving, Fold softly in thy long embrace That heart so worn and broken, And cool its pulse of fire beneath Thy shadows old and oaken. Shut out from him the bitter word And serpent hiss of scorning ; Nor let the storms of yesterday Disturb his quiet morning. Breathe over him fbrgetfulness Of all save deeds of kindness, And, save to smiles of grateful eyes, Press down his lids in blindness. There, where with living ear and eye He heard Potomac's flowing, And, through his tall ancestral trees, Saw Autumn's sunset glowing, He sleeps, — still looking to the West, Beneath the dark wood shadow, As if he still would see the sun Sink down on wave and meadow. Bard, Sage, and Tribune ! — in himself All moods of mind contrasting, — The tenderest wail of human woe, The scorn-like lightning blasting ; 52 NATIONAL LYRICS, The pathos which from rival eyes Unwilling tears could summon, The stinging taunt, the fiery burst Of hatred scarcely human ! Mirth, sparkling like a diamond shower, From lips of life-long sadness ; Clear picturings of majestic thought Upon a ground of madness ; And over all Romance and Song A classic beauty throwing, And laurelled Clio at his side Her storied pages showing. All parties feared him : each in turn Beheld its schemes disjointed, As right or left his fatal glance And spectral finger pointed. Sworn foe of Cant, he smote it down With trenchant wit unsparing, And, mocking, rent with ruthless hand The robe Pretence was wearing. Too honest or too proud to feign A love he never cherished, Beyond Virginia's border line His patriotism perished. While others hailed in distant skies Our eagle's dusky pinion, He only saw the mountain bird Stoop o'er his Old Dominion ! Still through each change of fortune strange, Racked nerve, and brain all burning, His loving faith in Mother-land Knew never shade of turning ; By Britain's lakes, by Neva's wave, Whatever sky was o'er him, He heard her rivers' rushing sound, Her blue peaks rose before him. RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE. 53 He held his slaves, yet made withal No false and vain pretences, Nor paid a lying priest to seek For scriptural defences. His harshest words of proud rebuke, His bitterest taunt and scorning, Fell tire-like on the Northern brow That bent to him in fawning. He held his slaves : yet kept the while His reverence for the Human ; In the dark vassals of his will He saw but Man and Woman ! No hunter of God's outraged poor His Roanoke valley entered ; No trader in the souls of men Across his threshold ventured. And when the old and wearied man Laid down for his last sleeping, And at his side, a slave no more, His brother man stood weeping, His latest thought, his latest breath, To Freedom's duty giving, With failing tongue and trembling hand The dying blest the living. O, never bore his ancient State A truer son or braver ! None trampling with a calmer scorn On foreign hate or favor. He knew her faults, yet never stooped - His proud and manly feeling To poor excuses of the wrong Or meanness of concealing. But none beheld with clearer eye The plague-spot o'er her spreading, None heard more sure the steps of Doom Along her future treading. 54 NATIONAL LYRICS. For her as for himself he spake, When, his gaunt frame upbracing, He traced with dying hand " Eemorse ! " And perished in the tracing. As from the grave where Henry sleeps, From Vernon's weeping willow, And from the grassy pall which hides The Sage of Monticello, So from the leaf-strewn burial-stone Of Randolph's lowly dwelling, Virginia ! o'er thy land of slaves A warning voice is swelling ! And hark ! from thy deserted fields Are sadder warnings spoken, From quenched hearths, where thy exiled sons Their household gods have broken. The curse is on thee, — wolves for men, And briers for corn-sheaves giving ! O, more than all thy dead renown Were now one hero living ! THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA. 55 THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA. SPEAK and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away, O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array, Who is Losing ! who is winning'? are they far or come they near ■ Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we hear. " Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle rolls ; Blood is flowing, men are dying ; God have mercy on their souls ! " 56 NATIONAL LYRICS. Who is losing ? who is winning ? — " Over hill and over plain, I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the mountain rain." Holy Mother ! keep our brothers ! Look, Ximena, look once more : " Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before, Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse, Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course." Look forth once more, Ximena ! " Ah ! the smoke has rolled away ; And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of gray. Hark ! that sudden blast of bugles ! there the troop of Minon wheels ; There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels. " Jesu, pity ! how it thickens ! now retreat and now advance ! Right against the blazing cannon shivers Puebla's charging lance ! Down they go, the brave young riders ; horse and foot together fall ; Like a ploughshare in the fallow, through them ploughs the North- ern ball." Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on : Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost, and who has won ? " Alas ! alas ! I know not; friend and foe together fall, O'er the dying rush the living : pray, my sisters, for them all ! " " Lo ! the wind the smoke is lifting : Blessed Mother, save my brain ! I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain. Now they stagger, blind and bleeding ; now they fall, and strive to rise ; Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our eyes ! " " my heart's love ! my dear one ! lay thy poor head on my knee ; Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee ? Canst thou hear me 1 canst thou see ? O my husband, brave and gentle ! O my Bernal, look once more On the blessed cross before thee ! mercy ! mercy ! all is o'er ! " THE AXGELS OF BUEXA VISTA. 57 Dry thy tears, my poor Ximcna ; lay thy dear one down to rest ; Let liis hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his breast; Let his dirge be Bang hereafter, and his funeral masses said; To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid. Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay, Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his life away ; But, as tenderly before him, the lorn Ximena knelt, She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol-belt. With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her head; With a Bad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her dead ; But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his struggling breath of pain, And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again. Whispered «low the dying soldier, pressed her hand and faintly smiled : Was that pitying face his mother's ? did she watch beside her child ? All his stranger words with meaning her woman's heart supplied ; With her kiss upon his forehead, " Mother ! " murmured he, and died! " A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth, From some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weeping, lonely, in the North ! " Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead, And turned to soothe the living, and bind the wounds which bled. Look forth once more, Ximena ! " Like a cloud before the wind Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and death be- hind ; Ah ! they plead in vain for mercy ; in the dust the wounded strive ; Hide your faces, holy angels ! O, thou Christ of God, forgive ! " Sink, Night, among thv mountains ! let the cool, gray shadows fall f Dying brothers, fighting demons, drop thy curtain over all ! Through the thiekening winter twilight, wide apart the battle rolled, In its sheath the sabre rested, and the cannon's lips grew cold. 5 58 NATIONAL LYRICS. But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pursued, Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn and faint and lacking food ; Over weak and suffering brothers, with a tender care they hung, And the dying foeman blessed them in a strange and Northern tongue. Not wholly lost, O Father ! is this evil world of ours ; Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh the Eden flowers ; From its smoking hell of battle, Love and Pity send their prayer, And still thy white-winged angels hover dimly in our air ! DEMOCRACY. " All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." — Matthew vii. 12. BEARER of Freedom's holy light, Breaker of Slavery's chain and rod, The foe of all which pains the sight, Or wounds the generous ear of God ! Beautiful yet thy temples rise, Though there profaning gifts are thrown ; And fires unkindled of the skies Are glaring round thy altar-stone. Still sacred, — though thy name be breathed By those whose hearts thy truth deride ; And garlands, plucked from thee, are wreathed Around the naughty brows of Pride. DEMOCRACY. O, ideal of my boyhood's time ! The faith in which my father stood, Even when the sons of Lust and Crime Had stained thy peaceful courts with blood ! 59 Still to those courts my footsteps turn, For, through the mists which darken there, I see the flame of Freedom burn, — The Kebla of the patriot's prayer ! The generous feeling, pure and warm, Which owns the rights of all divine — The pitying heart — the helping arm — The .prompt self-sacrifice — are thine. Beneath thy broad, impartial eye, How fade the lines of caste and birth ! How equal in their suffering lie The groaning multitudes of earth ! Still to a stricken brother true, Whatever clime hath nurtured him ; As stooped to heal the wounded Jew The worshipper of Gerizim. By misery unrepelled, unawed By pomp or power, thou see'st a Man In prince or peasant — slave or lord — Pale priest, or swarthy artisan. Through all disguise, form, place, or name, Beneath the flaunting robes of sin, Through poverty and squalid shame, Thou lookest on the man within. On man, as man, retaining yet, Howe'er debased, and soiled, and dim, The crown upon his forehead set, — The immortal gift of God to him. 60 NATIONAL LYRICS. And there is reverence in thy look ; For that frail form which mortals wear The Spirit of the Holiest took, And veiled his perfect brightness there. Not from the shallow babbling fount Of vain philosophy thou art ; He who of old on Syria's mount Thrilled, warmed, by turns, the listener's heart, In holy words which cannot die, In thoughts which angels leaned to know, Proclaimed thy message from on high, — Thy mission to a world of woe. That voice's echo hath not died ! From the blue lake of Galilee, And Tabor's lonely mountain side, It calls a struggling world to thee. Thy name and watchword o'er this land I hear in every breeze that stirs, And round a thousand altars stand Thy banded party worshippers. Not to these altars of a day, At party's call, my gift I bring; But on thy olden shrine I lay A freeman's dearest offering : — The voiceless utterance of his will, — His pledge to Freedom and to Truth, That manhood's heart remembers still The homage of his generous youth. Election Day, 1843. THY WILL BE DONE. 6 1 THY WILL BE DONE. WE see not, know not ; all our way Is night, — with Thee alone is day From out the torrent's troubled drift, Above the storm our prayers we lift, Thy will be done ! The flesh may fail, the heart may faint, But who are we to make complaint, Or dare to plead, in times like these, The weakness of our love of ease ? Thy will be done ! We take with solemn thankfulness Our burden up, nor ask it less, And count it joy that even we May suffer, serve, or wait, for Thee, Whose will be done ! Though dim as yet in tint and line, We trace Thy picture's wise design, And thank Thee that our age supplies Its dark relief of sacrifice. Thy will be done ! And if, in our unworthiness, Thy sacrificial wine we press ; If from Thy ordeal's heated bars Our feet are seamed with crimson scars, Thy will be done ! If, for the age to come, this hour Of trial hath vicarious power, 62 NATIONAL LYRICS. And, blest by Thee, our present pain Be Liberty's eternal gain, Thy will be done ! Strike, Thou the Master, we Thy keys, The anthem of the destinies ! The minor of Thy loftier strain, Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain, Thy will be done ! "EIN FESTE BURG 1ST UNSER GOTT." (LUTHER'S HYMN.) WE wait beneath the furnace-blast The pangs of transformation ; Not painlessly doth God recast And mould anew the nation. Hot burns the fire Where wrongs expire ; Nor spares the hand That from the land Uproots the ancient evil. The hand-breadth cloud the sages feared Its bloody rain is dropping ; The poison plant the fathers spared All else is overtopping. East, West, South, North, It curses the earth ; All justice dies, And fraud and lies Live only in its shadow. »EIN FESTE BURG 1ST UXSER GOTT." 63 What gives the wheat-field blades of steel ! What points the rebel cannon ? What sets the roaring rabble's heel On the old star-spangled pennon % What breaks the oath Of the men o' the South 1 What whets the knife For the Union's life 1 — Hark to the answer : Slavery ! Then waste no blows on lesser foes In strife unworthy freemen. God lifts to-day the veil, and shows The features of the demon ! O North and South, Its victims both, Can ye not cry, " Let slavery die ! " And union find in freedom % What though the cast-out spirit tear The nation in his going 1 We who have shared the guilt must share The pang of his o'erthrowing ! Whate'er the loss, Whate'er the cross, Shall they complain Of present pain Who trust in God's hereafter ? For who that leans on His right arm Was ever yet forsaken ? What righteous cause can suffer harm If lie its part has taken ! Though wild and loud And dark the cloud, Behind its folds His hand upholds The calm sky of to-morrow ! 64 NATIONAL LYRICS. Above the maddening cry for blood, Above the wild war-drumming, Let Freedom's voice be heard, with good The evil overcoming. Give prayer and purse To stay the Curse Whose wrong we share, Whose shame we bear, Whose end shall gladden Heaven ! In vain the bells of war shall ring Of triumphs and revenges, While still is spared the evil thing That severs and estranges. But blest the ear That ) T et shall hear The jubilant bell That rings the knell Of Slavery forever ! Then let the selfish lip be dumb, And hushed the breath of sighing ; Before the joy of peace must come The pains of purifying. God give us grace Each in his place To bear his lot, And, murmuring not, Endure and wait and labor ! ASTR^A AT THE CAPITOL. 65 ASTR^EA AT THE CAPITOL. ABOLITION OF SLAVERY IN THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA, 1862. 'I T THEN first I saw our banner wave \ \ Above the nation's council-hall, I heard beneath its marble wall The clanking fetters of the slave ! In the foul market-place I stood, And saw the Christian mother sold, And childhood with its locks of gold, Blue-eyed and fair with Saxon blood. I shut my eyes, I held my breath, And, smothering down the wrath and shame That set my Northern blood aflame, Stood silent — where to speak was death. Beside me gloomed the prison-cell Where wasted one in slow decline For uttering simple words of mine, And loving freedom all too well. The flag that floated from the dome Flapped menace in the morning air; I stood a perilled stranger where The human broker made his home. For crime was virtue : Gown and Sword And Law their threefold sanction gave, And to the quarry of the slave Went hawking with our symbol-bird. 66 NATIONAL LYRICS. On the oppressor's side was power ; And yet I knew that every wrong, However old, however strong, But waited God's avenging hour. I knew that truth would crush the lie, — Somehow, sometime, the end would be ; Yet scarcely dared I hope to see The triumph with my mortal eye. But now I see it ! In the sun A free flag floats from yonder dome, And at the nation's hearth and home The justice long delayed is done. Not as we hoped, in calm of prayer, The message of deliverance comes, But heralded by roll of drums On waves of battle-troubled air ! — Midst sounds that madden and appall, The song that Bethlehem's shepherds knew ! The harp of David melting through The demon-agonies of Saul ! Not as we hoped ; — but what are we ? Above our broken dreams and plans God lays, with wiser hand than man's, The corner-stones of liberty. I cavil not with Him : the voice That freedom's blessed gospel tells Is sweet to me as silver bells, Rejoicing ! — yea, I will rejoice ! Dear friends still toiling in the sun, — Ye dearer ones who, gone before, Are watching from the eternal shore The slow work by your hands begun, — THE PASS OF THE SIERRA. 67 Rejoice with me ! The chastening rod Blossoms with love ; the furnace heat Grows cool beneath His blessed feet Whose form is as the Son of God ! Rejoice ! Our Marah's bitter springs Are sweetened ; on our ground of grief Rise day by day in strong relief The prophecies of better things. Rejoice in hope ! The day and night Are one with God, and one with them Who see by faith the cloudy hem Of Judgment fringed with Mercy's light ! THE PASS OF THE SIERRA. ALL night above their rocky bed They saw the stars march slow ; The wild Sierra overhead, The desert's death below. The Indian from his lodge of bark, The gray bear from his den, Beyond their camp-fire's wall of dark, Glared on the mountain men. Still upward turned, with anxious strain, Their leader's sleepless eye, Where splinters of the mountain chain Stood black against the sky. The Bight waned slow : at last, a glow, A gleam of sudden tire, 68 NATIONAL LYRICS. Shot up behind the walls of snow, And tipped each icy spire. " Up, men ! " he cried, " yon rocky cone, To-day, please God, we '11 pass, And look from Winter's frozen throne On Summer's flowers and grass ! " They set their faces to the blast, They trod th' eternal snow, And faint, worn, bleeding, hailed at last The promised land below. 6 9 THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862. Behind, they saw the snow-cloud tossed By many an icy horn ; Before, warm valleys, wood-embossed, And green with vines and corn. They left the Winter at their backs To flap his baffled wing, And downward, with the cataracts, Leaped to the lap of Spring. Strong leader of that mountain band Another task remains, To break from Slavery's desert land A path to Freedom's plains. The winds are wild, the way is drear Yet, flashing through the night, Lo ! icy ridge and rocky spear Blaze out in morning light ! Rise up, Fremont ! and go before ; The Hour must have its Man ; Put on the hunting-shirt once more, And lead in Freedom's van ! Sth mo., 1856. THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862. THE flags of war like storm-birds fly, The charging trumpets blow ; Yet rolls no thunder in the sky, No earthquake strives below. And, calm and patient, Nature keeps Her ancient promise well, Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweeps The battle's breath of hell. 7o NATIONAL LYRICS. And still she walks in golden hours Through harvest-happy farms, And still she wears her fruits and flowers Like jewels on her arms. What mean the gladness of the plain, This joy of eve and morn, The mirth that shakes the beard of grain And yellow locks of corn 1 Ah ! eyes may well be full of tears, And hearts with hate are hot ; But even-paced come round the years, And Nature changes not. She meets with smiles our bitter grief, With songs our groans of pain ; She mocks with tint of flower and leaf The war-field's crimson stain. Still, in the cannon's pause, we hear Her sweet thanksgiving-psalm ; Too near to God for doubt or fear, She shares th' eternal calm. She knows the seed lies safe below The fires that blast and burn ; For all the tears of blood we sow She waits the rich return. She sees with clearer eye than ours The good of suffering born, — The hearts that blossom like her flowers, And ripen like her corn. O, give to us, in times like these, The vision of her eyes ; And make her fields and fruited trees Our golden prophecies ! MITIIRIDATES AT CHIOS. O, give to us her finer ear ! Above this stormy din, We too would hear the bells of cheer Ring peace and freedom in ! 71 MITHRIDATES AT CHIOS. KNOW'ST thou, O slave-eursed land ! How, wheu the Chian's cup of guilt Was full to overflow, there came God's justice in the sword of flame That, red with slaughter to its hilt, Blazed in the Cappadocian victor's hand 1 The heavens are still and far ; But, not unheard of awful Jove, The sighing of the island slave Was answered, when the JEgean wave The keels of Mithridates clove, And the vines shrivelled in the breath of war. << Robbers of Chios ! hark," The victor cried, " to Heaven's decree ! Pluck your last cluster from the vine, Drain your last cup of Chian wine ; Slaves of your slaves, your doom shall be, In Colchian mines by Phasis rolling dark." Then rose the long lament From the hoar sea-god's dusky caves : The priestess rent her hair and cried, " Woe ! woe ! The gods are sleepless-eyed ! " And, chained and scourged, the slaves of slaves, The lords of Chios into exile went. 72 NATIONAL LYRICS. " The gods at last pay well/' So Hellas sang her taunting song, " The fisher in his net is caught, The Chian hath his master bought " ; And isle from isle, with laughter long, Took up and sped the mocking parable. Once more the slow, dumb years Bring their avenging cycle round, And, more than Hellas taught of old, Our wiser lesson shall be told, Of slaves uprising, freedom-crowned, To break, not wield, the scourge wet with their blood and tears. THE PROCLAMATION. SAINT PATRICK, slave to Milcho of the herds Of Ballymena, wakened with these words : " Arise, and flee Out from the land of bondage, and be free ! " Glad as a soul in pain, who hears from heaven The angels singing of his sins forgiven, And, wondering, sees His prison opening to their golden keys, He rose a man who laid him down a slave, Shook from his locks the ashes of the grave, And outward trod Into the glorious liberty of God. He cast the symbols of his shame away ; And, passing where the sleeping Milcho lay, Though back and limb Smarted with wrong, he prayed, " God pardon him ! " THE PROCLAMATION. So went he forth : but in God's time he came To light on Uilline's hills a holy flame; And. dying, gave The land a saint that lost him as a slave. O dark, sad millions, patiently and dumb Waiting for God, your hour, at last, has come, And freedom's song Breaks the long silence of your night of wrong ! Arise and flee ! shake off the vile restraint Of ages ; but, like Ballymena's saint, The oppressor spare, Heap only on his head the coals of prayer. Go forth, like him ! like him return again. To bless the land whereon in bitter pain Ye toiled at first, And heal with freedom what your slavery cursed. 73 b4*»~' 74 NATIONAL LYRICS. AT PORT ROYAL. THE tent-lights glimmer on the land, The ship-lights on the sea ; The night-wind smooths with drifting san^ Our track on lone Tybee. At last our grating keels outslide, Our good boats forward swing ; And while we ride the land-locked tide, Our negroes row and sing. AT PORT ROYAL. 75 For dear the bondman holds his gifts Of musie and of son^ : The gold that kindly Nature sifts Among his sands of wrong ; The power to make his toiling days And poor home-comforts please ; The quaint relief of mirth that plays With sorrow's minor keys. Another glow than sunset's fire Has filled the West with light, Where field and garner, barn and byre Are blazing through the night. The land is wild with fear and hate, The rout runs mad and fast ; From hand to hand, from gate to gate, The flaming brand is passed. The lurid glow falls strong across Dark faces broad with smiles : Not theirs the terror, hate, and loss That fire yon blazing piles. With oar-strokes timing to their song, They weave in simple lays The pathos of remembered wrong, The hope of better days, — The triumph-note that Miriam sung, The joy of uncaged birds : Softening with Afric's mellow tongue Their broken Saxon words. SONG OF THE NEGRO BOATMEN. O, praise an' tanks ! De Lord he come To Bet de people free ; An' massa link it day ob doom, An' we ob jubilee. 76 NATIONAL LYRICS, De Lord dat heap de Red-Sea waves He j us' as 'trong as den ; He say de word : we las' night slaves ; To-day, de Lord's freemen. De yam will grow, de cotton blow, We '11 hab de rice an' corn ; O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear De driver blow his horn ! Ole massa on he trabbels gone ; He leaf de land behind : De Lord's brefF blow him furder on, Like corn-shuck in de wind. We own de hoe, we own de plough, We own de hands dat hold ; We sell de pig, we sell de cow, But nebber chile be sold. De yam will grow, de cotton blow, We '11 hab de rice an' corn : O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear De driver blow his horn ! We pray de Lord : he gib u« signs Dat some day we be free ; De Norf-wind tell it to de pines, De wild-duck to de sea ; We tink it when de church-bell ring, We dream it in de dream ; De rice-bird mean it when he sing, De eagle when he scream. De yam will grow, de cotton blow, We '11 hab de rice an' corn : O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear De driver blow his horn ! We know de promise nebber fail, An' nebber lie de word ; So like de 'postles in de jail, We waited for de Lord : AT PORT ROYAL, 77 An* now he open ebery door, An' trow away de key ; He tink we lub him so before, We lub him better free. De yam will grow, de cotton blow, He '11 gib de rice an' corn : nebber you fear, if nebber you hear De driver blow his horn ! So sing our dusky gondoliers ; And, with a secret pain, And smiles that seem akin to tears, We hear the wild refrain. We dare not share the negro's trust, Nor yet his hope deny ; We only know that God is just, And every wrong shall die. Rude seems the song ; each swarthy face, Flame-lighted, ruder still : We start to think that hapless race Must shape our good or ill ; That laws of changeless justice bind Oppressor with oppressed ; And, close as sin and suffering joined, We march to Fate abreast. Sing on, poor hearts ! your chant shall be Our sign of blight or bloom, — The Vala-song of Liberty, Or death-rune of our doom ! 78 NATIONAL LYRICS, ICHABOD ! SO fallen ! so lost ! the light withdrawn Which once he wore ! The glory from his gray hairs gone Forevermore ! Revile him not, — the Tempter hath A snare for all ; And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, Befit his fall ! O, dumb be passion's stormy rage, When he who might Have lighted up and led his age Falls back in night ! Scorn ! would the angels laugh, to mark A bright soul driven, Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, From hope and heaven ? Let not the land, once proud of him, Insult him now, Nor brand with deeper shame his dim, Dishonored brow. But let its humbled sons, instead, From sea to lake, A long lament, as for the dead, In sadness make. Of all we loved and honored, naught Save power remains, — A fallen angel's pride of thought, Still strong in chains. OUR STATE. 79 All else is gone ; from those great eyes The soul has fled : When faith is lost, when honor dies, The man is dead ! Then, pay the reverence of old days To his dead fame ; Walk backward, with averted gaze, And hide the shame ! OUR STATE. THE South-land boasts its teeming cane, The prairied West its heavy grain, And sunset's radiant gates unfold On rising marts and sands of gold ! Rough, bleak and hard, our little State int of soil, of limits strait ; Her yellow sands are sands alone, Her only mines are ice and stone ! From Autumn frost to April rain, Too long her winter woods complain ; From budding flower to falling leaf, Her summer time is all too brief. Yet, on her rocks, and on her sands, And wintry hills, the school-house stands, And what her rugged soil denies, « The harvest of the mind supplies. The riches of the commonwealth Ate free, strong minds, and hearts of health ; And more to her than gold or grain, The cunning hand and cultured brain. 80 NATIONAL LYRICS. For well she keeps her ancient stock, The stubborn strength of Pilgrim Rock ; And still maintains, with milder laws, And clearer light, the Good Old Cause ! Nor heeds the sceptic's puny hands, While near her school the church-spire stands ; Nor fears the blinded bigot's rule, While near her church-spire stands the school ! STANZAS FOR THE TIMES. 1850. THE evil days have come, — the poor Are made a prey ; Bar up the hospitable door, Put out the fire-lights, point no more The wanderer's way. For Pity now is crime ; the chain Which binds our States Is melted at her hearth in twain, Is rusted by her tears' soft rain : Close up her gates. Our Union, like a glacier stirred By voice below, Or bell of kine, or wing of bird, A beggar's crust, a kindly word May overthrow ! Poor, whispering tremblers ! — yet we boast Our blood and name ; Bursting its century-bolted frost, Each gray cairn on the Northman's coast Cries out for shame ! STAXZAS FOR THE TIMES. 8l for the open firmament, The prairie free, The desert hillside, cavern-rent, The Pawnee's lodge, the Arab's tent, The Bushman's tree ! Than web of Persian loom most rare, Or soft divan, Better the rough rock, bleak and bare, Or hollow tree, which man may share With suffering man. 1 hear a voice : " Thus saith the Law, Let Love be dumb ; Clasping her liberal hands in awe, Let sweet-lipped Charity withdraw From hearth and home." I hear another voice : " The poor Are thine to feed ; Turn not the outcast from thy door, Nor uive to bonds and wrong once more Whom God hath freed." Dear Lord ! between that law and thee No choice remains ; Yet not untrue to man's decree, Though spurning its reward.-, is he Who bears its pains. Not mine Sedition's trumpet-blast And threatening word ; I read the lesson of the Past, That firm endurance wins at last More than the sword. O, clear-eyed Faith, and Patience, thou So calm and strung ! Lend strength lo weakness, teach us how The Bleep] of God look through This night of wrong ! 82 NATIONAL LYRICS. A SABBATH SCENE. SCARCE had the solemn Sabbath-bell Ceased quivering in the steeple, Scarce had the parson to his desk Walked stately through his people, A SABBATH SCENE. 83 When down the summer shaded street A wasted female figure, "With dusky brow aud naked feet, Came rushing wild and eager. She saw the white spire through the trees, She heard the sweet hymn swelling ; 0, pitying Christ ! a refuge give That poor one in thy dwelling ! Like a scared fawn before the hounds, Right up the aisle she glided, While close behind her, whip in hand, A lank-haired hunter strided. She raised a keen and bitter cry, To Heaven and Earth appealing ; — Were manhood's generous pulses dead ? Had woman's heart no feeling ? A score of stout hands rose between The hunter and the flying ; Age clenched his staff, and maiden eyes Flashed tearful, yet defying. " Who dares profane this house and day ? " Cried out the angry pastor. " Why, bless your soul, the wench 's a slave, And I 'm her lord and master ! " I 've law and gospel on my side, And who shall dare refuse me 1 " Down came the parson, bowing low, u My good sir, pray excuse me ! " Of course I know your right divine To own and work and whip her; Quick, deacon, throw that Polyglot Before the wench, and trip her ! " 84 NATIONAL LYRICS. Plump dropped the holy tome, and o'er Its sacred pages stumbling, Bound hand and foot, a slave once more, The hapless wretch lay trembling. I saw the parson tie the knots, The w T hile his flock addressing, The Scriptural claims of slavery With text on text impressing. " Although," said he, " on Sabbath day, All secular occupations Are deadly sins, we must fulfil Our moral obligations : ■« And this commends itself as one To every conscience tender ; As Paul sent back Onesimus, My Christian friends, we send her ! " Shriek rose on shriek, — the Sabbath air Her wild cries tore asunder ; I listened, with hushed breath, to hear God answering with his thunder ! All still ! — the very altar's cloth Efad smothered down her shrieking, And, dumb, she turned from face to face, For human pity seeking ! I saw her dragged along the aisle, Her shackles harshly clanking ; I heard the parson, over all, The Lord devoutly thanking ! My brain took fire : " Is this," I cried, " The end of prayer and preaching ? Then down with pulpit, down with priest, And give us Nature's teaching ! SABBATH SCENE. 85 " Foul shame and scorn be on ye all Who turn the good to evil, And steal the Bible from the Lord, To give it to the Devil ! " Than garbled text or parchment law I own a statute higher ; And God is true, though every book And every man 's a liar ! " Just then I felt the deacon's hand In wrath my coat-tail seize on ; I heard the priest cry " Infidel ! " The lawyer mutter " Treason ! " I started up, — where now were church, Slave, master, priest and people ? I only heard the supper-bell, Instead of clanging steeple. But, on the open window's sill, O'er which the white blooms drifted, The pages of a good old Book The wind of summer lifted. And flower and vine, like angel wings Around the Holy Mother, Waved softly there, as if God's truth And Mercy kissed each other. And freely from the cherry-bough Above the casement swinging, With golden bosom to the sun, The oriole was singing. As bird and flower made plain of old The lesson of the Teacher, So now I heard the written Word Interpreted by Nature ! 86 NATIONAL LYRICS. For to my ear methought the breeze Bore Freedom's blessed word on ; Thus saith the Lord : Break every yoke, Undo the heavy burden ! RANTOUL. ONE day, along the electric wire His manly word for Freedom sped ; We came next morn : that tongue of fire Said only, " He who spake is dead ! " Dead ! while his voice was living yet, In echoes round the pillared dome ! Dead ! while his blotted page lay wet With themes of state and loves of home ! Dead ! in that crowning grace of time, That triumph of life's zenith hour ! Dead ! while we watched his manhood's prime Break from the slow bud into flower ! Dead ! he so great, and strong, and wise, While the mean thousands yet drew breath ; How deepened, through that dread surprise, The mystery and the awe of death ! From the high place whereon our votes Had borne him, clear, calm, earnest, fell His first words, like the prelude notes Of some great anthem yet to swell. We seemed to see our flag unfurled, Our champion waiting in his place For the last battle of the world, — The Armageddon of the race. RAXTOUL. 87 Through him wc hoped to speak the word Which wins the freedom of a land ; And lift, for human right, the sword Which dropped from Hampden's dying hand. For he had sat at Sidney's feet, And walked with Pym and Vane apart ; And, through the centuries, felt the heat Of Freedom's march in Cromwell's heart. He knew the paths the worthies held, Where England's best and wisest trod : And, lingering, drank the springs that welled Beneath the touch of Milton's rod. No wild enthusiast of the right, Self-poised and clear, he showed alway • The coolness of his northern night, The ripe repose of autumn's day. His steps were slow, yet forward still m He pressed where others paused or failed ; The calm star clomb with constant will, — The restless meteor flashed and paled ! Skilled in its subtlest wile, he knew And owned the higher ends of Law ; Still rose majestic on his view The awful Shape the schoolman saw. Her home the heart of God ; her voice The choral harmonies whereby The stars, through all their spheres, rejoice, The rhythmic rule of earth and sky ! We saw his great powers misapplied To poor ambitions; yet, through all, We -aw him take the weaker side, And right the wronged, and free the thrall. 88 NATIONAL LYRICS. Now, looking o'er the frozen North For one like him in word and act, To call her old, free spirit forth, And give her faith the life of fact, — To break her party bonds of shame, And labor with the zeal of him To make the Democratic name Of Liberty the synonyme, — We sweep the land from hill to strand, We seek the strong, the wise, the brave, And, sad of heart, return to stand In silence by a new-made grave ! There, where his breezy hills of home Look out upon his sail-white seas, The sounds of winds and waters come, And shape themselves to words like these : — " Why, murmuring, mourn that he, whose power Was lent to Party over-long, Heard the still whisper at the hour He set his foot on Party wrong ! " The human life that closed so well No lapse of folly now can stain ; The lips whence Freedom's protest fell No meaner thought can now profane. " Mightier than living voice his grave That lofty protest utters o'er ; Through roaring wind and smiting wave It speaks his hate of wrong once more. " Men of the North ! your weak regret Is wasted here ; arise and pay To freedom and to him your debt, By following where he led the way ! " BROWN OF f/E. 89 BROWN OF OSSAWATOMIE. JOHN" BROTVX of OsSAWATQUU spake on his dying day: "I will not have to shrive my soul a priest in Slawry's pay. But let some poor slave-mother whom I have Striven to free, With her children from the gallows-stair put up a praver for me ! " 7 90 NATIONAL LYRICS. John Brown of Ossawatomie, they led him out to die ; And lo ! a poor slave-mother with her little child pressed nigh. Then the bold, blue eye grew tender, and the old harsh face grew mild, As he stooped between the jeering ranks and kissed the negro's child ! The shadows of his stormy life that moment fell apart ; And they who blamed the bloody hand forgave the loving heart. That kiss from all its guilty means redeemed the good intent, And round the grisly fighter's hair the martyr's aureole bent ! Perish with him the folly that seeks through evil good ! Long live the generous purpose unstained with human blood ! Not the raid of midnight terror, but the thought which underlies ; Not the borderer's pride of daring, but the Christian's sacrifice. Never more may yon Blue Ridges the Northern rifle hear, Nor see the light of blazing homes flash on the negro's spear. But let the free-winged angel Truth their guarded passes scale, To teach that right is more than might, and justice more than mail \ So vainly shall Virginia set her battle in array ; In vain her trampling squadrons knead the winter snow with clay. She may strike the pouncing eagle, but she dares not harm the dove ; And every gate she bars to Hate shall open wide to Love ! THE RENDITION. I HEARD the train's shrill whistle call, I saw an earnest look beseech, And rather by that look than speech My neighbor told me all. And, as I thought of Liberty Marched handcuffed down that sworded street, The solid earth beneath my feet Reeled fluid as the sea. LINES 91 I felt a sense of bitter loss, — Shame, tearless grief, and stifling wrath, And loathing fear, as if my path A serpent stretched across. All love of home, all pride of place, All generous confidence and trust, Sank smothering in that deep disgust And anguish of disgrace. Down on my native hills of June, And home's green quiet, hiding all, Fell sudden darkness, like the fall Of midnight upon noon ! And Law, an unloosed maniac, strong, Blood-drunken, through the blackness tr^d, Hoarse-shouting in the ear of God The blasphemy of wrong. " Mother, from thy memories proud, Thy old renown, dear Commonwealth, Lend this dead air a breeze of health, And smite with stars this cloud. " Mother of Freedom, wise and brave, Rise awful in thy strength," I said ; Ah, me ! I spake but to the dead ; I stood upon her grave ! 6th mo., 1854. LINES, ON THE PASSAGE OF THE BILL TO PROTECT THE RIGHTS AND LIB- ERTIES OF THE PEOPLE OF THE STATE AGAINST THE FUGITIVE SLAVE ACT. I SAID I stood upon thy grave, My Mother State, when last the moon Of blossoms clomb the skies of June. 92 NATIONAL LYRICS. And, scattering ashes on my head, I wore, undreaming of relief, The sackcloth of thy shame and grief. Again that moon of blossoms shines On leaf and flower and folded wine:, And thou hast risen with the spring ! Once more thy strong maternal arms Are round about thy children flung, — A lioness that guards her young ! No threat is on thy closed lips, But in thine eye a power to smite The mad wolf backward from its light. Southward the baffled robber's track Henceforth runs only ; hereaway, The fell lycanthrope finds no prey. Henceforth, within thy sacred gates, His first low howl shall downward draw The thunder of thy righteous law. Not mindless of thy trade and gain, But, acting on the wiser plan, Thou 'rt grown conservative of man. So shalt thou clothe with life the hope, Dream-painted on the sightless eyes Of him who sang of Paradise, — The vision of a Christian man, In virtue as in stature great, Embodied in a Christian State. And thou, amidst thy sisterhood Forbearing long, yet standing fast, Shalt win their grateful thanks at last ; "When North and South shall strive no more, And all their feuds and fears be lost In Freedom's holy Pentecost. 6th mo., 1855. THE POOR VOTER OX ELECTION DAY. 93 THE POOR VOTER ON ELECTION DAY. THE proudest now is but my peer, The highest not more high ; To-day, of all the weary year, A king of men am I. To-day, alike are great and small, The nameless and the known ; 94 NATIONAL LYRICS. My palace is the people's hall, The ballot-box my throne ! Who serves to-dfay upon the list Beside the served shall stand ; Alike the brown and wrinkled fist, The gloved and dainty hand ! The rich is level with the poor, The weak is strong to-day ; And sleekest broadcloth counts no more Than homespun frock of gray. To-day let pomp and vain pretence My stubborn right abide ; I set a plain man's common sense Against the pedant's pride. To-day shall simple manhood try The strength of gold and land ; The wide world has not wealth to buy The power in my right hand ! While there 's a grief to seek redress, Or balance to adjust, Where weighs our living manhood less Than Mammon's vilest dust, — While there 's a right to need my vote, A wrong to sweep away, Up ! clouted knee and ragged coat ! A man 's a man to-day ! THE EVE OF ELECTION. F' ROM gold to gray Our mild sweet day Of Indian Summer fades too soon ; But tenderly Above the sea Hangs, white and calm, the Hunter's moon. THE EVE OF ELECTION. 95 In its pale fire The village spire Shows like the zodiac's spectral lance ; The painted walls Whereon it Mis Transfigured stand in marble trance ! O'er fallen leaves The west wind grieves, Yet comes a seed-time round again ; And morn shall see The State sown free With baleful tares or healthful grain. Along the street The shadows meet Of Destiny, whose hands conceal The moulds of fate That shape the State, And make or mar the common weal. Around I see The powers that be ; I stand by Empire's primal springs ; And princes meet In every street, And hear the tread of uncrowned kings ! Hark ! through the crowd The laugh runs loud, Beneath the sad, rebuking moon. God save the land A careless hand May shake or swerve ere morrow's noon ! No jest is this ; One cast amiss May blast the hope of Freedom's year. O, take me where Are hearts of prayer, And foreheads bowed in reverent fear ! 96 NATIONAL LYRICS. Not lightly fall Beyond recall The written scrolls a breath can float ; The crowning fact, The kingliest act Of Freedom, is the freeman's vote ! For pearls that gem A diadem The diver in the deep sea dies ; The regal right We boast to-night Is ours through costlier sacrifice : The blood of Vane, His prison pain Who traced the path the Pilgrim trod, And hers whose faith Drew strength from death, And prayed her Russell up to God ! Our hearts grow cold, We lightly hold A right which brave men died to gain ; The stake, the cord, The axe, the sword, Grim nurses at its birth of pain. The shadow rend, And o'er us bend, O martyrs, with your crowns and palms, — Breathe through these throngs Your battle songs, Your scaffold prayers, and dungeon psalms ! Look from the sky, Like God's great eye, Thou solemn moon, with searching beam ; Till in the sight Of thy pure light Our mean self-seekings meaner seem. LE MARA IS DU CYGNE. Shame from our hearts Unworthy arts, The fraud designed, the purpose dark ; And smite away The hands we lay Profanely on the sacred ark. To party claims, And private aims, Reveal that august face of Truth, Whereto are given The age of heaven, The beauty of immortal youth. So shall our voice Of sovereign choice Swell the deep bass of duty done, And strike the key Of time to be, When God and man shall speak as one ! 97 LE MARAIS DU CYGNE. ABLUSH as of roses Where rose never grew ! Great drops on the bunch-grass, But not of the dew ! A taint in the sweet air For wild bees to shun ! A stain that shall never Bleach out in the sun ! Back, steed of the prairies ! Sweet song-bird, rl y back ! Wheel hither, bald vulture! Gray wolf, call thy pack ! 98 NATIONAL LYRICS. The foul human vultures Have feasted and fled ; The wolves of the Border Have crept from the dead. From the hearths of their cabins, The fields of their corn, Unwarned and unweaponed, The victims were torn, — By the whirlwind of murder Swooped up and swept on To the low, reedy fen-lands, The Marsh of the Swan. With a vain plea for mercy No stout knee was crooked ; In the mouths of the rifles Eight manly they looked. How paled the May- sunshine, O Marais du Cygne ! On death for the strong life, On red grass for green ! In the homes of their rearing, Yet warm with their lives, Ye wait the dead only, Poor children and wives ! Put out the red forge-fire, The smith shall not come ; Unyoke the brown oxen, The ploughman lies dumb. Wind slow from the Swan's Marsh, O dreary death-train, With pressed lips as bloodless As lips of the slain ! Kiss down the young eyelids, Smooth down the gray hairs ; Let tears quench the curses That burn through your prayers. LE MARA1S DU CYGNE. 99 Strong man of the prairies, Mourn bitter and wild ! Wail, desolate woman ! Weep, fatherless child ! But the grain of God springs up From ashes beneath, And the crown of his harvest Is life out of death. Not in vain on the dial The shade moves along, To point the great contrasts Of right and of wrong : Free homes and free altars, Free prairie and flood, — The reeds of the Swan's Marsh, Whose bloom is of blood ! - On the lintels of Kansas That blood shall not dry ; Henceforth the Bad Angel Shall harmless go by ; Henceforth to the sunset, Unchecked on her way, Shall Liberty follow . The march of the day. ioo NATIONAL LYRICS. BARBARA FRIETCHIE. UP from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. Round about them orchards sweep, Apple- and peach-tree fruited deep, Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee marched over the mountain-wall, Over the mountains winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town. Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped in the morning wind : the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one. Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her fourscore years and ten ; Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down ; In her attic-window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet. Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. BARB All A FRILTOIIE. IOI Under his slouched hat left and rijrht He glanced; the old flag met his sight. " Halt ! " — the dust-brown ranks stood fast. "Fire ! " — out blazed the rifle-blast It shivered the window, pane and Bash ; It rent the banner with seam and gash. 102 NATIONAL LYRICS. Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf; She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will. " Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flag," she said. A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came ; The nobler nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word : " Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog ! March on ! " he said. All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet : All day long that free flag tost Over the heads of the rebel host. Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well ; And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night. Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. Honor to her ! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! Peace and order and beauty draw Round thy symbol of light and law ; And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town ! LA US DEO. LAUS DEO. ON HEARING THE BELLS RING FOR THE CONSTITUTIONAL AMEND- MENT ABOLISHING SLAVERY IN THE UNITED STATES. IT is done ! Clang of bell and roar of gun Send the tidings up and down. How the belfries rock and reel, How the great guns, peal on peal, Fling the joy from town to town ! Ring, O bells ! Every stroke exulting tells Of the burial hour of crime. Loud and long, that all may hear, Ring for every listening ear Of Eternity and Time ! Let us kneel : God's own voice is in that peal, • And this spot is holy ground. Lord, forgive us ! What are we, That our eyes this glory see, That our ears have heard the sound ! For the Lord On the whirlwind is abroad ; In the earthquake he has spoken ; He has smitten with his thunder The iron walls asunder, And the gates of brass are broken ! Loud and long Lift the old exulting song, Sing with Miriam by the sea : He has cast the mighty down ; Horse and rider sink and drown ; He has triumphed gloriously ! 104 NATIONAL LYRICS. Did we dare, In our agony of prayer, Ask for more than he has done ? When was ever his right hand Over any time or land Stretched as now beneath the sun ! How they pale, Ancient myth, and song, and tale, In this wonder of our days, When the cruel rod of war Blossoms white with righteous law, And the wrath of man is praise. Blotted out ! All within and all about Shall a fresher life begin ; Freer breathe the universe As it rolls its heavy curse On the dead and buried sin. It is done ! In the circuit of the sun Shall the sound thereof go forth, It shall bid the sad rejoice, It shall give the dumb a voice, It shall belt with joy the earth ! Bing and swing Bells of joy ! on morning's wing Send the song of praise abroad ; With a sound of broken chains, Tell the nations that He reigns, Who alone is Lord and God ! Cambridge : Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. iimi Wm mm Wm mm §11