T238 am NRLF THE AMERICAN LEGEND. POEM THE PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY HARVARD UNIVERSITY, JULY 18, 1850. BY BAYARD TAYLOR. PUBLISHED BY REQUEST. CAMBRIDGE: PUBLISHED BY JOHN BARTLET-T, 1850. THE AMERICAN LEGEND. POEM BEFORE THE PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY OP HARVARD UNIVERSITY, JULY 18, 1850. BY BAYARD TAYLOR. PUBLISHED BY REQUEST. CAMBRIDGE: PUBLISHED BY JOHN BART LETT 1850. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by JOHN BARTLETT, in the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. CAMBRIDGE : METCALF AND COMPANY, PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. THE AMERICAN LEGEND. WHEN, hoarse and loud, the winds of Winter blow, And moonlight glitters on the crisping snow, When streams amid their sheltering sedges yield, And hide their fretting with a crystal shield, When tags of ice the oak s rough beard adorn, And, sleety-haired, the willow sighs forlorn, While, bent with snow, like some grief-burdened brow White ere its season, snaps the hemlock-bough, How warm and cheerful, through the dreary cold, Beams the lit window of a farm-house old ! M184049 4 THE AMERICAN LEGEND. How the rough shell, whose windy gables freeze Amid the creaking of the orchard trees, Pours through its loophole, far along the night, The bursting fulness of its heart of light ! Leave we the frost to forge its noiseless chain, And play Asmodeus at the ruddy pane. In the wide fireplace, as the flame upsprings, The pine-log crackles and the hickory sings : Their ample glow the household group betrays, Who feel the warmth and gather round the blaze, Happier for all the wastes of moonlit snow, Lapped in content, to hear the wild winds blow. The sturdy sire, whose fourscore years gone by Scarce warp his voice, or dim his pleasant eye, Finds in the soothing sounds that charm the night A tranquil joy, recalling past delight ; And while the brave old cider passes round, And gleams the board, with rosy apples crowned, THE AMERICAN LEGEND. 5 The ancient memories, never wholly lost, No longer lie congealed in Age s frost, But melt in dew, that with benignant rain Freshens his heart and makes him young again. He speaks of winters whose relentless power Made peril darker at its darkest hour, When winds were louder in their midnight tune, And pines rose black against the icy moon, What time, in cold and hunger s keenest stress, Their camp-fires lit the Northern wilderness. Again those bands the weary journey make By rugged portage and by frozen lake, Scaring the moose within their mountain lairs With the shrill cheer of Continental airs. Again he sees them drift, in hopeless wreck, Beneath the battlements of old Quebec, Hears the deep drum-beat and the trumpet s swell, As on the morning when Montgomery fell, 1* 6 THE AMERICAN LEGEND. And the old eye betrays a gathering tear, Born of those drops it shed beside his bier. The picture changes. "Pis the early May; The lake spreads dimly in the dawning gray, Calmed with the mist that hides its placid shores, And gives no sound beneath the muffled oars. Silent and swift the soldier-boatmen glide Where old Ticonderoga fronts the tide ; Around the bastions, through the arch they creep, Awake the careless sentry from his sleep, And storm the court, where Ethan Allen s tread Roused the bewildered chieftain from his bed, To hear that voice of stormy volume claim The fortress-key in Great Jehovah s name, To see him turn aside and grimly laugh When the cross-banner fluttered down its staff, And rose the inspiring shouts that only rise When Freedom s sons exult in Freedom s vic tories ! THE AMERICAN LEGEND. 7 The old man s heart, filled with the olden time, Gives to his voice an unaccustomed chime ; And, as one memory to another clings, The scanty tide receives a thousand springs, And backward flows through all his father s lore, Till fades the track along the glimmering shore. With chin on hand and sunburnt forehead bent, His sons lean forward, on his lips intent; Yet more than theirs the wonder and surprise That brighten up his little grandson s eyes : The matron s fingers at her knitting stray And drop the stitch, unnoticed, by the way ; While the hale neighbour, who has tramped again The upland path, to talk of beeves and grain, Warms with the tale, and, more familiar grown. Asks for the sword, the jewel rarely shown. The old man yields, he bids the grandson go : The boy, obedient, dreads an ambushed foe ; THE AMERICAN LEGEND. The candle flickers in the chilly air, And loud beneath him creaks the oaken stair ; The antique bedroom and the lofty press Add fresher terrors to his vague distress ; Some Indian, surely, crouches by the door, Or glides, with stealthy step, across the floor ; A troop of redcoats lurk beneath the bed, Shake the loud sash, and walk the beams o er- head ; Thrilling with dread, his temples seem to feel The scalping-knife, his ribs the pointed steel ; With hurried hands he opes the guarded chest, Lifts the old weapon from its honored rest, And slips, emboldened, from the chilly gloom Back to the gladness of the peopled room, Where, when his feet have found their former place, The ruddy firelight shows a braver face. Thus, till the blazing logs grow black, and cold, The Legend pens them in its charmed fold. THE AMERICAN LEGEND. 9 Though o er their lives delusive Fancy flings No rainbow solace from her tinsel wings, Though the harsh round of common toil they tread, Nor into sunshine lift the plodding head, Yet in their simple hands the key is held To all the misty chronicles of Eld, And from her stores they take a joy as true As e er the prophet-soul of Genius knew. The scholar ponders the immortal page Where Shakspeare s sun gives light to every age, Or, trembling, walks in Milton s grander spell, The burning marl, the hollow vaults of hell ; But England s poorest peasant-child can see Bold Robin Hood beneath the greenwood tree, And Cheviot s flocks the shepherd s ballad know Of stout Earl Percy and the milk-white doe. The fisher, rocked on some Norwegian fjord, Sings of the old Berserker s steed and sword, 10 THE AMERICAN LEGEND. Hallows the mound that marks a Viking s grave, And sees his white-winged dragons breast the wave. Valencia s mountains echo, as of yore, The battle-song of Cid Campeador ; In Suabia s valleys keeps his ancient guard, In many a song, the brave Count Eberhard, And Tuscan children mid the vines grow pale At Pisa s curse and Ugolino s tale. While Power and Learning, emulous of Fame, Wrest from the stubborn world a brief acclaim, Yet, blindly marching to the common doom, Build o er their empty urns a pompous tomb, A simple deed, the unsought glory won By some frank soul, that could not else have done r Will to his name a living beauty give, And in the world s embalming memory live. In epic grandeur, we may spurn the sod, Be more than man, scarce less than demigod, THE AMERICAN LEGEND. 11 And in those temples where the Few adore Be throned in joy and glory evermore : With tragic torch, our steps may downward tend Through the soul s caverns, deepening without end, Past fires volcanic, blazing fierce and dun, And still, cold lakes, that never saw the sun : Filled with a thirst insatiate and divine, Our lips may quaff the lyric s glorious wine, Or, touched more gently, by a thirst as true, Sip from the pastoral s cup of honey-dew, Yet, in our pride, the precious draught we waste On duller lips, that have not learned to taste. The Mind s creations need a finer sense To feel their power, and do them reverence : They o er their narrow fealties reign apart, The Legend nestles in the nation s heart ! Self-sprung, like Athens children, from the soil, It needs no touch of Art s sublimer toil ; 12 THE AMERICAN LEGEND. It lifts no wing to skies more cold and rare, But treads the earth and breathes the common air. So, as the race and language pass away, It twines, perennial, round their slow decay, And thrills the pulses of decrepitude With the rich vigor of its youthful blood. In vain the master of the cunning lyre Would lend his fashion to its plain attire, Mask with his dreams of fair ideal grace The homely features of its breathing face, Or give its limbs of living strength alone The shape symmetric of the chiselled stone. In Nature s heart, the same compassion mild Beats for her poorest and her proudest child ; Soothed on her breast, to all alike belong The joy and solace of her truest song, And though the splendid mausoleums wrought, In long aspiring, by the Kings of Thought, May stand exempt from jealous Time s control, The simplest word that moves the general soul THE AMERICAN LEGEND. 13 Will, glad and frequent as a star, arise To light the path of countless centuries ! And thou, our land! nursed at a savage breast ! Thou, Empire-child ! Young Titan of the West ! What songs to mould thee did harmonious part, When thou wert growing under Freedom s heart ? What was the legend that she told to thee When thou wert lisping at her parent-knee ? Thine were no shapes of beauty, such as beamed Upon thine elder brothers, as they dreamed : For thee no gods, thine early toil to share, Walked on thy hills and brightened thy blue air: The fairy forms, the dreams, Olympus-born, That peopled Earth when smiled the Attic morn, Gave to young Greece the glory of his eye, And taught his feet no step but Victory ! But when the world first knew thine infant tread. Its breast was soulless, Pan himself was dead 1 2 14 THE AMERICAN LEGEND. For thee no gush of summer leaves betrayed The Hamadryad laughing in the shade ; Though wreathing mist the mountain steeps un veiled, No longer there the glimmering Oread sailed, Nor, where the cliff-born torrent left its home, The Naiad shouted through her silver foam. Where the salt sea-wave on the breakers fell, No beckoning Siren strung her wreathed shell, No angry ^Eolus heaped his cloudy rack, Nor Triton-boys bestrode the dolphin s back. Yet, though the early oracles were flown, As fair the long-forsaken temple shone ; And though the legend of the age of gold Lay overgrown with immemorial mould, From its last flower was blown a winged seed That rooted in thy soil the ancient breed, And the world s Dragons saw in thee restored Alcides blood, the lineage of their lord. The Earth thy homage never learned to claim, But made thee master of her mighty frame. THE AMERICAN LEGEND. 15 No solemn presence in the boundless woods Upheld thy axe that swept the solitudes ; When thy bold feet the nesting eagle won, Thine eye, unblenehing, triumphed in the sun ; And on the crags, around whose weedy verge Perpetual onset makes the baffled surge, Thou -sat st, in musing, when the sea-bird s wail Called up the night and piped the rising gale. In all those forms of power, thine eye beheld But subject forces, and their rage compelled : Girt with a strength unspoiled did Nature stand, Bat thou wert lord, and thine the shaping hand ! Around thy cradle, rocked by wintry waves, The Pilgrim Fathers sang their pious staves, While like an echo, wandering dim and vast Down the snow-laden forests of the Past, The Norsemen s hail through bearded lips rang out, Frothy with mead, at every wassail-bout, 16 THE AMERICAN LEGEND. And softer chimes, the rugged stops between, Filled far away the Southern woods of green, Bearing the music of chivalric Spain To meet and mingle with that ruder strain. Take we the volume, where thy legend stands, And turn its pages with our childish hands. How the rare flavor, stealing to the brain, Informs each scene, and bids it breathe again ! Like its own dreams, the willing mind believes The shapes that glimmer on the pictured leaves. We swing their swords, we sing their lusty songs ; The far remembrance to ourself belongs ; Their toil and daring seem our lives to crown, And we are heirs to all their old renown ! Rein to that flattering fancy let us give, And for a moment in our legends live, Roaming from year to year, from land to land, Where er may wave the weird enchanter s wand. THE AMERICAN LEGEND. 17 The stars are out ; our fires begin to shine ; Our sleep is cradled by the chanting pine ; The bubbling noise of undiscovered floods Conies through the heart of deep magnolia woods, And Ponce de Leon, leaning on his brand, Cries, " God for Spain ! the Fountain is at hand ! " Now green Virginia greets us from the seas : Thy hand, bold Raleigh, gives the landward breeze The lion-flag, that late, in summer calms, Flamed in the shade of Orinoco s palms, When, to thy poet- vision fair unrolled, The splendid fable waved its wings of gold, But like the faithless bird of Eastern lore, Still farther flying, mocked thy hope the more. Though vain the fabric thou didst toil to frame, Yet, gallant Raleigh! we have kept thy name; Long with our annals shall thy story blend, Whom noble Sydney cherished as his friend, 2* 18 THE AMERICAN LEGEND. Who pressed thy Spenser s heart in frank em brace, And stood with mighty Shakspeare face to face ! We turn the leaf: we breathe the smoky calm That fills thy quiet streets, New Amsterdam ! Quiet, save when Van Corlear s trump is blown, And warlike Peter puts his harness on : Then fume the burghers, fired with bold emprise, Then beer goes down, and angry whiffs arise ! Loud to the combat shrills the piping reed * Gainst prying Yankee and presumptuous Swede, While eager swords, that cannot find a foe, Lay many a field of embryo sourkrout low. Soon the fierce puffs their valorous heads en shroud, And their own wrath enwraps them as a cloud. There let them rest : their sturdy work survives To check our rude irreverence of their lives ; No longer, then, their portly shades provoke, Thy dreams, Van T wilier, did not end in smoke ! THE AMERICAN LEGEND. 19 Where Delaware rolls his glassy waters, now The light winds urge our Scandinavian prow : The anchor drops, the shallop strikes the shore, And Calmar s Key unlocks an empire s door. Our forest-fort displays its ramparts bare, And Printz, our leader, plants his banner there. How well he kept it let those envoys say, Whose clumsy galleon wallowed in our bay. When of submission spoke the braggart carles, Shot through his blood the rage of all the Jarls : " By Odin s throne ! " his iron accents burst ; " We strike our flag? we wear your yoke ac cursed ? We bend the knee, and break the Swedish sword, And hail your limping chieftain as our lord ? Be this our answer!" In each trowsers-band Our Northern giant twists his brawny hand, Plants his firm foot, that jars the solid floor, And hurls the burly Dutchmen through the door. 20 THE AMERICAN LEGEND. Could we but linger, many a page remains Illuminate, despite its mouldy stains. We join the hymns of Puritanic sires, Sedately grouped about the forest-fires, When, firm in faith, they bind their bleeding scars, Returning home from Narraganset wars. We hear the volleyed shot, the Indian yell, Ring through the pass where stubborn Brad- dock fell, Or, following up the steps of glory, mix In the embattled ranks of Seventy- Six, Arm in hot haste on Concord s trampled ground, Toil in the trench that hallowed Bunker s mound, Fire with old Wayne the Hudson s midnight gorge, Starve on the wintry hills of Valley Forge, House with the panther under Marion s pines, And lead the charge at Yorktown s closing lines ! THE AMERICAN LEGEND. 21 These are the legends, at whose living springs Our bards should drink, and lave their dusty wings ; Then, from the baptism rising newly-born, Soar in the sunshine of their country s morn ! Not theirs to grope amid barbaric mould, Where nameless mounds their nameless idols hold, To bait their lines from antiquarian sods, And weave grim stanzas to the dumb-eyed gods, Where feathered serpents fill the sacred grove And Quetzatcoatl takes the place of Jove ! They need not dig, to grace the toilsome page, The shapeless relics of a fossil age. Let gaunt Behemoth rest his weary bones, And drop no tear on dead Palenque s stones, Nor dream, like those who wrought on Babel s plain, To pile them heavenward, building in your brain Some monstrous epic, doomed to rust, ere long, A Gorgon-head upon the shield of Song ! 22 THE AMERICAN LEGEND. But some there be, whose lips already know The true old speech, and breathe its native glow. Honor to him who from his Baltic home Followed the Viking over the un ploughed foarn, And heard the sob, when, clad in warlike gear, Beside the tower he fell upon his spear, Led by whose hand, along the sounding sea, We walk thy meadows, virgin Acadie ! Sail with thy children, while their slight canoe, Cape after cape, drops down the still bayou, With restless Gabriel rove through many a scene, And weep the tears of sweet Evangeline. Him, too, we name, whose clanging lines reveal The roar of cannon and the ring of steel, The border fight, the strife of man with man, When Papist sword was crossed with Puritan. He guides our steps where, in their bloody bed, Pentucket s foes lie mingled with her dead, He bids us plant Sebago s funeral tree, And with La Tour for vengeance sweep the sea ! THE AMERICAN LEGEND. 23 We leave the Past : how stands the nation now ? What newer spoils have crowned his hardy brow ? What deeds are done, what chronicle sublime Shall be the legend of his later time ? The nursling giant, in whose gripe of pride The serpent wrongs of old Oppression died, While rocked on Freedom s buckler yet he lay, Like a young athlete lifts his arm to-day ! With conscious strength, the prophecy of fame, He wrestles in the world s Olympic game. From Northern lakes, where brief the summer smiles, His realm, expanding, meet the Indian isles ; The savage elements become his slaves ; His fiery heralds ride the conquered waves ; Beyond the central wastes his journey goes, By sandy plains and over Alpine snows, Where grander oceans break on beach and crag. And fresher breezes toss his fearless flag, 24 THE AMERICAN LEGEND. Where, pausing, bounded in his march elate, He plants his pillars at the Sunset s gate ! Not vain the question, if of right belong To present deeds the seed of future song. Full many a goodly measure has been sown On windy plains and wastes of barren stone, And many a stalk, that finds a place to sprout, Will never see the ripening harvest out, But rankly shoot and prematurely drop, For Heroes are a most uncertain crop. Yet, from our time, it were no vain belief, The reaper Fame may bind one golden sheaf, Not from the plants of battle-soil alone, But fragrant llowers, in milder gardens grown. There, too, shall move the endless length of trains Westward across the desert stretch of plains, And there, where wide the watery circle dips, Swell the white canvas of a thousand ships, Bearing those hordes (and still their ranks in crease) Who go to find or feel the golden fleece. THE AMERICAN LEGEND. 25 The stalwart life that loves the mountain air, Earth s freest blood, shall pulse immortal there, Life, that ne er sits with idle pinions furled, But takes its joy in God s created world, Strong as the rock, and as the sunbeam warm, Frank as the sky, impetuous as the storm ! But hark ! the minute gun, the muffled bell, E en while I speak, begin a hero s knell. Thou, too, my country, hear st that heavy chime, And sitt st a mourner in thy woe sublime, Thy heart cast down, oppressed by sudden fears, Thine eyes o ercharged with unavailing tears. Well mayst thou mourn ! there comes no quick- relief, No morning twilight to thy night of grief. His was the generous heart to thee unclosed, His was the arm whereon thy trust reposed, His was the simple faith, the will complete, The soldier daring, never taught retreat, That only saw, wherever danger led, The star of duty shining overhead, 3 26 THE AMERICAN LEGEND. Followed that star through battle s fiery breath, And hailed it shining on the front of Death! Here let me pause ; nor seek to lift the eye And wear the kindling face of Prophecy, Pretend to tear the future s veil aside And pamper dreams of patriotic pride With gorgeous pictures, where the nation s hand Shall touch the tropic and the polar land, Clasping the Continent in one embrace, The mighty heirdom of the Saxon race ! Enough for her, in self-dependent power, To wrest the favor of the present hour. And whether we, who see that hour go by, Shall see her standard brush the Southern sky, Shall hear her trumps their morning marches blow Where Orizaba lifts its helm of snow, Shall join the cheers of Independence Day By Cuba s palms or Hudson s icy bay, Or whether Factions rise to overwhelm, And leave behind a clipped and shrunken realm, THE AMERICAN LEGEND. 27 Still be it ours that manly trust to keep, Wherewith our Legend s living pulses leap, Copy their strength, their zeal, their faith sub lime, And leave the Future unto God and Time ! 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. This bock is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. IMaybtUF ^C o , D flPfi I7i Q T iaMay-iJ F?rtC-D LD 9 8 General Library LD 21A-50m-8, 57 University of California (C8481slO)476B Berkeley M184049 *3? THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY