Chapter 6

Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar, And the East see thy morn hide the beams of her star; New bards and new sages unrivalled shall soar To fame unextinguished when time is no more; To thee, the last refuge of virtue designed, Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind; Here, grateful to Heaven, with transport shall bring Their incense, more fragrant than odors of spring.

Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend, And genius and beauty in harmony blend; The graces of form shall awake pure desire, And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire; Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refined, And virtue's bright image, enstamped on the mind, With peace and soft rapture shall teach life to glow, And light up a smile on the aspect of woe.

Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display, The nations admire, and the ocean obey; Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold, And the East and the South yield their spices and gold. As the dayspring unbounded thy splendor shall flow, And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow, While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurled, Hush the tumult of war, and give peace to the world.

Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'er-spread, From war's dread confusion, I pensively strayed,-- The gloom from the face of fair heaven retired; The wind ceased to murmur, the thunders expired; Perfumes, as of Eden, flowed sweetly along, And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung: "Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, The queen of the world, and the child of the skies!"

TIMOTHY DWIGHT.

* * * * *

ON THE PROSPECT OF PLANTING ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA.

The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime Barren of every glorious theme, In distant lands now waits a better time, Producing subjects worthy fame.

In happy climes, where from the genial sun And virgin earth such scenes ensue, The force of art by nature seems outdone, And fancied beauties by the true:

In happy climes, the seat of innocence, Where nature guides and virtue rules, Where men shall not impose for truth and sense The pedantry of courts and schools:

There shall be sung another golden age, The rise of empire and of arts, The good and great inspiring epic rage, The wisest heads and noblest hearts.

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay: Such as she bred when fresh and young, When heavenly flame did animate her clay, By future poets shall be sung.

Westward the course of empire takes its way; The first four acts already past, A fifth shall close the drama with the day; Time's noblest offspring is the last.

BISHOP GEORGE BERKELEY.

* * * * *

ENGLAND TO AMERICA.

Nor force nor fraud shall sunder us! O ye Who north or south, or east or western land, Native to noble sounds, say truth for truth, Freedom for freedom, love for love, and God For God; O ye who in eternal youth Speak with a living and creative flood This universal English, and do stand Its breathing book; live worthy of that grand Heroic utterance--parted, yet a whole, Far, yet unsevered,--children brave and free Of the great Mother tongue, and ye shall be Lords of an empire wide as Shakespeare's soul, Sublime as Milton's immemorial theme, And rich as Chaucer's speech, and fair as Spenser's dream.

SYDNEY DOBELL.

* * * * *

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 Is scant 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 Are free, strong minds, and hearts of health; And more to her than gold or grain The cunning hand and cultured brain.

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.

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

* * * * *

THE REPUBLIC.

FROM "THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP."

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O UNION, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope! Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 'Tis of the wave and not the rock; 'Tis but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, Are all with thee,--are all with thee!

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

* * * * *

AMERICA

[1832.]

My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrims' pride, From every mountain-side Let freedom ring.

My native country, thee, Land of the noble free,-- Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees, Sweet freedom's song; Let mortal tongues awake, Let all that breathe partake, Let rocks their silence break,-- The sound prolong.

Our fathers' God, to Thee, Author of liberty, To Thee I sing; Long may our land be bright With freedom's holy light; Protect us by thy might, Great God our King.

Samuel Francis Smith.

* * * * *

"OLD IRONSIDES."

[On the proposed breaking up of the United States frigate "Constitution."]

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rung the battle-shout, And burst the cannon's roar: The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more!

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were hurrying o'er the flood And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquered knee: The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea!

O better that her shattered hulk Should sink beneath the wave! Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave: Nail to the mast her holy flag, Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms, The lightning and the gale!

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

* * * * *

MEN OF THE NORTH AND WEST.

[APRIL, 1861.]

Men of the North and West, Wake in your might. Prepare, as the rebels have done, For the fight! You cannot shrink from the test; Rise! Men of the North and West!

They have torn down your banner of stars; They have trampled the laws; They have stifled the freedom they hate, For no cause! Do you love it or slavery best? Speak! Men of the North and West!

They strike at the life of the State: Shall the murder be done? They cry: "We are two!" And you? "We are one!" You must meet them, then, breast to breast; On! Men of the North and West!

Not with words; they laugh them to scorn, And tears they despise; But with swords in your hands, and death In your eyes! Strike home! leave to God all the rest; Strike! Men of the North and West!

RICHARD HENRY STODDARD.

* * * * *

OUR COUNTRY'S CALL.

[1861.]

Lay down the axe, fling by the spade; Leave in its track the toiling plough; The rifle and the bayonet-blade For arms like yours were fitter now; And let the hands that ply the pen Quit the light task, and learn to wield The horseman's crookèd brand, and rein The charger on the battle-field.

Our country calls; away! away! To where the blood-stream blots the green; Strike to defend the gentlest sway That Time in all his course has seen. See, from a thousand coverts--see Spring the armed foes that haunt her track; They rush to smite her down, and we Must beat the banded traitors back.

Ho! sturdy as the oaks ye cleave, And moved as soon to fear and flight, Men of the glade and forest! leave Your woodcraft for the field of fight. The arms that wield the axe must pour An iron tempest on the foe; His serried ranks shall reel before The arm that lays the panther low.

And ye who breast the mountain storm By grassy steep or highland lake, Come, for the land ye love, to form A bulwark that no foe can break. Stand, like your own gray cliffs that mock The whirlwind; stand in her defence: The blast as soon shall move the rock, As rushing squadrons bear ye thence.

And ye whose homes are by her grand Swift rivers, rising far away, Come from the depth of her green land As mighty in your march as they; As terrible as when the rains Have swelled them over bank and bourne, With sudden floods to drown the plains And sweep along the woods uptorn.

And ye who throng beside the deep, Her ports and hamlets of the strand, In number like the waves that leap On his long-murmuring marge of sand, Come, like that deep, when, o'er his brim, He rises, all his floods to pour, And flings the proudest barks that swim, A helpless wreck against his shore.

Few, few were they whose swords of old Won the fair land in which we dwell; But we are many, we who hold The grim resolve to guard it well. Strike for that broad and goodly land, Blow after blow, till men shall see That Might and Right move hand in hand, And Glorious must their triumph be.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

* * * * *

A CRY TO ARMS.

[1861.]

Ho, woodsmen of the mountain-side! Ho, dwellers in the vales! Ho, ye who by the chafing tide Have roughened in the gales! Leave barn and byre, leave kin and cot, Lay by the bloodless spade; Let desk and case and counter rot, And burn your books of trade!

The despot roves your fairest lands; And till he flies or fears, Your fields must grow but armèd bands, Your sheaves be sheaves of spears! Give up to mildew and to rust The useless tools of gain, And feed your country's sacred dust With floods of crimson rain!

Come with the weapons at your call-- With musket, pike, or knife; He wields the deadliest blade of all Who lightest holds his life. The arm that drives its unbought blows With all a patriot's scorn, Might brain a tyrant with a rose Or stab him with a thorn.

Does any falter? Let him turn To some brave maiden's eyes, And catch the holy fires that burn In those sublunar skies. Oh, could you like your women feel, And in their spirit march, A day might see your lines of steel Beneath the victor's arch!

What hope, O God! would not grow warm When thoughts like these give cheer? The lily calmly braves the storm, And shall the palm-tree fear? No! rather let its branches court The rack that sweeps the plain; And from the lily's regal port Learn how to breast the strain.

Ho, woodsmen of the mountain-side! Ho, dwellers in the vales! Ho, ye who by the roaring tide Have roughened in the gales! Come, flocking gayly to the fight, From forest, hill, and lake; We battle for our country's right, And for the lily's sake!

HENRY TIMROD.

* * * * *

THE NATION'S PRAYER.

[1861].

I.

Before Thy Throne we bow: O God, our shield be Thou From Treason's rage! In faith we look to Thee, Our strength in Heav'n we see, Defender of the free, In ev'ry age.

II.

Our follies we confess: O God, forgive and bless! Let Mercy's light Illumine this dark hour, When war clouds o'er us lower, And Thine eternal power Defend the right!

III.

Our Pilgrim fathers sleep, The ocean, broad and deep, Beside their graves. When Thine archangel cries, Forbid that they should rise To crowns in Paradise From soil of slaves!

IV.

Protect our armies, Lord, And when they draw the sword In freedom's name, Strike Thou for them the blow, Overwhelm the vaunting foe, And bury Treason low, In deathless shame!

V.

Let Liberty arise, Her glory fill the skies, The world be free! Let all adore Thy name, And children lisp Thy fame-- Let earth and heav'n proclaim The jubilee!

CRAMMOND KENNEDY.

* * * * *

MY MARYLAND.

[1861.]

The despot's heel is on thy shore, Maryland! His torch is at thy temple door, Maryland! Avenge the patriotic gore That flecked the streets of Baltimore, And be the battle queen of yore, Maryland, My Maryland!

Hark to thy wandering son's appeal, Maryland! My mother State, to thee I kneel, Maryland! For life and death, for woe and weal, Thy peerless chivalry reveal, And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, Maryland, My Maryland!

Thou wilt not cower in the dust, Maryland! Thy beaming sword shall never rust, Maryland! Remember Carroll's sacred trust, Remember Howard's warlike thrust, And all thy slumberers with the just, Maryland, My Maryland!

Come, 'tis the red dawn of the day, Maryland! Come with thy panoplied array, Maryland! With Ringgold's spirit for the fray, With Watson's blood at Monterey, With fearless Lowe and dashing May, Maryland, My Maryland!

Dear mother, burst the tyrant's chain, Maryland! Virginia should not call in vain, Maryland! She meets her sisters on the plain: "Sic semper!" 'tis the proud refrain That baffles minions back amain, Maryland, My Maryland!

Come, for thy shield is bright and strong, Maryland! Come, for thy dalliance does thee wrong, Maryland! Come to thine own heroic throng, That stalks with liberty along, And give a new key to thy song, Maryland, My Maryland!

I see the blush upon thy cheek, Maryland! But thou wast ever bravely meek, Maryland! But lo! there surges forth a shriek From hill to hill, from creek to creek; Potomac calls to Chesapeake, Maryland, My Maryland!

Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, Maryland! Thou wilt not crook to his control, Maryland! Better the fire upon thee roll, Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, Than crucifixion of the soul, Maryland, My Maryland!

I hear the distant thunder hum, Maryland! The Old Line's bugle, fife, and drum, Maryland! She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb-- Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum; She breathes, she burns--she'll come! she'll come! Maryland, My Maryland!

JAMES RYDER RANDALL.

* * * * *

DIXIE.

[1861.]

Southrons, hear your country call you! Up, lest worse than death befall you! To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted,-- Let all hearts be now united! To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! Advance the flag of Dixie! Hurrah! hurrah! For Dixie's land we take our stand, And live or die for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie!

Hear the Northern thunders mutter! Northern flags in South winds flutter! Send them back your fierce defiance! Stamp upon the accursed alliance!

Fear no danger! Shun no labor! Lift up rifle, pike, and sabre! Shoulder pressing close to shoulder, Let the odds make each heart bolder!

How the South's great heart rejoices At your cannons' ringing voices! For faith betrayed, and pledges broken, Wrongs inflicted, insults spoken.

Strong as lions, swift as eagles, Back to their kennels hunt these beagles! Cut the unequal bonds asunder! Let them hence each other plunder!

Swear upon your country's altar Never to submit or falter, Till the spoilers are defeated, Till the Lord's work is completed.

Halt not till our Federation Secures among earth's powers its station! Then at peace, and crowned with glory, Hear your children tell the story!

If the loved ones weep in sadness, Victory soon shall bring them gladness,-- To arms! Exultant pride soon banish sorrow, Smiles chase tears away to-morrow. To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! Advance the flag of Dixie! Hurrah! hurrah! For Dixie's land we take our stand, And live or die for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie!

ALBERT PIKE.

* * * * *

THE FLAG GOES BY.

Hats off! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, A dash of color beneath the sky: Hats off! The flag is passing by!

Blue and crimson and white it shines, Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. Hats off! The colors before us fly; But more than the flag is passing by.

Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great, Fought to make and to save the State: Weary marches and sinking ships; Cheers of victory on dying lips;

Days of plenty and years of peace; March of a strong land's swift increase; Equal justice, right and law, Stately honor and reverend awe;

Sign of a nation, great and strong To ward her people from foreign wrong: Pride and glory and honor,--all Live in the colors to stand or fall.

Hats off! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums; And loyal hearts are beating high: Hats off! The flag is passing by!

HENRY HOLCOMB BENNETT.

* * * * *

THE BRAVE AT HOME.

The maid who binds her warrior's sash With smile that well her pain dissembles, The while beneath her drooping lash One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, Though Heaven alone records the tear, And Fame shall never know her story, Her heart has shed a drop as dear As e'er bedewed the field of glory!

The wife who girds her husband's sword, Mid little ones who weep or wonder, And bravely speaks the cheering word, What though her heart be rent asunder, Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear The bolts of death around him rattle, Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er Was poured upon the field of battle!

The mother who conceals her grief While to her breast her son she presses, Then breathes a few brave words and brief, Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, With no one but her secret God To know the pain that weighs upon her, Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod Received on Freedom's field of honor!

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.

* * * * *

II.

FREEDOM.

THE PLACE WHERE MAN SHOULD DIE.

How little recks it where men lie, When once the moment's past In which the dim and glazing eye Has looked on earth its last,-- Whether beneath the sculptured urn The coffined form shall rest, Or in its nakedness return Back to its mother's, breast!

Death is a common friend or foe, As different men may hold, And at his summons each must go, The timid and the bold; But when the spirit, free and warm, Deserts it, as it must, What matter where the lifeless form Dissolves again to dust?

The soldier falls 'mid corses piled Upon the battle-plain, Where reinless war-steeds gallop wild Above the mangled slain; But though his corse be grim to see, Hoof-trampled on the sod, What recks it, when the spirit free Has soared aloft to God?

The coward's dying eyes may close Upon his downy bed, And softest hands his limbs compose, Or garments o'er them spread. But ye who shun the bloody fray, When fall the mangled brave, Go--strip his coffin-lid away, And see him in his grave!

'Twere sweet, indeed, to close our eyes, With those we cherish near, And, wafted upwards by their sighs, Soar to some calmer sphere. But whether on the scaffold high, Or in the battle's van, The fittest place where man can die Is where he dies for man!

MICHAEL JOSEPH BARRY.

* * * * *

LIBERTY.

What man is there so bold that he should say, "Thus, and thus only, would I have the Sea"? For whether lying calm and beautiful, Clasping the earth in love, and throwing back The smile of Heaven from waves of amethyst; Or whether, freshened by the busy winds, It bears the trade and navies of the world To ends of use or stern activity; Or whether, lashed by tempests, it gives way To elemental fury, howls and roars At all its rocky barriers, in wild lust Of ruin drinks the blood of living things, And strews its wrecks o'er leagues of desolate shore,-- Always it is the Sea, and men bow down Before its vast and varied majesty.

So all in vain will timorous ones essay To set the metes and bounds of Liberty. For Freedom is its own eternal law: It makes its own conditions, and in storm Or calm alike fulfils the unerring Will. Let us not then despise it when it lies Still as a sleeping lion, while a swarm Of gnat-like evils hover round its head; Nor doubt it when in mad, disjointed times It shakes the torch of terror, and its cry Shrills o'er the quaking earth, and in the flame Of riot and war we see its awful form Rise by the scaffold, where the crimson axe Rings down its grooves the knell of shuddering kings. For ever in thine eyes, O Liberty, Shines that high light whereby the world is saved, And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee!

JOHN HAY.

* * * * *

PATIENCE.

FROM "POEMS OF FREEDOM."

Be patient, O be patient! Put your ear against the earth; Listen there how noiselessly the germ o' the seed has birth; How noiselessly and gently it upheaves its little way Till it parts the scarcely-broken ground, and the blade stands up in the day.

Be patient, O be patient! the germs of mighty thought Must have their silent undergrowth, must underground be wrought; But, as sure as ever there's a Power that makes the grass appear, Our land shall be green with Liberty, the blade-time shall be here.

Be patient, O be patient! go and watch the wheat-ears grow, So imperceptibly that ye can mark nor change nor throe: Day after day, day after day till the ear is fully grown; And then again day after day, till the ripened field is brown.

Be patient, O be patient! though yet our hopes are green, The harvest-field of Freedom shall be crowned with the sunny sheen. Be ripening, be ripening! mature your silent way Till the whole broad land is tongued with fire on Freedom's harvest day.

WILLIAM JAMES LINTON.

* * * * *

THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.