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+Project Gutenberg EBook, Songs of Labor and Reform, by Whittier
+Volume III., The Works of Whittier: Anti-Slavery, Labor and Reform
+#24 in our series by John Greenleaf Whittier
+
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+Title: Songs of Labor and Reform
+       From Volume III., The Works of Whittier: Anti-Slavery
+       Poems and Songs of Labor and Reform
+
+Author: John Greenleaf Whittier
+
+Release Date: December 2005  [EBook #9579]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on October 15, 2003]
+
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+
+
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SONGS OF LABOR AND REFORM ***
+
+
+
+
+This eBook was produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+                           ANTI-SLAVERY POEMS
+
+                       SONGS OF LABOR AND REFORM
+
+
+                                   BY
+
+                        JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
+
+
+                        SONGS OF LABOR AND REFORM
+
+
+
+CONTENTS:
+
+THE QUAKER OF THE OLDEN TIME
+DEMOCRACY
+THE GALLOWS
+SEED-TIME AND HARVEST
+TO THE REFORMERS OF ENGLAND
+THE HUMAN SACRIFICE
+SONGS OF LABOR
+     DEDICATION
+     THE SHOEMAKERS
+     THE FISHERMEN
+     THE LUMBERMEN
+     THE SHIP-BUILDERS
+     THE DROVERS
+     THE HUSKERS
+THE REFORMER
+THE PEACE CONVENTION AT BRUSSELS
+THE PRISONER FOR DEBT
+THE CHRISTIAN TOURISTS
+THE MEN OF OLD
+TO PIUS IX.
+CALEF IN BOSTON
+OUR STATE
+THE PRISONERS OF NAPLES
+THE PEACE OF EUROPE
+ASTRAEA
+THE DISENTHRALLED
+THE POOR VOTER ON ELECTION DAY
+THE DREAM OF PIO NONO
+THE VOICES
+THE NEW EXODUS
+THE CONQUEST OF FINLAND
+THE EVE OF ELECTION
+FROM PERUGIA
+ITALY
+FREEDOM IN BRAZIL
+AFTER ELECTION
+DISARMAMENT
+THE PROBLEM
+OUR COUNTRY
+ON THE BIG HORN
+
+NOTES
+
+
+
+
+THE QUAKER OF THE OLDEN TIME.
+
+THE Quaker of the olden time!
+How calm and firm and true,
+Unspotted by its wrong and crime,
+He walked the dark earth through.
+The lust of power, the love of gain,
+The thousand lures of sin
+Around him, had no power to stain
+The purity within.
+
+With that deep insight which detects
+All great things in the small,
+And knows how each man's life affects
+The spiritual life of all,
+He walked by faith and not by sight,
+By love and not by law;
+The presence of the wrong or right
+He rather felt than saw.
+
+He felt that wrong with wrong partakes,
+That nothing stands alone,
+That whoso gives the motive, makes
+His brother's sin his own.
+And, pausing not for doubtful choice
+Of evils great or small,
+He listened to that inward voice
+Which called away from all.
+
+O Spirit of that early day,
+So pure and strong and true,
+Be with us in the narrow way
+Our faithful fathers knew.
+Give strength the evil to forsake,
+The cross of Truth to bear,
+And love and reverent fear to make
+Our daily lives a prayer!
+1838.
+
+
+
+
+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 haughty brows of Pride.
+
+Oh, 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!
+
+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 right 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 seest 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.
+
+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, 1841
+
+
+
+
+THE GALLOWS.
+
+Written on reading pamphlets published by clergymen against the
+abolition of the gallows.
+
+I.
+THE suns of eighteen centuries have shone
+Since the Redeemer walked with man, and made
+The fisher's boat, the cavern's floor of stone,
+And mountain moss, a pillow for His head;
+And He, who wandered with the peasant Jew,
+And broke with publicans the bread of shame,
+And drank with blessings, in His Father's name,
+The water which Samaria's outcast drew,
+Hath now His temples upon every shore,
+Altar and shrine and priest; and incense dim
+Evermore rising, with low prayer and hymn,
+From lips which press the temple's marble floor,
+Or kiss the gilded sign of the dread cross He bore.
+
+
+II.
+Yet as of old, when, meekly "doing good,"
+He fed a blind and selfish multitude,
+And even the poor companions of His lot
+With their dim earthly vision knew Him not,
+How ill are His high teachings understood
+Where He hath spoken Liberty, the priest
+At His own altar binds the chain anew;
+Where He hath bidden to Life's equal feast,
+The starving many wait upon the few;
+Where He hath spoken Peace, His name hath been
+The loudest war-cry of contending men;
+Priests, pale with vigils, in His name have blessed
+The unsheathed sword, and laid the spear in rest,
+Wet the war-banner with their sacred wine,
+And crossed its blazon with the holy sign;
+Yea, in His name who bade the erring live,
+And daily taught His lesson, to forgive!
+Twisted the cord and edged the murderous steel;
+And, with His words of mercy on their lips,
+Hung gloating o'er the pincer's burning grips,
+And the grim horror of the straining wheel;
+Fed the slow flame which gnawed the victim's limb,
+Who saw before his searing eyeballs swim
+The image of their Christ in cruel zeal,
+Through the black torment-smoke, held mockingly to him!
+
+
+III.
+The blood which mingled with the desert sand,
+And beaded with its red and ghastly dew
+The vines and olives of the Holy Land;
+The shrieking curses of the hunted Jew;
+The white-sown bones of heretics, where'er
+They sank beneath the Crusade's holy spear;
+Goa's dark dungeons, Malta's sea-washed cell,
+Where with the hymns the ghostly fathers sung
+Mingled the groans by subtle torture wrung,
+Heaven's anthem blending with the shriek of hell!
+The midnight of Bartholomew, the stake
+Of Smithfield, and that thrice-accursed flame
+Which Calvin kindled by Geneva's lake;
+New England's scaffold, and the priestly sneer
+Which mocked its victims in that hour of fear,
+When guilt itself a human tear might claim,--
+Bear witness, O Thou wronged and merciful One!
+That Earth's most hateful crimes have in Thy
+name been done!
+
+
+IV.
+Thank God! that I have lived to see the time
+When the great truth begins at last to find
+An utterance from the deep heart of mankind,
+Earnest and clear, that all Revenge is Crime,
+That man is holier than a creed, that all
+Restraint upon him must consult his good,
+Hope's sunshine linger on his prison wall,
+And Love look in upon his solitude.
+The beautiful lesson which our Saviour taught
+Through long, dark centuries its way hath wrought
+Into the common mind and popular thought;
+And words, to which by Galilee's lake shore
+The humble fishers listened with hushed oar,
+Have found an echo in the general heart,
+And of the public faith become a living part.
+
+
+V.
+Who shall arrest this tendency? Bring back
+The cells of Venice and the bigot's rack?
+Harden the softening human heart again
+To cold indifference to a brother's pain?
+Ye most unhappy men! who, turned away
+From the mild sunshine of the Gospel day,
+Grope in the shadows of Man's twilight time,
+What mean ye, that with ghoul-like zest ye brood,
+O'er those foul altars streaming with warm blood,
+Permitted in another age and clime?
+Why cite that law with which the bigot Jew
+Rebuked the Pagan's mercy, when he knew
+No evil in the Just One? Wherefore turn
+To the dark, cruel past? Can ye not learn
+From the pure Teacher's life how mildly free
+Is the great Gospel of Humanity?
+The Flamen's knife is bloodless, and no more
+Mexitli's altars soak with human gore,
+No more the ghastly sacrifices smoke
+Through the green arches of the Druid's oak;
+And ye of milder faith, with your high claim
+Of prophet-utterance in the Holiest name,
+Will ye become the Druids of our time
+Set up your scaffold-altars in our land,
+And, consecrators of Law's darkest crime,
+Urge to its loathsome work the hangman's hand?
+Beware, lest human nature, roused at last,
+From its peeled shoulder your encumbrance cast,
+And, sick to loathing of your cry for blood,
+Rank ye with those who led their victims round
+The Celt's red altar and the Indian's mound,
+Abhorred of Earth and Heaven, a pagan brotherhood!
+1842.
+
+
+
+
+SEED-TIME AND HARVEST.
+
+As o'er his furrowed fields which lie
+Beneath a coldly dropping sky,
+Yet chill with winter's melted snow,
+The husbandman goes forth to sow,
+
+Thus, Freedom, on the bitter blast
+The ventures of thy seed we cast,
+And trust to warmer sun and rain
+To swell the germs and fill the grain.
+
+Who calls thy glorious service hard?
+Who deems it not its own reward?
+Who, for its trials, counts it less.
+A cause of praise and thankfulness?
+
+It may not be our lot to wield
+The sickle in the ripened field;
+Nor ours to hear, on summer eves,
+The reaper's song among the sheaves.
+
+Yet where our duty's task is wrought
+In unison with God's great thought,
+The near and future blend in one,
+And whatsoe'er is willed, is done!
+
+And ours the grateful service whence
+Comes day by day the recompense;
+The hope, the trust, the purpose stayed,
+The fountain and the noonday shade.
+
+And were this life the utmost span,
+The only end and aim of man,
+Better the toil of fields like these
+Than waking dream and slothful ease.
+
+But life, though falling like our grain,
+Like that revives and springs again;
+And, early called, how blest are they
+Who wait in heaven their harvest-day!
+1843.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE REFORMERS OF ENGLAND.
+This poem was addressed to those who like Richard Cobden and John Bright
+were seeking the reform of political evils in Great Britain by peaceful
+and Christian means. It will be remembered that the Anti-Corn Law League
+was in the midst of its labors at this time.
+
+GOD bless ye, brothers! in the fight
+Ye 're waging now, ye cannot fail,
+For better is your sense of right
+Than king-craft's triple mail.
+
+Than tyrant's law, or bigot's ban,
+More mighty is your simplest word;
+The free heart of an honest man
+Than crosier or the sword.
+
+Go, let your blinded Church rehearse
+The lesson it has learned so well;
+It moves not with its prayer or curse
+The gates of heaven or hell.
+
+Let the State scaffold rise again;
+Did Freedom die when Russell died?
+Forget ye how the blood of Vane
+From earth's green bosom cried?
+
+The great hearts of your olden time
+Are beating with you, full and strong;
+All holy memories and sublime
+And glorious round ye throng.
+
+The bluff, bold men of Runnymede
+Are with ye still in times like these;
+The shades of England's mighty dead,
+Your cloud of witnesses!
+
+The truths ye urge are borne abroad
+By every wind and every tide;
+The voice of Nature and of God
+Speaks out upon your side.
+
+The weapons which your hands have found
+Are those which Heaven itself has wrought,
+Light, Truth, and Love; your battle-ground
+The free, broad field of Thought.
+
+No partial, selfish purpose breaks
+The simple beauty of your plan,
+Nor lie from throne or altar shakes
+Your steady faith in man.
+
+The languid pulse of England starts
+And bounds beneath your words of power,
+The beating of her million hearts
+Is with you at this hour!
+
+O ye who, with undoubting eyes,
+Through present cloud and gathering storm,
+Behold the span of Freedom's skies,
+And sunshine soft and warm;
+
+Press bravely onward! not in vain
+Your generous trust in human-kind;
+The good which bloodshed could not gain
+Your peaceful zeal shall find.
+
+Press on! the triumph shall be won
+Of common rights and equal laws,
+The glorious dream of Harrington,
+And Sidney's good old cause.
+
+Blessing the cotter and the crown,
+Sweetening worn Labor's bitter cup;
+And, plucking not the highest down,
+Lifting the lowest up.
+
+Press on! and we who may not share
+The toil or glory of your fight
+May ask, at least, in earnest prayer,
+God's blessing on the right!
+1843.
+
+
+
+
+THE HUMAN SACRIFICE.
+
+Some leading sectarian papers had lately published the letter of a
+clergyman, giving an account of his attendance upon a criminal (who had
+committed murder during a fit of intoxication), at the time of his
+execution, in western New York. The writer describes the agony of the
+wretched being, his abortive attempts at prayer, his appeal for life,
+his fear of a violent death; and, after declaring his belief that the
+poor victim died without hope of salvation, concludes with a warm eulogy
+upon the gallows, being more than ever convinced of its utility by the
+awful dread and horror which it inspired.
+
+I.
+FAR from his close and noisome cell,
+By grassy lane and sunny stream,
+Blown clover field and strawberry dell,
+And green and meadow freshness, fell
+The footsteps of his dream.
+Again from careless feet the dew
+Of summer's misty morn he shook;
+Again with merry heart he threw
+His light line in the rippling brook.
+Back crowded all his school-day joys;
+He urged the ball and quoit again,
+And heard the shout of laughing boys
+Come ringing down the walnut glen.
+Again he felt the western breeze,
+With scent of flowers and crisping hay;
+And down again through wind-stirred trees
+He saw the quivering sunlight play.
+An angel in home's vine-hung door,
+He saw his sister smile once more;
+Once more the truant's brown-locked head
+Upon his mother's knees was laid,
+And sweetly lulled to slumber there,
+With evening's holy hymn and prayer!
+
+II.
+He woke. At once on heart and brain
+The present Terror rushed again;
+Clanked on his limbs the felon's chain
+He woke, to hear the church-tower tell
+Time's footfall on the conscious bell,
+And, shuddering, feel that clanging din
+His life's last hour had ushered in;
+To see within his prison-yard,
+Through the small window, iron barred,
+The gallows shadow rising dim
+Between the sunrise heaven and him;
+A horror in God's blessed air;
+A blackness in his morning light;
+Like some foul devil-altar there
+Built up by demon hands at night.
+And, maddened by that evil sight,
+Dark, horrible, confused, and strange,
+A chaos of wild, weltering change,
+All power of check and guidance gone,
+Dizzy and blind, his mind swept on.
+In vain he strove to breathe a prayer,
+In vain he turned the Holy Book,
+He only heard the gallows-stair
+Creak as the wind its timbers shook.
+No dream for him of sin forgiven,
+While still that baleful spectre stood,
+With its hoarse murmur, "Blood for Blood!"
+Between him and the pitying Heaven.
+
+III.
+Low on his dungeon floor he knelt,
+And smote his breast, and on his chain,
+Whose iron clasp he always felt,
+His hot tears fell like rain;
+And near him, with the cold, calm look
+And tone of one whose formal part,
+Unwarmed, unsoftened of the heart,
+Is measured out by rule and book,
+With placid lip and tranquil blood,
+The hangman's ghostly ally stood,
+Blessing with solemn text and word
+The gallows-drop and strangling cord;
+Lending the sacred Gospel's awe
+And sanction to the crime of Law.
+
+IV.
+He saw the victim's tortured brow,
+The sweat of anguish starting there,
+The record of a nameless woe
+In the dim eye's imploring stare,
+Seen hideous through the long, damp hair,--
+Fingers of ghastly skin and bone
+Working and writhing on the stone!
+And heard, by mortal terror wrung
+From heaving breast and stiffened tongue,
+The choking sob and low hoarse prayer;
+As o'er his half-crazed fancy came
+A vision of the eternal flame,
+Its smoking cloud of agonies,
+Its demon-worm that never dies,
+The everlasting rise and fall
+Of fire-waves round the infernal wall;
+While high above that dark red flood,
+Black, giant-like, the gallows stood;
+Two busy fiends attending there
+One with cold mocking rite and prayer,
+The other with impatient grasp,
+Tightening the death-rope's strangling clasp.
+
+V.
+The unfelt rite at length was done,
+The prayer unheard at length was said,
+An hour had passed: the noonday sun
+Smote on the features of the dead!
+And he who stood the doomed beside,
+Calm gauger of the swelling tide
+Of mortal agony and fear,
+Heeding with curious eye and ear
+Whate'er revealed the keen excess
+Of man's extremest wretchedness
+And who in that dark anguish saw
+An earnest of the victim's fate,
+The vengeful terrors of God's law,
+The kindlings of Eternal hate,
+The first drops of that fiery rain
+Which beats the dark red realm of pain,
+Did he uplift his earnest cries
+Against the crime of Law, which gave
+His brother to that fearful grave,
+Whereon Hope's moonlight never lies,
+And Faith's white blossoms never wave
+To the soft breath of Memory's sighs;
+Which sent a spirit marred and stained,
+By fiends of sin possessed, profaned,
+In madness and in blindness stark,
+Into the silent, unknown dark?
+No, from the wild and shrinking dread,
+With which be saw the victim led
+Beneath the dark veil which divides
+Ever the living from the dead,
+And Nature's solemn secret hides,
+The man of prayer can only draw
+New reasons for his bloody law;
+New faith in staying Murder's hand
+By murder at that Law's command;
+New reverence for the gallows-rope,
+As human nature's latest hope;
+Last relic of the good old time,
+When Power found license for its crime,
+And held a writhing world in check
+By that fell cord about its neck;
+Stifled Sedition's rising shout,
+Choked the young breath of Freedom out,
+And timely checked the words which sprung
+From Heresy's forbidden tongue;
+While in its noose of terror bound,
+The Church its cherished union found,
+Conforming, on the Moslem plan,
+The motley-colored mind of man,
+Not by the Koran and the Sword,
+But by the Bible and the Cord.
+
+VI.
+O Thou at whose rebuke the grave
+Back to warm life its sleeper gave,
+Beneath whose sad and tearful glance
+The cold and changed countenance
+Broke the still horror of its trance,
+And, waking, saw with joy above,
+A brother's face of tenderest love;
+Thou, unto whom the blind and lame,
+The sorrowing and the sin-sick came,
+And from Thy very garment's hem
+Drew life and healing unto them,
+The burden of Thy holy faith
+Was love and life, not hate and death;
+Man's demon ministers of pain,
+The fiends of his revenge, were sent
+From thy pure Gospel's element
+To their dark home again.
+Thy name is Love! What, then, is he,
+Who in that name the gallows rears,
+An awful altar built to Thee,
+With sacrifice of blood and tears?
+Oh, once again Thy healing lay
+On the blind eyes which knew Thee not,
+And let the light of Thy pure day
+Melt in upon his darkened thought.
+Soften his hard, cold heart, and show
+The power which in forbearance lies,
+And let him feel that mercy now
+Is better than old sacrifice.
+
+VII.
+As on the White Sea's charmed shore,
+The Parsee sees his holy hill [10]
+With dunnest smoke-clouds curtained o'er,
+Yet knows beneath them, evermore,
+The low, pale fire is quivering still;
+So, underneath its clouds of sin,
+The heart of man retaineth yet
+Gleams of its holy origin;
+And half-quenched stars that never set,
+Dim colors of its faded bow,
+And early beauty, linger there,
+And o'er its wasted desert blow
+Faint breathings of its morning air.
+Oh, never yet upon the scroll
+Of the sin-stained, but priceless soul,
+Hath Heaven inscribed "Despair!"
+Cast not the clouded gem away,
+Quench not the dim but living ray,--
+My brother man, Beware!
+With that deep voice which from the skies
+Forbade the Patriarch's sacrifice,
+God's angel cries, Forbear
+1843
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SONGS OF LABOR.
+
+DEDICATION.
+
+Prefixed to the volume of which the group of six poems following this
+prelude constituted the first portion.
+
+I WOULD the gift I offer here
+Might graces from thy favor take,
+And, seen through Friendship's atmosphere,
+On softened lines and coloring, wear
+The unaccustomed light of beauty, for thy sake.
+
+Few leaves of Fancy's spring remain
+But what I have I give to thee,
+The o'er-sunned bloom of summer's plain,
+And paler flowers, the latter rain
+Calls from the westering slope of life's autumnal lea.
+
+Above the fallen groves of green,
+Where youth's enchanted forest stood,
+Dry root and mossed trunk between,
+A sober after-growth is seen,
+As springs the pine where falls the gay-leafed maple wood!
+
+Yet birds will sing, and breezes play
+Their leaf-harps in the sombre tree;
+And through the bleak and wintry day
+It keeps its steady green alway,--
+So, even my after-thoughts may have a charm for thee.
+
+Art's perfect forms no moral need,
+And beauty is its own excuse;
+But for the dull and flowerless weed
+Some healing virtue still must plead,
+And the rough ore must find its honors in its use.
+
+So haply these, my simple lays
+Of homely toil, may serve to show
+The orchard bloom and tasselled maize
+That skirt and gladden duty's ways,
+The unsung beauty hid life's common things below.
+
+Haply from them the toiler, bent
+Above his forge or plough, may gain,
+A manlier spirit of content,
+And feel that life is wisest spent
+Where the strong working hand makes strong the
+working brain.
+
+The doom which to the guilty pair
+Without the walls of Eden came,
+Transforming sinless ease to care
+And rugged toil, no more shall bear
+The burden of old crime, or mark of primal shame.
+
+A blessing now, a curse no more;
+Since He, whose name we breathe with awe,
+The coarse mechanic vesture wore,
+A poor man toiling with the poor,
+In labor, as in prayer, fulfilling the same law.
+1850.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHOEMAKERS.
+
+Ho! workers of the old time styled
+The Gentle Craft of Leather
+Young brothers of the ancient guild,
+Stand forth once more together!
+Call out again your long array,
+In the olden merry manner
+Once more, on gay St. Crispin's day,
+Fling out your blazoned banner!
+
+Rap, rap! upon the well-worn stone
+How falls the polished hammer
+Rap, rap I the measured sound has grown
+A quick and merry clamor.
+Now shape the sole! now deftly curl
+The glossy vamp around it,
+And bless the while the bright-eyed girl
+Whose gentle fingers bound it!
+
+For you, along the Spanish main
+A hundred keels are ploughing;
+For you, the Indian on the plain
+His lasso-coil is throwing;
+For you, deep glens with hemlock dark
+The woodman's fire is lighting;
+For you, upon the oak's gray bark,
+The woodman's axe is smiting.
+
+For you, from Carolina's pine
+The rosin-gum is stealing;
+For you, the dark-eyed Florentine
+Her silken skein is reeling;
+For you, the dizzy goatherd roams
+His rugged Alpine ledges;
+For you, round all her shepherd homes,
+Bloom England's thorny hedges.
+
+The foremost still, by day or night,
+On moated mound or heather,
+Where'er the need of trampled right
+Brought toiling men together;
+Where the free burghers from the wall
+Defied the mail-clad master,
+Than yours, at Freedom's trumpet-call,
+No craftsmen rallied faster.
+
+Let foplings sneer, let fools deride,
+Ye heed no idle scorner;
+Free hands and hearts are still your pride,
+And duty done, your honor.
+Ye dare to trust, for honest fame,
+The jury Time empanels,
+And leave to truth each noble name
+Which glorifies your annals.
+
+Thy songs, Hans Sachs, are living yet,
+In strong and hearty German;
+And Bloomfield's lay, and Gifford's wit,
+And patriot fame of Sherman;
+Still from his book, a mystic seer,
+The soul of Behmen teaches,
+And England's priestcraft shakes to hear
+Of Fox's leathern breeches.
+
+The foot is yours; where'er it falls,
+It treads your well-wrought leather,
+On earthen floor, in marble halls,
+On carpet, or on heather.
+Still there the sweetest charm is found
+Of matron grace or vestal's,
+As Hebe's foot bore nectar round
+Among the old celestials.
+
+Rap, rap!--your stout and bluff brogan,
+With footsteps slow and weary,
+May wander where the sky's blue span
+Shuts down upon the prairie.
+On Beauty's foot your slippers glance,
+By Saratoga's fountains,
+Or twinkle down the summer dance
+Beneath the Crystal Mountains!
+
+The red brick to the mason's hand,
+The brown earth to the tiller's,
+The shoe in yours shall wealth command,
+Like fairy Cinderella's!
+As they who shunned the household maid
+Beheld the crown upon her,
+So all shall see your toil repaid
+With hearth and home and honor.
+
+Then let the toast be freely quaffed,
+In water cool and brimming,--
+"All honor to the good old Craft,
+Its merry men and women!"
+Call out again your long array,
+In the old time's pleasant manner
+Once more, on gay St. Crispin's day,
+Fling out his blazoned banner!
+1845.
+
+
+
+
+THE FISHERMEN.
+
+HURRAH! the seaward breezes
+Sweep down the bay amain;
+Heave up, my lads, the anchor!
+Run up the sail again
+Leave to the lubber landsmen
+The rail-car and the steed;
+The stars of heaven shall guide us,
+The breath of heaven shall speed.
+
+From the hill-top looks the steeple,
+And the lighthouse from the sand;
+And the scattered pines are waving
+Their farewell from the land.
+One glance, my lads, behind us,
+For the homes we leave one sigh,
+Ere we take the change and chances
+Of the ocean and the sky.
+
+Now, brothers, for the icebergs
+Of frozen Labrador,
+Floating spectral in the moonshine,
+Along the low, black shore!
+Where like snow the gannet's feathers
+On Brador's rocks are shed,
+And the noisy murr are flying,
+Like black scuds, overhead;
+
+Where in mist tie rock is hiding,
+And the sharp reef lurks below,
+And the white squall smites in summer,
+And the autumn tempests blow;
+Where, through gray and rolling vapor,
+From evening unto morn,
+A thousand boats are hailing,
+Horn answering unto horn.
+
+Hurrah! for the Red Island,
+With the white cross on its crown
+Hurrah! for Meccatina,
+And its mountains bare and brown!
+Where the Caribou's tall antlers
+O'er the dwarf-wood freely toss,
+And the footstep of the Mickmack
+Has no sound upon the moss.
+
+There we'll drop our lines, and gather
+Old Ocean's treasures in,
+Where'er the mottled mackerel
+Turns up a steel-dark fin.
+The sea's our field of harvest,
+Its scaly tribes our grain;
+We'll reap the teeming waters
+As at home they reap the plain.
+
+Our wet hands spread the carpet,
+And light the hearth of home;
+From our fish, as in the old time,
+The silver coin shall come.
+As the demon fled the chamber
+Where the fish of Tobit lay,
+So ours from all our dwellings
+Shall frighten Want away.
+
+Though the mist upon our jackets
+In the bitter air congeals,
+And our lines wind stiff and slowly
+From off the frozen reels;
+Though the fog be dark around us,
+And the storm blow high and loud,
+We will whistle down the wild wind,
+And laugh beneath the cloud!
+
+In the darkness as in daylight,
+On the water as on land,
+God's eye is looking on us,
+And beneath us is His hand!
+Death will find us soon or later,
+On the deck or in the cot;
+And we cannot meet him better
+Than in working out our lot.
+
+Hurrah! hurrah! the west-wind
+Comes freshening down the bay,
+The rising sails are filling;
+Give way, my lads, give way!
+Leave the coward landsman clinging
+To the dull earth, like a weed;
+The stars of heaven shall guide us,
+The breath of heaven shall speed!
+1845.
+
+
+
+
+THE LUMBERMEN.
+
+WILDLY round our woodland quarters
+Sad-voiced Autumn grieves;
+Thickly down these swelling waters
+Float his fallen leaves.
+Through the tall and naked timber,
+Column-like and old,
+Gleam the sunsets of November,
+From their skies of gold.
+
+O'er us, to the southland heading,
+Screams the gray wild-goose;
+On the night-frost sounds the treading
+Of the brindled moose.
+Noiseless creeping, while we're sleeping,
+Frost his task-work plies;
+Soon, his icy bridges heaping,
+Shall our log-piles rise.
+
+When, with sounds of smothered thunder,
+On some night of rain,
+Lake and river break asunder
+Winter's weakened chain,
+Down the wild March flood shall bear them
+To the saw-mill's wheel,
+Or where Steam, the slave, shall tear them
+With his teeth of steel.
+
+Be it starlight, be it moonlight,
+In these vales below,
+When the earliest beams of sunlight
+Streak the mountain's snow,
+Crisps the boar-frost, keen and early,
+To our hurrying feet,
+And the forest echoes clearly
+All our blows repeat.
+
+Where the crystal Ambijejis
+Stretches broad and clear,
+And Millnoket's pine-black ridges
+Hide the browsing deer
+Where, through lakes and wide morasses,
+Or through rocky walls,
+Swift and strong, Penobscot passes
+White with foamy falls;
+
+Where, through clouds, are glimpses given
+Of Katahdin's sides,--
+Rock and forest piled to heaven,
+Torn and ploughed by slides!
+Far below, the Indian trapping,
+In the sunshine warm;
+Far above, the snow-cloud wrapping
+Half the peak in storm!
+
+Where are mossy carpets better
+Than the Persian weaves,
+And than Eastern perfumes sweeter
+Seem the fading leaves;
+And a music wild and solemn,
+From the pine-tree's height,
+Rolls its vast and sea-like volume
+On the wind of night;
+
+Make we here our camp of winter;
+And, through sleet and snow,
+Pitchy knot and beechen splinter
+On our hearth shall glow.
+Here, with mirth to lighten duty,
+We shall lack alone
+Woman's smile and girlhood's beauty,
+Childhood's lisping tone.
+
+But their hearth is brighter burning
+For our toil to-day;
+And the welcome of returning
+Shall our loss repay,
+When, like seamen from the waters,
+From the woods we come,
+Greeting sisters, wives, and daughters,
+Angels of our home!
+
+Not for us the measured ringing
+From the village spire,
+Not for us the Sabbath singing
+Of the sweet-voiced choir,
+Ours the old, majestic temple,
+Where God's brightness shines
+Down the dome so grand and ample,
+Propped by lofty pines!
+
+Through each branch-enwoven skylight,
+Speaks He in the breeze,
+As of old beneath the twilight
+Of lost Eden's trees!
+For His ear, the inward feeling
+Needs no outward tongue;
+He can see the spirit kneeling
+While the axe is swung.
+
+Heeding truth alone, and turning
+From the false and dim,
+Lamp of toil or altar burning
+Are alike to Him.
+Strike, then, comrades! Trade is waiting
+On our rugged toil;
+Far ships waiting for the freighting
+Of our woodland spoil.
+
+Ships, whose traffic links these highlands,
+Bleak and cold, of ours,
+With the citron-planted islands
+Of a clime of flowers;
+To our frosts the tribute bringing
+Of eternal heats;
+In our lap of winter flinging
+Tropic fruits and sweets.
+
+Cheerly, on the axe of labor,
+Let the sunbeams dance,
+Better than the flash of sabre
+Or the gleam of lance!
+Strike! With every blow is given
+Freer sun and sky,
+And the long-hid earth to heaven
+Looks, with wondering eye!
+
+Loud behind us grow the murmurs
+Of the age to come;
+Clang of smiths, and tread of farmers,
+Bearing harvest home!
+Here her virgin lap with treasures
+Shall the green earth fill;
+Waving wheat and golden maize-ears
+Crown each beechen hill.
+
+Keep who will the city's alleys
+Take the smooth-shorn plain';
+Give to us the cedarn valleys,
+Rocks and hills of Maine!
+In our North-land, wild and woody,
+Let us still have part
+Rugged nurse and mother sturdy,
+Hold us to thy heart!
+
+Oh, our free hearts beat the warmer
+For thy breath of snow;
+And our tread is all the firmer
+For thy rocks below.
+Freedom, hand in hand with labor,
+Walketh strong and brave;
+On the forehead of his neighbor
+No man writeth Slave!
+
+Lo, the day breaks! old Katahdin's
+Pine-trees show its fires,
+While from these dim forest gardens
+Rise their blackened spires.
+Up, my comrades! up and doing!
+Manhood's rugged play
+Still renewing, bravely hewing
+Through the world our way!
+1845.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHIP-BUILDERS
+
+THE sky is ruddy in the east,
+The earth is gray below,
+And, spectral in the river-mist,
+The ship's white timbers show.
+Then let the sounds of measured stroke
+And grating saw begin;
+The broad-axe to the gnarled oak,
+The mallet to the pin!
+
+Hark! roars the bellows, blast on blast,
+The sooty smithy jars,
+And fire-sparks, rising far and fast,
+Are fading with the stars.
+All day for us the smith shall stand
+Beside that flashing forge;
+All day for us his heavy hand
+The groaning anvil scourge.
+
+From far-off hills, the panting team
+For us is toiling near;
+For us the raftsmen down the stream
+Their island barges steer.
+Rings out for us the axe-man's stroke
+In forests old and still;
+For us the century-circled oak
+Falls crashing down his hill.
+
+Up! up! in nobler toil than ours
+No craftsmen bear a part
+We make of Nature's giant powers
+The slaves of human Art.
+Lay rib to rib and beam to beam,
+And drive the treenails free;
+Nor faithless joint nor yawning seam
+Shall tempt the searching sea.
+
+Where'er the keel of our good ship
+The sea's rough field shall plough;
+Where'er her tossing spars shall drip
+With salt-spray caught below;
+That ship must heed her master's beck,
+Her helm obey his hand,
+And seamen tread her reeling deck
+As if they trod the land.
+
+Her oaken ribs the vulture-beak
+Of Northern ice may peel;
+The sunken rock and coral peak
+May grate along her keel;
+And know we well the painted shell
+We give to wind and wave,
+Must float, the sailor's citadel,
+Or sink, the sailor's grave.
+
+Ho! strike away the bars and blocks,
+And set the good ship free!
+Why lingers on these dusty rocks
+The young bride of the sea?
+Look! how she moves adown the grooves,
+In graceful beauty now!
+How lowly on the breast she loves
+Sinks down her virgin prow.
+
+God bless her! wheresoe'er the breeze
+Her snowy wing shall fan,
+Aside the frozen Hebrides,
+Or sultry Hindostan!
+Where'er, in mart or on the main,
+With peaceful flag unfurled,
+She helps to wind the silken chain
+Of commerce round the world!
+
+Speed on the ship! But let her bear
+No merchandise of sin,
+No groaning cargo of despair
+Her roomy hold within;
+No Lethean drug for Eastern lands,
+Nor poison-draught for ours;
+But honest fruits of toiling hands
+And Nature's sun and showers.
+
+Be hers the Prairie's golden grain,
+The Desert's golden sand,
+The clustered fruits of sunny Spain,
+The spice of Morning-land!
+Her pathway on the open main
+May blessings follow free,
+And glad hearts welcome back again
+Her white sails from the sea
+1846.
+
+
+
+
+THE DROVERS.
+
+THROUGH heat and cold, and shower and sun,
+Still onward cheerly driving
+There's life alone in duty done,
+And rest alone in striving.
+But see! the day is closing cool,
+The woods are dim before us;
+The white fog of the wayside pool
+Is creeping slowly o'er us.
+
+The night is falling, comrades mine,
+Our footsore beasts are weary,
+And through yon elms the tavern sign
+Looks out upon us cheery.
+The landlord beckons from his door,
+His beechen fire is glowing;
+These ample barns, with feed in store,
+Are filled to overflowing.
+
+From many a valley frowned across
+By brows of rugged mountains;
+From hillsides where, through spongy moss,
+Gush out the river fountains;
+From quiet farm-fields, green and low,
+And bright with blooming clover;
+From vales of corn the wandering crow
+No richer hovers over;
+
+Day after day our way has been
+O'er many a hill and hollow;
+By lake and stream, by wood and glen,
+Our stately drove we follow.
+Through dust-clouds rising thick and dun,
+As smoke of battle o'er us,
+Their white horns glisten in the sun,
+Like plumes and crests before us.
+
+We see them slowly climb the hill,
+As slow behind it sinking;
+Or, thronging close, from roadside rill,
+Or sunny lakelet, drinking.
+Now crowding in the narrow road,
+In thick and struggling masses,
+They glare upon the teamster's load,
+Or rattling coach that passes.
+
+Anon, with toss of horn and tail,
+And paw of hoof, and bellow,
+They leap some farmer's broken pale,
+O'er meadow-close or fallow.
+Forth comes the startled goodman; forth
+Wife, children, house-dog, sally,
+Till once more on their dusty path
+The baffled truants rally.
+
+We drive no starvelings, scraggy grown,
+Loose-legged, and ribbed and bony,
+Like those who grind their noses down
+On pastures bare and stony,--
+Lank oxen, rough as Indian dogs,
+And cows too lean for shadows,
+Disputing feebly with the frogs
+The crop of saw-grass meadows!
+
+In our good drove, so sleek and fair,
+No bones of leanness rattle;
+No tottering hide-bound ghosts are there,
+Or Pharaoh's evil cattle.
+Each stately beeve bespeaks the hand
+That fed him unrepining;
+The fatness of a goodly land
+In each dun hide is shining.
+
+We've sought them where, in warmest nooks,
+The freshest feed is growing,
+By sweetest springs and clearest brooks
+Through honeysuckle flowing;
+Wherever hillsides, sloping south,
+Are bright with early grasses,
+Or, tracking green the lowland's drouth,
+The mountain streamlet passes.
+
+But now the day is closing cool,
+The woods are dim before us,
+The white fog of the wayside pool
+Is creeping slowly o'er us.
+The cricket to the frog's bassoon
+His shrillest time is keeping;
+The sickle of yon setting moon
+The meadow-mist is reaping.
+
+The night is falling, comrades mine,
+Our footsore beasts are weary,
+And through yon elms the tavern sign
+Looks out upon us cheery.
+To-morrow, eastward with our charge
+We'll go to meet the dawning,
+Ere yet the pines of Kearsarge
+Have seen the sun of morning.
+
+When snow-flakes o'er the frozen earth,
+Instead of birds, are flitting;
+When children throng the glowing hearth,
+And quiet wives are knitting;
+While in the fire-light strong and clear
+Young eyes of pleasure glisten,
+To tales of all we see and hear
+The ears of home shall listen.
+
+By many a Northern lake and bill,
+From many a mountain pasture,
+Shall Fancy play the Drover still,
+And speed the long night faster.
+Then let us on, through shower and sun,
+And heat and cold, be driving;
+There 's life alone in duty done,
+And rest alone in striving.
+1847.
+
+
+
+
+THE HUSKERS.
+
+IT was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain
+Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with grass again;
+The first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving all the woodlands gay
+With the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow-flowers of May.
+
+Through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose broad and red,
+At first a rayless disk of fire, he brightened as he sped;
+Yet, even his noontide glory fell chastened and subdued,
+On the cornfields and the orchards, and softly pictured wood.
+
+And all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the night,
+He wove with golden shuttle the haze with yellow light;
+Slanting through the painted beeches, he glorified the hill;
+And, beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, greener still.
+
+And shouting boys in woodland haunts caught glimpses of that sky,
+Flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, they knew not why;
+And school-girls, gay with aster-flowers, beside the meadow brooks,
+Mingled the glow of autumn with the sunshine of sweet looks.
+
+From spire and barn looked westerly the patient weathercocks;
+But even the birches on the hill stood motionless as rocks.
+No sound was in the woodlands, save the squirrel's dropping shell,
+And the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rustling as they fell.
+
+The summer grains were harvested; the stubble-fields lay dry,
+Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale green waves of rye;
+But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with wood,
+Ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop stood.
+
+Bent low, by autumn's wind and rain, through husks that, dry and sere,
+Unfolded from their ripened charge, shone out the yellow ear;
+Beneath, the turnip lay concealed, in many a verdant fold,
+And glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's sphere of gold.
+
+There wrought the busy harvesters; and many a creaking wain
+Bore slowly to the long barn-floor its load of husk and grain;
+Till broad and red, as when he rose, the sun sank down, at last,
+And like a merry guest's farewell, the day in brightness passed.
+
+And to! as through the western pines, on meadow, stream, and pond,
+Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire beyond,
+Slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone,
+And the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into one!
+
+As thus into the quiet night the twilight lapsed away,
+And deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil shadows lay;
+From many a brown old farm-house, and hamlet without name,
+Their milking and their home-tasks done, the  merry huskers came.
+
+Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in the mow,
+Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene below;
+The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before,
+And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks glimmering o'er.
+
+Half hidden, in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart,
+Talking their old times over, the old men sat apart;
+While up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade,
+At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children played.
+
+Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young and fair,
+Lifting to light her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft brown hair,
+The master of the village school, sleek of hair and smooth of tongue,
+To the quaint tune of some old psalm, a husking ballad sung.
+
+THE CORN-SONG.
+Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard
+Heap high the golden corn
+No richer gift has Autumn poured
+From out her lavish horn!
+
+Let other lands, exulting, glean
+The apple from the pine,
+The orange from its glossy green,
+The cluster from the vine;
+
+We better love the hardy gift
+Our rugged vales bestow,
+To cheer us when the storm shall drift
+Our harvest-fields with snow.
+
+Through vales of grass and mends of flowers
+Our ploughs their furrows made,
+While on the hills the sun and showers
+Of changeful April played.
+
+We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain
+Beneath the sun of May,
+And frightened from our sprouting grain
+The robber crows away.
+
+All through the long, bright days of June
+Its leaves grew green and fair,
+And waved in hot midsummer's noon
+Its soft and yellow hair.
+
+And now, with autumn's moonlit eves,
+Its harvest-time has come,
+We pluck away the frosted leaves,
+And bear the treasure home.
+
+There, when the snows about us drift,
+And winter winds are cold,
+Fair hands the broken grain shall sift,
+And knead its meal of gold.
+
+Let vapid idlers loll in silk
+Around their costly board;
+Give us the bowl of samp and milk,
+By homespun beauty poured!
+
+Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth
+Sends up its smoky curls,
+Who will not thank the kindly earth,
+And bless our farmer girls!
+
+Then shame on all the proud and vain,
+Whose folly laughs to scorn
+The blessing of our hardy grain,
+Our wealth of golden corn.
+
+Let earth withhold her goodly root,
+Let mildew blight the rye,
+Give to the worm the orchard's fruit,
+The wheat-field to the fly.
+
+But let the good old crop adorn
+The hills our fathers trod;
+Still let us, for his golden corn,
+Send up our thanks to God!
+1847.
+
+
+
+
+THE REFORMER.
+
+ALL grim and soiled and brown with tan,
+I saw a Strong One, in his wrath,
+Smiting the godless shrines of man
+Along his path.
+
+The Church, beneath her trembling dome,
+Essayed in vain her ghostly charm
+Wealth shook within his gilded home
+With strange alarm.
+
+Fraud from his secret chambers fled
+Before the sunlight bursting in
+Sloth drew her pillow o'er her head
+To drown the din.
+
+"Spare," Art implored, "yon holy pile;
+That grand, old, time-worn turret spare;"
+Meek Reverence, kneeling in the aisle,
+Cried out, "Forbear!"
+
+Gray-bearded Use, who, deaf and blind,
+Groped for his old accustomed stone,
+Leaned on his staff, and wept to find
+His seat o'erthrown.
+
+Young Romance raised his dreamy eyes,
+O'erhung with paly locks of gold,--
+"Why smite," he asked in sad surprise,
+"The fair, the old?"
+
+Yet louder rang the Strong One's stroke,
+Yet nearer flashed his axe's gleam;
+Shuddering and sick of heart I woke,
+As from a dream.
+
+I looked: aside the dust-cloud rolled,
+The Waster seemed the Builder too;
+Upspringing from the ruined Old
+I saw the New.
+
+'T was but the ruin of the bad,--
+The wasting of the wrong and ill;
+Whate'er of good the old time had
+Was living still.
+
+Calm grew the brows of him I feared;
+The frown which awed me passed away,
+And left behind a smile which cheered
+Like breaking day.
+
+The grain grew green on battle-plains,
+O'er swarded war-mounds grazed the cow;
+The slave stood forging from his chains
+The spade and plough.
+
+Where frowned the fort, pavilions gay
+And cottage windows, flower-entwined,
+Looked out upon the peaceful bay
+And hills behind.
+
+Through vine-wreathed cups with wine once red,
+The lights on brimming crystal fell,
+Drawn, sparkling, from the rivulet head
+And mossy well.
+
+Through prison walls, like Heaven-sent hope,
+Fresh breezes blew, and sunbeams strayed,
+And with the idle gallows-rope
+The young child played.
+
+Where the doomed victim in his cell
+Had counted o'er the weary hours,
+Glad school-girls, answering to the bell,
+Came crowned with flowers.
+
+Grown wiser for the lesson given,
+I fear no longer, for I know
+That, where the share is deepest driven,
+The best fruits grow.
+
+The outworn rite, the old abuse,
+The pious fraud transparent grown,
+The good held captive in the use
+Of wrong alone,--
+
+These wait their doom, from that great law
+Which makes the past time serve to-day;
+And fresher life the world shall draw
+From their decay.
+
+Oh, backward-looking son of time!
+The new is old, the old is new,
+The cycle of a change sublime
+Still sweeping through.
+
+So wisely taught the Indian seer;
+Destroying Seva, forming Brahm,
+Who wake by turns Earth's love and fear,
+Are one, the same.
+
+Idly as thou, in that old day
+Thou mournest, did thy sire repine;
+So, in his time, thy child grown gray
+Shall sigh for thine.
+
+But life shall on and upward go;
+Th' eternal step of Progress beats
+To that great anthem, calm and slow,
+Which God repeats.
+
+Take heart! the Waster builds again,
+A charmed life old Goodness bath;
+The tares may perish, but the grain
+Is not for death.
+
+God works in all things; all obey
+His first propulsion from the night
+Wake thou and watch! the world is gray
+With morning light!
+1848.
+
+
+
+
+THE PEACE CONVENTION AT BRUSSELS.
+
+STILL in thy streets, O Paris! doth the stain
+Of blood defy the cleansing autumn rain;
+Still breaks the smoke Messina's ruins through,
+And Naples mourns that new Bartholomew,
+When squalid beggary, for a dole of bread,
+At a crowned murderer's beck of license, fed
+The yawning trenches with her noble dead;
+Still, doomed Vienna, through thy stately halls
+The shell goes crashing and the red shot falls,
+And, leagued to crush thee, on the Danube's side,
+The bearded Croat and Bosniak spearman ride;
+Still in that vale where Himalaya's snow
+Melts round the cornfields and the vines below,
+The Sikh's hot cannon, answering ball for ball,
+Flames in the breach of Moultan's shattered wall;
+On Chenab's side the vulture seeks the slain,
+And Sutlej paints with blood its banks again.
+
+"What folly, then," the faithless critic cries,
+With sneering lip, and wise world-knowing eyes,
+"While fort to fort, and post to post, repeat
+The ceaseless challenge of the war-drum's beat,
+And round the green earth, to the church-bell's chime,
+The morning drum-roll of the camp keeps time,
+To dream of peace amidst a world in arms,
+Of swords to ploughshares changed by Scriptural charms,
+Of nations, drunken with the wine of blood,
+Staggering to take the Pledge of Brotherhood,
+Like tipplers answering Father Matthew's call;
+The sullen Spaniard, and the mad-cap Gaul,
+The bull-dog Briton, yielding but with life,
+The Yankee swaggering with his bowie-knife,
+The Russ, from banquets with the vulture shared,
+The blood still dripping from his amber beard,
+Quitting their mad Berserker dance to hear
+The dull, meek droning of a drab-coat seer;
+Leaving the sport of Presidents and Kings,
+Where men for dice each titled gambler flings,
+To meet alternate on the Seine and Thames,
+For tea and gossip, like old country dames
+No! let the cravens plead the weakling's cant,
+Let Cobden cipher, and let Vincent rant,
+Let Sturge preach peace to democratic throngs,
+And Burritt, stammering through his hundred tongues,
+Repeat, in all, his ghostly lessons o'er,
+Timed to the pauses of the battery's roar;
+Check Ban or Kaiser with the barricade
+Of "Olive-leaves" and Resolutions made,
+Spike guns with pointed Scripture-texts, and hope
+To capsize navies with a windy trope;
+Still shall the glory and the pomp of War
+Along their train the shouting millions draw;
+Still dusty Labor to the passing Brave
+His cap shall doff, and Beauty's kerchief wave;
+Still shall the bard to Valor tune his song,
+Still Hero-worship kneel before the Strong;
+Rosy and sleek, the sable-gowned divine,
+O'er his third bottle of suggestive wine,
+To plumed and sworded auditors, shall prove
+Their trade accordant with the Law of Love;
+And Church for State, and State for Church, shall fight,
+And both agree, that "Might alone is Right!"
+Despite of sneers like these, O faithful few,
+Who dare to hold God's word and witness true,
+Whose clear-eyed faith transcends our evil time,
+And o'er the present wilderness of crime
+Sees the calm future, with its robes of green,
+Its fleece-flecked mountains, and soft streams between,--
+Still keep the path which duty bids ye tread,
+Though worldly wisdom shake the cautious head;
+No truth from Heaven descends upon our sphere,
+Without the greeting of the skeptic's sneer;
+Denied and mocked at, till its blessings fall,
+Common as dew and sunshine, over all."
+
+Then, o'er Earth's war-field, till the strife shall cease,
+Like Morven's harpers, sing your song of peace;
+As in old fable rang the Thracian's lyre,
+Midst howl of fiends and roar of penal fire,
+Till the fierce din to pleasing murmurs fell,
+And love subdued the maddened heart of hell.
+Lend, once again, that holy song a tongue,
+Which the glad angels of the Advent sung,
+Their cradle-anthem for the Saviour's birth,
+Glory to God, and peace unto the earth
+Through the mad discord send that calming word
+Which wind and wave on wild Genesareth heard,
+Lift in Christ's name his Cross against the Sword!
+Not vain the vision which the prophets saw,
+Skirting with green the fiery waste of war,
+Through the hot sand-gleam, looming soft and calm
+On the sky's rim, the fountain-shading palm.
+Still lives for Earth, which fiends so long have trod,
+The great hope resting on the truth of God,--
+Evil shall cease and Violence pass away,
+And the tired world breathe free through a long
+Sabbath day.
+11th mo., 1848.
+
+
+
+
+THE PRISONER FOR DEBT.
+
+Before the law authorizing imprisonment for debt had been abolished in
+Massachusetts, a revolutionary pensioner was confined in Charlestown
+jail for a debt of fourteen dollars, and on the fourth of July was seen
+waving a handkerchief from the bars of his cell in honor of the day.
+
+Look on him! through his dungeon grate,
+Feebly and cold, the morning light
+Comes stealing round him, dim and late,
+As if it loathed the sight.
+Reclining on his strawy bed,
+His hand upholds his drooping head;
+His bloodless cheek is seamed and hard,
+Unshorn his gray, neglected beard;
+And o'er his bony fingers flow
+His long, dishevelled locks of snow.
+No grateful fire before him glows,
+And yet the winter's breath is chill;
+And o'er his half-clad person goes
+The frequent ague thrill!
+Silent, save ever and anon,
+A sound, half murmur and half groan,
+Forces apart the painful grip
+Of the old sufferer's bearded lip;
+Oh, sad and crushing is the fate
+Of old age chained and desolate!
+
+Just God! why lies that old man there?
+A murderer shares his prison bed,
+Whose eyeballs, through his horrid hair,
+Gleam on him, fierce and red;
+And the rude oath and heartless jeer
+Fall ever on his loathing ear,
+And, or in wakefulness or sleep,
+Nerve, flesh, and pulses thrill and creep
+Whene'er that ruffian's tossing limb,
+Crimson with murder, touches him!
+
+What has the gray-haired prisoner done?
+Has murder stained his hands with gore?
+Not so; his crime's a fouler one;
+God made the old man poor!
+For this he shares a felon's cell,
+The fittest earthly type of hell
+For this, the boon for which he poured
+His young blood on the invader's sword,
+And counted light the fearful cost;
+His blood-gained liberty is lost!
+
+And so, for such a place of rest,
+Old prisoner, dropped thy blood as rain
+On Concord's field, and Bunker's crest,
+And Saratoga's plain?
+Look forth, thou man of many scars,
+Through thy dim dungeon's iron bars;
+It must be joy, in sooth, to see
+Yon monument upreared to thee;
+Piled granite and a prison cell,
+The land repays thy service well!
+
+Go, ring the bells and fire the guns,
+And fling the starry banner out;
+Shout "Freedom!" till your lisping ones
+Give back their cradle-shout;
+Let boastful eloquence declaim
+Of honor, liberty, and fame;
+Still let the poet's strain be heard,
+With glory for each second word,
+And everything with breath agree
+To praise "our glorious liberty!"
+
+But when the patron cannon jars
+That prison's cold and gloomy wall,
+And through its grates the stripes and stars
+Rise on the wind, and fall,
+Think ye that prisoner's aged ear
+Rejoices in the general cheer?
+Think ye his dim and failing eye
+Is kindled at your pageantry?
+Sorrowing of soul, and chained of limb,
+What is your carnival to him?
+
+Down with the law that binds him thus!
+Unworthy freemen, let it find
+No refuge from the withering curse
+Of God and human-kind
+Open the prison's living tomb,
+And usher from its brooding gloom
+The victims of your savage code
+To the free sun and air of God;
+No longer dare as crime to brand
+The chastening of the Almighty's hand.
+1849.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHRISTIAN TOURISTS.
+
+The reader of the biography of William Allen, the philanthropic
+associate of Clarkson and Romilly, cannot fail to admire his simple and
+beautiful record of a tour through Europe, in the years 1818 and 1819,
+in the company of his American friend, Stephen Grellett.
+
+No aimless wanderers, by the fiend Unrest
+Goaded from shore to shore;
+No schoolmen, turning, in their classic quest,
+The leaves of empire o'er.
+Simple of faith, and bearing in their hearts
+The love of man and God,
+Isles of old song, the Moslem's ancient marts,
+And Scythia's steppes, they trod.
+
+Where the long shadows of the fir and pine
+In the night sun are cast,
+And the deep heart of many a Norland mine
+Quakes at each riving blast;
+Where, in barbaric grandeur, Moskwa stands,
+A baptized Scythian queen,
+With Europe's arts and Asia's jewelled hands,
+The North and East between!
+
+Where still, through vales of Grecian fable, stray
+The classic forms of yore,
+And beauty smiles, new risen from the spray,
+And Dian weeps once more;
+Where every tongue in Smyrna's mart resounds;
+And Stamboul from the sea
+Lifts her tall minarets over burial-grounds
+Black with the cypress-tree.
+
+From Malta's temples to the gates of Rome,
+Following the track of Paul,
+And where the Alps gird round the Switzer's home
+Their vast, eternal wall;
+They paused not by the ruins of old time,
+They scanned no pictures rare,
+Nor lingered where the snow-locked mountains
+climb
+The cold abyss of air!
+
+But unto prisons, where men lay in chains,
+To haunts where Hunger pined,
+To kings and courts forgetful of the pains
+And wants of human-kind,
+Scattering sweet words, and quiet deeds of good,
+Along their way, like flowers,
+Or pleading, as Christ's freemen only could,
+With princes and with powers;
+
+Their single aim the purpose to fulfil
+Of Truth, from day to day,
+Simply obedient to its guiding will,
+They held their pilgrim way.
+Yet dream not, hence, the beautiful and old
+Were wasted on their sight,
+Who in the school of Christ had learned to hold
+All outward things aright.
+
+Not less to them the breath of vineyards blown
+From off the Cyprian shore,
+Not less for them the Alps in sunset shone,
+That man they valued more.
+A life of beauty lends to all it sees
+The beauty of its thought;
+And fairest forms and sweetest harmonies
+Make glad its way, unsought.
+
+In sweet accordancy of praise and love,
+The singing waters run;
+And sunset mountains wear in light above
+The smile of duty done;
+Sure stands the promise,--ever to the meek
+A heritage is given;
+Nor lose they Earth who, single-hearted, seek
+The righteousness of Heaven!
+1849.
+
+
+
+
+THE MEN OF OLD.
+
+"WELL speed thy mission, bold Iconoclast!
+Yet all unworthy of its trust thou art,
+If, with dry eye, and cold, unloving heart,
+Thou tread'st the solemn Pantheon of the Past,
+By the great Future's dazzling hope made blind
+To all the beauty, power, and truth behind.
+Not without reverent awe shouldst thou put by
+The cypress branches and the amaranth blooms,
+Where, with clasped hands of prayer, upon their tombs
+The effigies of old confessors lie,
+God's witnesses; the voices of His will,
+Heard in the slow march of the centuries still
+Such were the men at whose rebuking frown,
+Dark with God's wrath, the tyrant's knee went down;
+Such from the terrors of the guilty drew
+The vassal's freedom and the poor man's due."
+
+St. Anselm (may he rest forevermore
+In Heaven's sweet peace!) forbade, of old, the sale
+Of men as slaves, and from the sacred pale
+Hurled the Northumbrian buyers of the poor.
+To ransom souls from bonds and evil fate
+St. Ambrose melted down the sacred plate,--
+Image of saint, the chalice, and the pix,
+Crosses of gold, and silver candlesticks.
+"Man is worth more than temples!" he replied
+To such as came his holy work to chide.
+And brave Cesarius, stripping altars bare,
+And coining from the Abbey's golden hoard
+The captive's freedom, answered to the prayer
+Or threat of those whose fierce zeal for the Lord
+Stifled their love of man,--"An earthen dish
+The last sad supper of the Master bore
+Most miserable sinners! do ye wish
+More than your Lord, and grudge His dying poor
+What your own pride and not His need requires?
+Souls, than these shining gauds, He values more
+Mercy, not sacrifice, His heart desires!"
+O faithful worthies! resting far behind
+In your dark ages, since ye fell asleep,
+Much has been done for truth and human-kind;
+Shadows are scattered wherein ye groped blind;
+Man claims his birthright, freer pulses leap
+Through peoples driven in your day like sheep;
+Yet, like your own, our age's sphere of light,
+Though widening still, is walled around by night;
+With slow, reluctant eye, the Church has read,
+Skeptic at heart, the lessons of its Head;
+Counting, too oft, its living members less
+Than the wall's garnish and the pulpit's dress;
+World-moving zeal, with power to bless and feed
+Life's fainting pilgrims, to their utter need,
+Instead of bread, holds out the stone of creed;
+Sect builds and worships where its wealth and
+pride
+And vanity stand shrined and deified,
+Careless that in the shadow of its walls
+God's living temple into ruin falls.
+We need, methinks, the prophet-hero still,
+Saints true of life, and martyrs strong of will,
+To tread the land, even now, as Xavier trod
+The streets of Goa, barefoot, with his bell,
+Proclaiming freedom in the name of God,
+And startling tyrants with the fear of hell
+Soft words, smooth prophecies, are doubtless well;
+But to rebuke the age's popular crime,
+We need the souls of fire, the hearts of that old
+time!
+1849.
+
+
+
+
+TO PIUS IX.
+
+The writer of these lines is no enemy of Catholics. He has, on more than
+one occasion, exposed himself to the censures of his Protestant
+brethren, by his strenuous endeavors to procure indemnification for the
+owners of the convent destroyed near Boston. He defended the cause of
+the Irish patriots long before it had become popular in this country;
+and he was one of the first to urge the most liberal aid to the
+suffering and starving population of the Catholic island. The severity
+of his language finds its ample apology in the reluctant confession of
+one of the most eminent Romish priests, the eloquent and devoted Father
+Ventura.
+
+THE cannon's brazen lips are cold;
+No red shell blazes down the air;
+And street and tower, and temple old,
+Are silent as despair.
+
+The Lombard stands no more at bay,
+Rome's fresh young life has bled in vain;
+The ravens scattered by the day
+Come back with night again.
+
+Now, while the fratricides of France
+Are treading on the neck of Rome,
+Hider at Gaeta, seize thy chance!
+Coward and cruel, come!
+
+Creep now from Naples' bloody skirt;
+Thy mummer's part was acted well,
+While Rome, with steel and fire begirt,
+Before thy crusade fell!
+
+Her death-groans answered to thy prayer;
+Thy chant, the drum and bugle-call;
+Thy lights, the burning villa's glare;
+Thy beads, the shell and ball!
+
+Let Austria clear thy way, with hands
+Foul from Ancona's cruel sack,
+And Naples, with his dastard bands
+Of murderers, lead thee back!
+
+Rome's lips are dumb; the orphan's wail,
+The mother's shriek, thou mayst not hear
+Above the faithless Frenchman's hail,
+The unsexed shaveling's cheer!
+
+Go, bind on Rome her cast-off weight,
+The double curse of crook and crown,
+Though woman's scorn and manhood's hate
+From wall and roof flash down!
+
+Nor heed those blood-stains on the wall,
+Not Tiber's flood can wash away,
+Where, in thy stately Quirinal,
+Thy mangled victims lay!
+
+Let the world murmur; let its cry
+Of horror and disgust be heard;
+Truth stands alone; thy coward lie
+Is backed by lance and sword!
+
+The cannon of St. Angelo,
+And chanting priest and clanging bell,
+And beat of drum and bugle blow,
+Shall greet thy coming well!
+
+Let lips of iron and tongues of slaves
+Fit welcome give thee; for her part,
+Rome, frowning o'er her new-made graves,
+Shall curse thee from her heart!
+
+No wreaths of sad Campagna's flowers
+Shall childhood in thy pathway fling;
+No garlands from their ravaged bowers
+Shall Terni's maidens bring;
+
+But, hateful as that tyrant old,
+The mocking witness of his crime,
+In thee shall loathing eyes behold
+The Nero of our time!
+
+Stand where Rome's blood was freest shed,
+Mock Heaven with impious thanks, and call
+Its curses on the patriot dead,
+Its blessings on the Gaul!
+
+Or sit upon thy throne of lies,
+A poor, mean idol, blood-besmeared,
+Whom even its worshippers despise,
+Unhonored, unrevered!
+
+Yet, Scandal of the World! from thee
+One needful truth mankind shall learn
+That kings and priests to Liberty
+And God are false in turn.
+
+Earth wearies of them; and the long
+Meek sufferance of the Heavens doth fail;
+Woe for weak tyrants, when the strong
+Wake, struggle, and prevail!
+
+Not vainly Roman hearts have bled
+To feed the Crosier and the Crown,
+If, roused thereby, the world shall tread
+The twin-born vampires down
+1849.
+
+
+
+
+CALEF IN BOSTON.
+
+1692.
+
+IN the solemn days of old,
+Two men met in Boston town,
+One a tradesman frank and bold,
+One a preacher of renown.
+
+Cried the last, in bitter tone:
+"Poisoner of the wells of truth
+Satan's hireling, thou hast sown
+With his tares the heart of youth!"
+
+Spake the simple tradesman then,
+"God be judge 'twixt thee and me;
+All thou knowed of truth hath been
+Once a lie to men like thee.
+
+"Falsehoods which we spurn to-day
+Were the truths of long ago;
+Let the dead boughs fall away,
+Fresher shall the living grow.
+
+"God is good and God is light,
+In this faith I rest secure;
+Evil can but serve the right,
+Over all shall love endure.
+
+"Of your spectral puppet play
+I have traced the cunning wires;
+Come what will, I needs must say,
+God is true, and ye are liars."
+
+When the thought of man is free,
+Error fears its lightest tones;
+So the priest cried, "Sadducee!"
+And the people took up stones.
+
+In the ancient burying-ground,
+Side by side the twain now lie;
+One with humble grassy mound,
+One with marbles pale and high.
+
+But the Lord hath blest the seed
+Which that tradesman scattered then,
+And the preacher's spectral creed
+Chills no more the blood of men.
+
+Let us trust, to one is known
+Perfect love which casts out fear,
+While the other's joys atone
+For the wrong he suffered here.
+1849.
+
+
+
+
+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 skeptic'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.
+1549.
+
+
+
+
+THE PRISONERS OF NAPLES.
+
+I HAVE been thinking of the victims bound
+In Naples, dying for the lack of air
+And sunshine, in their close, damp cells of pain,
+Where hope is not, and innocence in vain
+Appeals against the torture and the chain!
+Unfortunates! whose crime it was to share
+Our common love of freedom, and to dare,
+In its behalf, Rome's harlot triple-crowned,
+And her base pander, the most hateful thing
+Who upon Christian or on Pagan ground
+Makes vile the old heroic name of king.
+O God most merciful! Father just and kind
+Whom man hath bound let thy right hand unbind.
+Or, if thy purposes of good behind
+Their ills lie hidden, let the sufferers find
+Strong consolations; leave them not to doubt
+Thy providential care, nor yet without
+The hope which all thy attributes inspire,
+That not in vain the martyr's robe of fire
+Is worn, nor the sad prisoner's fretting chain;
+Since all who suffer for thy truth send forth,
+Electrical, with every throb of pain,
+Unquenchable sparks, thy own baptismal rain
+Of fire and spirit over all the earth,
+Making the dead in slavery live again.
+Let this great hope be with them, as they lie
+Shut from the light, the greenness, and the sky;
+From the cool waters and the pleasant breeze,
+The smell of flowers, and shade of summer trees;
+Bound with the felon lepers, whom disease
+And sins abhorred make loathsome; let them share
+Pellico's faith, Foresti's strength to bear
+Years of unutterable torment, stern and still,
+As the chained Titan victor through his will!
+Comfort them with thy future; let them see
+The day-dawn of Italian liberty;
+For that, with all good things, is hid with Thee,
+And, perfect in thy thought, awaits its time to be.
+
+I, who have spoken for freedom at the cost
+Of some weak friendships, or some paltry prize
+Of name or place, and more than I have lost
+Have gained in wider reach of sympathies,
+And free communion with the good and wise;
+May God forbid that I should ever boast
+Such easy self-denial, or repine
+That the strong pulse of health no more is mine;
+That, overworn at noonday, I must yield
+To other hands the gleaning of the field;
+A tired on-looker through the day's decline.
+For blest beyond deserving still, and knowing
+That kindly Providence its care is showing
+In the withdrawal as in the bestowing,
+Scarcely I dare for more or less to pray.
+Beautiful yet for me this autumn day
+Melts on its sunset hills; and, far away,
+For me the Ocean lifts its solemn psalm,
+To me the pine-woods whisper; and for me
+Yon river, winding through its vales of calm,
+By greenest banks, with asters purple-starred,
+And gentian bloom and golden-rod made gay,
+Flows down in silent gladness to the sea,
+Like a pure spirit to its great reward!
+
+Nor lack I friends, long-tried and near and dear,
+Whose love is round me like this atmosphere,
+Warm, soft, and golden. For such gifts to me
+What shall I render, O my God, to thee?
+Let me not dwell upon my lighter share
+Of pain and ill that human life must bear;
+Save me from selfish pining; let my heart,
+Drawn from itself in sympathy, forget
+The bitter longings of a vain regret,
+The anguish of its own peculiar smart.
+Remembering others, as I have to-day,
+In their great sorrows, let me live alway
+Not for myself alone, but have a part,
+Such as a frail and erring spirit may,
+In love which is of Thee, and which indeed Thou art!
+1851.
+
+
+
+
+THE PEACE OF EUROPE.
+
+"GREAT peace in Europe! Order reigns
+From Tiber's hills to Danube's plains!"
+So say her kings and priests; so say
+The lying prophets of our day.
+
+Go lay to earth a listening ear;
+The tramp of measured marches hear;
+The rolling of the cannon's wheel,
+The shotted musket's murderous peal,
+The night alarm, the sentry's call,
+The quick-eared spy in hut and hall!
+From Polar sea and tropic fen
+The dying-groans of exiled men!
+The bolted cell, the galley's chains,
+The scaffold smoking with its stains!
+Order, the hush of brooding slaves
+Peace, in the dungeon-vaults and graves!
+
+O Fisher! of the world-wide net,
+With meshes in all waters set,
+Whose fabled keys of heaven and hell
+Bolt hard the patriot's prison-cell,
+And open wide the banquet-hall,
+Where kings and priests hold carnival!
+Weak vassal tricked in royal guise,
+Boy Kaiser with thy lip of lies;
+Base gambler for Napoleon's crown,
+Barnacle on his dead renown!
+Thou, Bourbon Neapolitan,
+Crowned scandal, loathed of God and man
+And thou, fell Spider of the North!
+Stretching thy giant feelers forth,
+Within whose web the freedom dies
+Of nations eaten up like flies!
+Speak, Prince and Kaiser, Priest and Czar I
+If this be Peace, pray what is War?
+
+White Angel of the Lord! unmeet
+That soil accursed for thy pure feet.
+Never in Slavery's desert flows
+The fountain of thy charmed repose;
+No tyrant's hand thy chaplet weaves
+Of lilies and of olive-leaves;
+Not with the wicked shalt thou dwell,
+Thus saith the Eternal Oracle;
+Thy home is with the pure and free!
+Stern herald of thy better day,
+Before thee, to prepare thy way,
+The Baptist Shade of Liberty,
+Gray, scarred and hairy-robed, must press
+With bleeding feet the wilderness!
+Oh that its voice might pierces the ear
+Of princes, trembling while they hear
+A cry as of the Hebrew seer
+Repent! God's kingdom draweth near!
+1852.
+
+
+
+
+ASTRAEA.
+
+"Jove means to settle
+Astraea in her seat again,
+And let down from his golden chain
+An age of better metal."
+            BEN JONSON, 1615.
+
+O POET rare and old!
+Thy words are prophecies;
+Forward the age of gold,
+The new Saturnian lies.
+
+The universal prayer
+And hope are not in vain;
+Rise, brothers! and prepare
+The way for Saturn's reign.
+
+Perish shall all which takes
+From labor's board and can;
+Perish shall all which makes
+A spaniel of the man!
+
+Free from its bonds the mind,
+The body from the rod;
+Broken all chains that bind
+The image of our God.
+
+Just men no longer pine
+Behind their prison-bars;
+Through the rent dungeon shine
+The free sun and the stars.
+
+Earth own, at last, untrod
+By sect, or caste, or clan,
+The fatherhood of God,
+The brotherhood of man!
+
+Fraud fail, craft perish, forth
+The money-changers driven,
+And God's will done on earth,
+As now in heaven;
+1852.
+
+
+
+
+THE DISENTHRALLED.
+
+HE had bowed down to drunkenness,
+An abject worshipper
+The pride of manhood's pulse had grown
+Too faint and cold to stir;
+And he had given his spirit up
+To the unblessed thrall,
+And bowing to the poison cup,
+He gloried in his fall!
+
+There came a change--the cloud rolled off,
+And light fell on his brain--
+And like the passing of a dream
+That cometh not again,
+The shadow of the spirit fled.
+He saw the gulf before,
+He shuddered at the waste behind,
+And was a man once more.
+
+He shook the serpent folds away,
+That gathered round his heart,
+As shakes the swaying forest-oak
+Its poison vine apart;
+He stood erect; returning pride
+Grew terrible within,
+And conscience sat in judgment, on
+His most familiar sin.
+
+The light of Intellect again
+Along his pathway shone;
+And Reason like a monarch sat
+Upon his olden throne.
+The honored and the wise once more
+Within his presence came;
+And lingered oft on lovely lips
+His once forbidden name.
+
+There may be glory in the might,
+That treadeth nations down;
+Wreaths for the crimson conqueror,
+Pride for the kingly crown;
+But nobler is that triumph hour,
+The disenthralled shall find,
+When evil passion boweth down,
+Unto the Godlike mind.
+
+
+
+
+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;
+My palace is the people's hall,
+The ballot-box my throne!
+
+Who serves to-day 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
+1848.
+
+
+
+
+THE DREAM OF PIO NONO.
+
+IT chanced that while the pious troops of France
+Fought in the crusade Pio Nono preached,
+What time the holy Bourbons stayed his hands
+(The Hun and Aaron meet for such a Moses),
+Stretched forth from Naples towards rebellious Rome
+To bless the ministry of Oudinot,
+And sanctify his iron homilies
+And sharp persuasions of the bayonet,
+That the great pontiff fell asleep, and dreamed.
+
+He stood by Lake Tiberias, in the sun
+Of the bight Orient; and beheld the lame,
+The sick, and blind, kneel at the Master's feet,
+And rise up whole. And, sweetly over all,
+Dropping the ladder of their hymn of praise
+From heaven to earth, in silver rounds of song,
+He heard the blessed angels sing of peace,
+Good-will to man, and glory to the Lord.
+
+Then one, with feet unshod, and leathern face
+Hardened and darkened by fierce summer suns
+And hot winds of the desert, closer drew
+His fisher's haick, and girded up his loins,
+And spake, as one who had authority
+"Come thou with me."
+
+Lakeside and eastern sky
+And the sweet song of angels passed away,
+And, with a dream's alacrity of change,
+The priest, and the swart fisher by his side,
+Beheld the Eternal City lift its domes
+And solemn fanes and monumental pomp
+Above the waste Campagna. On the hills
+The blaze of burning villas rose and fell,
+And momently the mortar's iron throat
+Roared from the trenches; and, within the walls,
+Sharp crash of shells, low groans of human pain,
+Shout, drum beat, and the clanging larum-bell,
+And tramp of hosts, sent up a mingled sound,
+Half wail and half defiance. As they passed
+The gate of San Pancrazio, human blood
+Flowed ankle-high about them, and dead men
+Choked the long street with gashed and gory piles,--
+A ghastly barricade of mangled flesh,
+From which at times, quivered a living hand,
+And white lips moved and moaned. A father tore
+His gray hairs, by the body of his son,
+In frenzy; and his fair young daughter wept
+On his old bosom. Suddenly a flash
+Clove the thick sulphurous air, and man and maid
+Sank, crushed and mangled by the shattering shell.
+
+Then spake the Galilean: "Thou hast seen
+The blessed Master and His works of love;
+Look now on thine! Hear'st thou the angels sing
+Above this open hell? Thou God's high-priest!
+Thou the Vicegerent of the Prince of Peace!
+Thou the successor of His chosen ones!
+I, Peter, fisherman of Galilee,
+In the dear Master's name, and for the love
+Of His true Church, proclaim thee Antichrist,
+Alien and separate from His holy faith,
+Wide as the difference between death and life,
+The hate of man and the great love of God!
+Hence, and repent!"
+
+Thereat the pontiff woke,
+Trembling, and muttering o'er his fearful dream.
+"What means he?" cried the Bourbon, "Nothing more
+Than that your majesty hath all too well
+Catered for your poor guests, and that, in sooth,
+The Holy Father's supper troubleth him,"
+Said Cardinal Antonelli, with a smile.
+1853.
+
+
+
+
+THE VOICES.
+WHY urge the long, unequal fight,
+Since Truth has fallen in the street,
+Or lift anew the trampled light,
+Quenched by the heedless million's feet?
+
+"Give o'er the thankless task; forsake
+The fools who know not ill from good
+Eat, drink, enjoy thy own, and take
+Thine ease among the multitude.
+
+"Live out thyself; with others share
+Thy proper life no more; assume
+The unconcern of sun and air,
+For life or death, or blight or bloom.
+
+"The mountain pine looks calmly on
+The fires that scourge the plains below,
+Nor heeds the eagle in the sun
+The small birds piping in the snow!
+
+"The world is God's, not thine; let Him
+Work out a change, if change must be
+The hand that planted best can trim
+And nurse the old unfruitful tree."
+
+So spake the Tempter, when the light
+Of sun and stars had left the sky;
+I listened, through the cloud and night,
+And beard, methought, a voice reply:
+
+"Thy task may well seem over-hard,
+Who scatterest in a thankless soil
+Thy life as seed, with no reward
+Save that which Duty gives to Toil.
+
+"Not wholly is thy heart resigned
+To Heaven's benign and just decree,
+Which, linking thee with all thy kind,
+Transmits their joys and griefs to thee.
+
+"Break off that sacred chain, and turn
+Back on thyself thy love and care;
+Be thou thine own mean idol, burn
+Faith, Hope, and Trust, thy children, there.
+
+"Released from that fraternal law
+Which shares the common bale and bliss,
+No sadder lot could Folly draw,
+Or Sin provoke from Fate, than this.
+
+"The meal unshared is food unblest
+Thou hoard'st in vain what love should spend;
+Self-ease is pain; thy only rest
+Is labor for a worthy end;
+
+"A toil that gains with what it yields,
+And scatters to its own increase,
+And hears, while sowing outward fields,
+The harvest-song of inward peace.
+
+"Free-lipped the liberal streamlets run,
+Free shines for all the healthful ray;
+The still pool stagnates in the sun,
+The lurid earth-fire haunts decay.
+
+"What is it that the crowd requite
+Thy love with hate, thy truth with lies?
+And but to faith, and not to sight,
+The walls of Freedom's temple rise?
+
+"Yet do thy work; it shall succeed
+In thine or in another's day;
+And, if denied the victor's meed,
+Thou shalt not lack the toiler's pay.
+
+"Faith shares the future's promise; Love's
+Self-offering is a triumph won;
+And each good thought or action moves
+The dark world nearer to the sun.
+
+"Then faint not, falter not, nor plead
+Thy weakness; truth itself is strong;
+The lion's strength, the eagle's speed,
+Are not alone vouchsafed to wrong.
+
+"Thy nature, which, through fire and flood,
+To place or gain finds out its way,
+Hath power to seek the highest good,
+And duty's holiest call obey!
+
+"Strivest thou in darkness?--Foes without
+In league with traitor thoughts within;
+Thy night-watch kept with trembling Doubt
+And pale Remorse the ghost of Sin?
+
+"Hast thou not, on some week of storm,
+Seen the sweet Sabbath breaking fair,
+And cloud and shadow, sunlit, form
+The curtains of its tent of prayer?
+
+"So, haply, when thy task shall end,
+The wrong shall lose itself in right,
+And all thy week-day darkness blend
+With the long Sabbath of the light!"
+1854.
+
+
+
+
+THE NEW EXODUS.
+
+Written upon hearing that slavery had been formally abolished in Egypt.
+Unhappily, the professions and pledges of the vacillating government of
+Egypt proved unreliable.
+
+BY fire and cloud, across the desert sand,
+And through the parted waves,
+From their long bondage, with an outstretched hand,
+God led the Hebrew slaves!
+
+Dead as the letter of the Pentateuch,
+As Egypt's statues cold,
+In the adytum of the sacred book
+Now stands that marvel old.
+
+"Lo, God is great!" the simple Moslem says.
+We seek the ancient date,
+Turn the dry scroll, and make that living phrase
+A dead one: "God was great!"
+
+And, like the Coptic monks by Mousa's wells,
+We dream of wonders past,
+Vague as the tales the wandering Arab tells,
+Each drowsier than the last.
+
+O fools and blind! Above the Pyramids
+Stretches once more that hand,
+And tranced Egypt, from her stony lids,
+Flings back her veil of sand.
+
+And morning-smitten Memnon, singing, wakes;
+And, listening by his Nile,
+O'er Ammon's grave and awful visage breaks
+A sweet and human smile.
+
+Not, as before, with hail and fire, and call
+Of death for midnight graves,
+But in the stillness of the noonday, fall
+The fetters of the slaves.
+
+No longer through the Red Sea, as of old,
+The bondmen walk dry shod;
+Through human hearts, by love of Him controlled,
+Runs now that path of God
+1856.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONQUEST OF FINLAND.
+
+"Joseph Sturge, with a companion, Thomas Harvey, has been visiting the
+shores of Finland, to ascertain the amount of mischief and loss to poor
+and peaceable sufferers, occasioned by the gun-boats of the allied
+squadrons in the late war, with a view to obtaining relief for them."--
+Friends' Review.
+
+ACROSS the frozen marshes
+The winds of autumn blow,
+And the fen-lands of the Wetter
+Are white with early snow.
+
+But where the low, gray headlands
+Look o'er the Baltic brine,
+A bark is sailing in the track
+Of England's battle-line.
+
+No wares hath she to barter
+For Bothnia's fish and grain;
+She saileth not for pleasure,
+She saileth not for gain.
+
+But still by isle or mainland
+She drops her anchor down,
+Where'er the British cannon
+Rained fire on tower and town.
+
+Outspake the ancient Amtman,
+At the gate of Helsingfors
+"Why comes this ship a-spying
+In the track of England's wars?"
+
+"God bless her," said the coast-guard,--
+"God bless the ship, I say.
+The holy angels trim the sails
+That speed her on her way!
+
+"Where'er she drops her anchor,
+The peasant's heart is glad;
+Where'er she spreads her parting sail,
+The peasant's heart is sad.
+
+"Each wasted town and hamlet
+She visits to restore;
+To roof the shattered cabin,
+And feed the starving poor.
+
+"The sunken boats of fishers,
+The foraged beeves and grain,
+The spoil of flake and storehouse,
+The good ship brings again.
+
+"And so to Finland's sorrow
+The sweet amend is made,
+As if the healing hand of Christ
+Upon her wounds were laid!"
+
+Then said the gray old Amtman,"
+The will of God be done!
+The battle lost by England's hate,
+By England's love is won!
+
+"We braved the iron tempest
+That thundered on our shore;
+But when did kindness fail to find
+The key to Finland's door?
+
+"No more from Aland's ramparts
+Shall warning signal come,
+Nor startled Sweaborg hear again
+The roll of midnight drum.
+
+"Beside our fierce Black Eagle
+The Dove of Peace shall rest;
+And in the mouths of cannon
+The sea-bird make her nest.
+
+"For Finland, looking seaward,
+No coming foe shall scan;
+And the holy bells of Abo
+Shall ring, 'Good-will to man!'
+
+"Then row thy boat, O fisher!
+In peace on lake and bay;
+And thou, young maiden, dance again
+Around the poles of May!
+
+"Sit down, old men, together,
+Old wives, in quiet spin;
+Henceforth the Anglo-Saxon
+Is the brother of the Finn!"
+1856.
+
+
+
+
+THE EVE OF ELECTION.
+
+FROM 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.
+
+In its pale fire,
+The village spire
+Shows like the zodiac's spectral lance;
+The painted walls
+Whereon it falls
+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.
+Oh, take me where
+Are hearts of prayer,
+And foreheads bowed in reverent fear!
+
+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.
+
+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!
+1858.
+
+
+
+
+FROM PERUGIA.
+
+"The thing which has the most dissevered the people from the Pope,--the
+unforgivable thing,--the breaking point between him and them,--has been
+the encouragement and promotion he gave to the officer under whom were
+executed the slaughters of Perugia. That made the breaking point in many
+honest hearts that had clung to him before."--HARRIET BEECHER STOWE'S
+Letters from Italy.
+
+The tall, sallow guardsmen their horsetails have spread,
+Flaming out in their violet, yellow, and red;
+And behind go the lackeys in crimson and buff,
+And the chamberlains gorgeous in velvet and ruff;
+Next, in red-legged pomp, come the cardinals forth,
+Each a lord of the church and a prince of the earth.
+
+What's this squeak of the fife, and this batter of drum
+Lo! the Swiss of the Church from Perugia come;
+The militant angels, whose sabres drive home
+To the hearts of the malcontents, cursed and abhorred,
+The good Father's missives, and "Thus saith the Lord!"
+And lend to his logic the point of the sword!
+
+O maids of Etruria, gazing forlorn
+O'er dark Thrasymenus, dishevelled and torn!
+O fathers, who pluck at your gray beards for shame!
+O mothers, struck dumb by a woe without name!
+Well ye know how the Holy Church hireling behaves,
+And his tender compassion of prisons and graves!
+
+There they stand, the hired stabbers, the blood-stains yet fresh,
+That splashed like red wine from the vintage of flesh;
+Grim instruments, careless as pincers and rack
+How the joints tear apart, and the strained sinews crack;
+But the hate that glares on them is sharp as their swords,
+And the sneer and the scowl print the air with fierce words!
+
+Off with hats, down with knees, shout your vivas like mad!
+Here's the Pope in his holiday righteousness clad,
+From shorn crown to toe-nail, kiss-worn to the quick,
+Of sainthood in purple the pattern and pick,
+Who the role of the priest and the soldier unites,
+And, praying like Aaron, like Joshua fights!
+
+Is this Pio Nono the gracious, for whom
+We sang our hosannas and lighted all Rome;
+With whose advent we dreamed the new era began
+When the priest should be human, the monk be a man?
+Ah, the wolf's with the sheep, and the fox with the fowl,
+When freedom we trust to the crosier and cowl!
+
+Stand aside, men of Rome! Here's a hangman-faced Swiss--
+(A blessing for him surely can't go amiss)--
+Would kneel down the sanctified slipper to kiss.
+Short shrift will suffice him,--he's blest beyond doubt;
+But there 's blood on his hands which would scarcely wash out,
+Though Peter himself held the baptismal spout!
+
+Make way for the next! Here's another sweet son
+What's this mastiff-jawed rascal in epaulets done?
+He did, whispers rumor, (its truth God forbid!)
+At Perugia what Herod at Bethlehem did.
+And the mothers? Don't name them! these humors of war
+They who keep him in service must pardon him for.
+
+Hist! here's the arch-knave in a cardinal's hat,
+With the heart of a wolf, and the stealth of a cat
+(As if Judas and Herod together were rolled),
+Who keeps, all as one, the Pope's conscience and gold,
+Mounts guard on the altar, and pilfers from thence,
+And flatters St. Peter while stealing his pence!
+
+
+Who doubts Antonelli? Have miracles ceased
+When robbers say mass, and Barabbas is priest?
+When the Church eats and drinks, at its mystical board,
+The true flesh and blood carved and shed by its sword,
+When its martyr, unsinged, claps the crown on his head,
+And roasts, as his proxy, his neighbor instead!
+
+There! the bells jow and jangle the same blessed way
+That they did when they rang for Bartholomew's day.
+Hark! the tallow-faced monsters, nor women nor boys,
+Vex the air with a shrill, sexless horror of noise.
+Te Deum laudamus! All round without stint
+The incense-pot swings with a taint of blood in 't!
+
+And now for the blessing! Of little account,
+You know, is the old one they heard on the Mount.
+Its giver was landless, His raiment was poor,
+No jewelled tiara His fishermen wore;
+No incense, no lackeys, no riches, no home,
+No Swiss guards!  We order things better at Rome.
+
+So bless us the strong hand, and curse us the weak;
+Let Austria's vulture have food for her beak;
+Let the wolf-whelp of Naples play Bomba again,
+With his death-cap of silence, and halter, and chain;
+Put reason, and justice, and truth under ban;
+For the sin unforgiven is freedom for man!
+1858.
+
+
+
+
+ITALY.
+
+ACROSS the sea I heard the groans
+Of nations in the intervals
+Of wind and wave. Their blood and bones
+Cried out in torture, crushed by thrones,
+And sucked by priestly cannibals.
+
+I dreamed of Freedom slowly gained
+By martyr meekness, patience, faith,
+And lo! an athlete grimly stained,
+With corded muscles battle-strained,
+Shouting it from the fields of death!
+
+I turn me, awe-struck, from the sight,
+Among the clamoring thousands mute,
+I only know that God is right,
+And that the children of the light
+Shall tread the darkness under foot.
+
+I know the pent fire heaves its crust,
+That sultry skies the bolt will form
+To smite them clear; that Nature must
+The balance of her powers adjust,
+Though with the earthquake and the storm.
+
+God reigns, and let the earth rejoice!
+I bow before His sterner plan.
+Dumb are the organs of my choice;
+He speaks in battle's stormy voice,
+His praise is in the wrath of man!
+
+Yet, surely as He lives, the day
+Of peace He promised shall be ours,
+To fold the flags of war, and lay
+Its sword and spear to rust away,
+And sow its ghastly fields with flowers!
+1860.
+
+
+
+
+FREEDOM IN BRAZIL.
+
+WITH clearer light, Cross of the South, shine forth
+In blue Brazilian skies;
+And thou, O river, cleaving half the earth
+From sunset to sunrise,
+
+From the great mountains to the Atlantic waves
+Thy joy's long anthem pour.
+Yet a few years (God make them less!) and slaves
+Shall shame thy pride no more.
+No fettered feet thy shaded margins press;
+But all men shall walk free
+Where thou, the high-priest of the wilderness,
+Hast wedded sea to sea.
+
+And thou, great-hearted ruler, through whose mouth
+The word of God is said,
+Once more, "Let there be light!"--Son of the South,
+Lift up thy honored head,
+Wear unashamed a crown by thy desert
+More than by birth thy own,
+Careless of watch and ward; thou art begirt
+By grateful hearts alone.
+The moated wall and battle-ship may fail,
+But safe shall justice prove;
+Stronger than greaves of brass or iron mail
+The panoply of love.
+
+Crowned doubly by man's blessing and God's grace,
+Thy future is secure;
+Who frees a people makes his statue's place
+In Time's Valhalla sure.
+Lo! from his Neva's banks the Scythian Czar
+Stretches to thee his hand,
+Who, with the pencil of the Northern star,
+Wrote freedom on his land.
+And he whose grave is holy by our calm
+And prairied Sangamon,
+From his gaunt hand shall drop the martyr's palm
+To greet thee with "Well done!"
+
+And thou, O Earth, with smiles thy face make sweet,
+And let thy wail be stilled,
+To hear the Muse of prophecy repeat
+Her promise half fulfilled.
+The Voice that spake at Nazareth speaks still,
+No sound thereof hath died;
+Alike thy hope and Heaven's eternal will
+Shall yet be satisfied.
+The years are slow, the vision tarrieth long,
+And far the end may be;
+But, one by one, the fiends of ancient wrong
+Go out and leave thee free.
+1867.
+
+
+
+
+AFTER ELECTION.
+
+THE day's sharp strife is ended now,
+Our work is done, God knoweth how!
+As on the thronged, unrestful town
+The patience of the moon looks down,
+I wait to hear, beside the wire,
+The voices of its tongues of fire.
+
+Slow, doubtful, faint, they seem at first
+Be strong, my heart, to know the worst!
+Hark! there the Alleghanies spoke;
+That sound from lake and prairie broke,
+That sunset-gun of triumph rent
+The silence of a continent!
+
+That signal from Nebraska sprung,
+This, from Nevada's mountain tongue!
+Is that thy answer, strong and free,
+O loyal heart of Tennessee?
+What strange, glad voice is that which calls
+From Wagner's grave and Sumter's walls?
+
+From Mississippi's fountain-head
+A sound as of the bison's tread!
+There rustled freedom's Charter Oak
+In that wild burst the Ozarks spoke!
+Cheer answers cheer from rise to set
+Of sun. We have a country yet!
+
+The praise, O God, be thine alone!
+Thou givest not for bread a stone;
+Thou hast not led us through the night
+To blind us with returning light;
+Not through the furnace have we passed,
+To perish at its mouth at last.
+
+O night of peace, thy flight restrain!
+November's moon, be slow to wane!
+Shine on the freedman's cabin floor,
+On brows of prayer a blessing pour;
+And give, with full assurance blest,
+The weary heart of Freedom rest!
+1868.
+
+
+
+
+DISARMAMENT.
+
+"PUT up the sword!" The voice of Christ once more
+Speaks, in the pauses of the cannon's roar,
+O'er fields of corn by fiery sickles reaped
+And left dry ashes; over trenches heaped
+With nameless dead; o'er cities starving slow
+Under a rain of fire; through wards of woe
+Down which a groaning diapason runs
+From tortured brothers, husbands, lovers, sons
+Of desolate women in their far-off homes,
+Waiting to hear the step that never comes!
+O men and brothers! let that voice be heard.
+War fails, try peace; put up the useless sword!
+
+Fear not the end. There is a story told
+In Eastern tents, when autumn nights grow cold,
+And round the fire the Mongol shepherds sit
+With grave responses listening unto it
+Once, on the errands of his mercy bent,
+Buddha, the holy and benevolent,
+Met a fell monster, huge and fierce of look,
+Whose awful voice the hills and forests shook.
+"O son of peace!" the giant cried, "thy fate
+Is sealed at last, and love shall yield to hate."
+The unarmed Buddha looking, with no trace
+Of fear or anger, in the monster's face,
+In pity said: "Poor fiend, even thee I love."
+Lo! as he spake the sky-tall terror sank
+To hand-breadth size; the huge abhorrence shrank
+Into the form and fashion of a dove;
+And where the thunder of its rage was heard,
+Circling above him sweetly sang the bird
+"Hate hath no harm for love," so ran the song;
+"And peace unweaponed conquers every wrong!"
+1871.
+
+
+
+
+THE PROBLEM.
+
+I.
+NOT without envy Wealth at times must look
+On their brown strength who wield the reaping-hook
+And scythe, or at the forge-fire shape the plough
+Or the steel harness of the steeds of steam;
+All who, by skill and patience, anyhow
+Make service noble, and the earth redeem
+From savageness. By kingly accolade
+Than theirs was never worthier knighthood made.
+Well for them, if, while demagogues their vain
+And evil counsels proffer, they maintain
+Their honest manhood unseduced, and wage
+No war with Labor's right to Labor's gain
+Of sweet home-comfort, rest of hand and brain,
+And softer pillow for the head of Age.
+
+II.
+And well for Gain if it ungrudging yields
+Labor its just demand; and well for Ease
+If in the uses of its own, it sees
+No wrong to him who tills its pleasant fields
+And spreads the table of its luxuries.
+The interests of the rich man and the poor
+Are one and same, inseparable evermore;
+And, when scant wage or labor fail to give
+Food, shelter, raiment, wherewithal to live,
+Need has its rights, necessity its claim.
+Yea, even self-wrought misery and shame
+Test well the charity suffering long and kind.
+The home-pressed question of the age can find
+No answer in the catch-words of the blind
+Leaders of blind. Solution there is none
+Save in the Golden Rule of Christ alone.
+1877.
+
+
+
+
+OUR COUNTRY.
+
+Read at Woodstock, Conn., July 4,1883.
+
+WE give thy natal day to hope,
+O Country of our love and prayer I
+Thy way is down no fatal slope,
+But up to freer sun and air.
+
+Tried as by furnace-fires, and yet
+By God's grace only stronger made,
+In future tasks before thee set
+Thou shalt not lack the old-time aid.
+
+The fathers sleep, but men remain
+As wise, as true, and brave as they;
+Why count the loss and not the gain?
+The best is that we have to-day.
+
+Whate'er of folly, shame, or crime,
+Within thy mighty bounds transpires,
+With speed defying space and time
+Comes to us on the accusing wires;
+
+While of thy wealth of noble deeds,
+Thy homes of peace, thy votes unsold,
+The love that pleads for human needs,
+The wrong redressed, but half is told!
+
+We read each felon's chronicle,
+His acts, his words, his gallows-mood;
+We know the single sinner well
+And not the nine and ninety good.
+
+Yet if, on daily scandals fed,
+We seem at times to doubt thy worth,
+We know thee still, when all is said,
+The best and dearest spot on earth.
+
+From the warm Mexic Gulf, or where
+Belted with flowers Los Angeles
+Basks in the semi-tropic air,
+To where Katahdin's cedar trees
+
+Are dwarfed and bent by Northern winds,
+Thy plenty's horn is yearly filled;
+Alone, the rounding century finds
+Thy liberal soil by free hands tilled.
+
+A refuge for the wronged and poor,
+Thy generous heart has borne the blame
+That, with them, through thy open door,
+The old world's evil outcasts came.
+
+But, with thy just and equal rule,
+And labor's need and breadth of lands,
+Free press and rostrum, church and school,
+Thy sure, if slow, transforming hands
+
+Shall mould even them to thy design,
+Making a blessing of the ban;
+And Freedom's chemistry combine
+The alien elements of man.
+
+The power that broke their prison bar
+And set the dusky millions free,
+And welded in the flame of war
+The Union fast to Liberty,
+
+Shall it not deal with other ills,
+Redress the red man's grievance, break
+The Circean cup which shames and kills,
+And Labor full requital make?
+
+Alone to such as fitly bear
+Thy civic honors bid them fall?
+And call thy daughters forth to share
+The rights and duties pledged to all?
+
+Give every child his right of school,
+Merge private greed in public good,
+And spare a treasury overfull
+The tax upon a poor man's food?
+
+No lack was in thy primal stock,
+No weakling founders builded here;
+Thine were the men of Plymouth Rock,
+The Huguenot and Cavalier;
+
+And they whose firm endurance gained
+The freedom of the souls of men,
+Whose hands, unstained with blood, maintained
+The swordless commonwealth of Penn.
+
+And thine shall be the power of all
+To do the work which duty bids,
+And make the people's council hall
+As lasting as the Pyramids!
+
+Well have thy later years made good
+Thy brave-said word a century back,
+The pledge of human brotherhood,
+The equal claim of white and black.
+
+That word still echoes round the world,
+And all who hear it turn to thee,
+And read upon thy flag unfurled
+The prophecies of destiny.
+
+Thy great world-lesson all shall learn,
+The nations in thy school shall sit,
+Earth's farthest mountain-tops shall burn
+With watch-fires from thy own uplit.
+
+Great without seeking to be great
+By fraud or conquest, rich in gold,
+But richer in the large estate
+Of virtue which thy children hold,
+
+With peace that comes of purity
+And strength to simple justice due,
+So runs our loyal dream of thee;
+God of our fathers! make it true.
+
+O Land of lands! to thee we give
+Our prayers, our hopes, our service free;
+For thee thy sons shall nobly live,
+And at thy need shall die for thee!
+
+
+
+
+ON THE BIG HORN.
+
+In the disastrous battle on the Big Horn River, in which General Custer
+and his entire force were slain, the chief Rain-in-the-Face was one of
+the fiercest leaders of the Indians. In Longfellow's poem on the
+massacre, these lines will be remembered:--
+
+          "Revenge!" cried Rain-in-the-Face,
+          "Revenge upon all the race
+          Of the White Chief with yellow hair!"
+          And the mountains dark and high
+          From their crags reechoed the cry
+          Of his anger and despair.
+
+He is now a man of peace; and the agent at Standing Rock, Dakota,
+writes, September 28, 1886: "Rain-in-the-Face is very anxious to go to
+Hampton. I fear he is too old, but he desires very much to go." The
+Southern Workman, the organ of General Armstrong's Industrial School at
+Hampton, Va., says in a late number:--
+
+"Rain-in-the-Face has applied before to come to Hampton, but his age
+would exclude him from the school as an ordinary student. He has shown
+himself very much in earnest about it, and is anxious, all say, to learn
+the better ways of life. It is as unusual as it is striking to see a man
+of his age, and one who has had such an experience, willing to give up
+the old way, and put himself in the position of a boy and a student."
+
+THE years are but half a score,
+And the war-whoop sounds no more
+With the blast of bugles, where
+Straight into a slaughter pen,
+With his doomed three hundred men,
+Rode the chief with the yellow hair.
+
+O Hampton, down by the sea!
+What voice is beseeching thee
+For the scholar's lowliest place?
+Can this be the voice of him
+Who fought on the Big Horn's rim?
+Can this be Rain-in-the-Face?
+
+His war-paint is washed away,
+His hands have forgotten to slay;
+He seeks for himself and his race
+The arts of peace and the lore
+That give to the skilled hand more
+Than the spoils of war and chase.
+
+O chief of the Christ-like school!
+Can the zeal of thy heart grow cool
+When the victor scarred with fight
+Like a child for thy guidance craves,
+And the faces of hunters and braves
+Are turning to thee for light?
+
+The hatchet lies overgrown
+With grass by the Yellowstone,
+Wind River and Paw of Bear;
+And, in sign that foes are friends,
+Each lodge like a peace-pipe sends
+Its smoke in the quiet air.
+
+The hands that have done the wrong
+To right the wronged are strong,
+And the voice of a nation saith
+"Enough of the war of swords,
+Enough of the lying words
+And shame of a broken faith!"
+
+The hills that have watched afar
+The valleys ablaze with war
+Shall look on the tasselled corn;
+And the dust of the grinded grain,
+Instead of the blood of the slain,
+Shall sprinkle thy banks, Big Horn!
+
+The Ute and the wandering Crow
+Shall know as the white men know,
+And fare as the white men fare;
+The pale and the red shall be brothers,
+One's rights shall be as another's,
+Home, School, and House of Prayer!
+
+O mountains that climb to snow,
+O river winding below,
+Through meadows by war once trod,
+O wild, waste lands that await
+The harvest exceeding great,
+Break forth into praise of God!
+1887.
+
+
+
+
+                                  NOTES
+
+Note 1, page 18. The reader may, perhaps, call to mind the beautiful
+sonnet of William Wordsworth, addressed to Toussaint L'Ouverture, during
+his confinement in France.
+
+"Toussaint!--thou most unhappy man of men
+Whether the whistling rustic tends his plough
+Within thy hearing, or thou liest now
+Buried in some deep dungeon's earless den;
+O miserable chieftain!--where and when
+Wilt thou find patience?--Yet, die not, do thou
+Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow;
+Though fallen thyself, never to rise again,
+Live and take comfort. Thou hast left behind
+Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies,--
+There's not a breathing of the common wind
+That will forget thee; thou hast great allies.
+Thy friends are exultations, agonies,
+And love, and man's unconquerable mind."
+
+
+Note 2, page 67. The Northern author of the Congressional rule against
+receiving petitions of the people on the subject of Slavery.
+
+
+Note 3, page 88. There was at the time when this poem was written an
+Association in Liberty County, Georgia, for the religious instruction of
+negroes. One of their annual reports contains an address by the Rev.
+Josiah Spry Law, in which the following passage occurs: "There is a
+growing interest in this community in the religious instruction of
+negroes. There is a conviction that religious instruction promotes the
+quiet and order of the people, and the pecuniary interest of the
+owners."
+
+
+Note 4, page 117. The book-establishment of the Free-Will Baptists in
+Dover was refused the act of incorporation by the New Hampshire
+Legislature, for the reason that the newspaper organ of that sect and
+its leading preachers favored abolition.
+
+
+Note 5, page 118. The senatorial editor of the Belknap Gazette all along
+manifested a peculiar horror of "niggers" and "nigger parties."
+
+
+Note 6, page 118. The justice before whom Elder Storrs was brought for
+preaching abolition on a writ drawn by Hon. M. N., Jr., of Pittsfield.
+The sheriff served the writ while the elder was praying.
+
+
+Note 7, page 118. The academy at Canaan, N. H., received one or two
+colored scholars, and was in consequence dragged off into a swamp by
+Democratic teams.
+
+
+Note 8, page 119. "Papers and memorials touching the subject of slavery
+shall be laid on the table without reading, debate, or reference."  So
+read the gag-law, as it was called, introduced in the House by Mr.
+Atherton.
+
+
+Note 9, page 120. The Female Anti-Slavery Society, at its first meeting
+in Concord, was assailed with stones and brickbats.
+
+
+Note 10, page 168. The election of Charles Sumner to the United States
+Senate "followed bard upon" the rendition of the fugitive Sims by the
+United States officials and the armed police of Boston.
+
+
+Note 11, page 290. For the idea of this line, I am indebted to Emerson,
+in his inimitable sonnet to the Rhodora,--
+
+"If eyes were made for seeing,
+Then Beauty is its own excuse for being."
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SONGS OF LABOR AND REFORM ***
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