 | Utterances |  |
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Milo and the Oak.
On Croton's plains, where Grecian youths
In silence learned immortal truths,
And wise Pythagoras taught the schools
That Freedom reigns where Justice rules:
In silence learned immortal truths,
And wise Pythagoras taught the schools
That Freedom reigns where Justice rules:
On Croton's plains, in days of old,
Stout Milo roved—a wrestler bold;
Whose brawny arm, as legends tell,
With one good blow an ox could fell.
Stout Milo roved—a wrestler bold;
Whose brawny arm, as legends tell,
With one good blow an ox could fell.
And when this Milo dined, we read,
An ox might scarce his hunger feed;
So strong was he, so wide of maw,
His like, I think, the world ne'er saw.
An ox might scarce his hunger feed;
So strong was he, so wide of maw,
His like, I think, the world ne'er saw.
In stalwart pride he strode the plains,
A tyrant grim o'er kine and swains;
And swung, beneath Crotona's oaks,
A woodman's axe, with giant strokes;
A tyrant grim o'er kine and swains;
And swung, beneath Crotona's oaks,
A woodman's axe, with giant strokes;
And, day by day, his wedges drove,
Until the goodliest oak he clove—
A lofty tree, whose branches spann'd
The broad, fair fields with foliage grand.
Until the goodliest oak he clove—
A lofty tree, whose branches spann'd
The broad, fair fields with foliage grand.
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With foliage green, like sheltering wings,
O'er flowers, and fruits, and breathing things;
O'er swarming bees, and nestling birds,
And laboring men, with flocks and herds.
O'er flowers, and fruits, and breathing things;
O'er swarming bees, and nestling birds,
And laboring men, with flocks and herds.
The stars were clustered round its crest,
And sunbeams striped its blooming breast;
And under it—as well might be—
Pythagoras taught how souls were free!
And sunbeams striped its blooming breast;
And under it—as well might be—
Pythagoras taught how souls were free!
But Milo, mustering strength perverse,
His wedges drove, with scowl and curse,
Till, rending through the oak-tree's side,
They clove its trunk with fissures wide.
His wedges drove, with scowl and curse,
Till, rending through the oak-tree's side,
They clove its trunk with fissures wide.
And, yielding round those wedges black,
The huge tree quaked, with thunderous crack,
Until, beneath their widening strain,
Its heart of oak seemed riven in twain.
The huge tree quaked, with thunderous crack,
Until, beneath their widening strain,
Its heart of oak seemed riven in twain.
Then Milo, in his madness, spoke:
“I think my strength can tear this oak!
These wedges I no more need drive—
My HANDS alone the trunk shall rive!”
“I think my strength can tear this oak!
These wedges I no more need drive—
My HANDS alone the trunk shall rive!”
With giant gripe, the oak to rend,
He bowed himself, as whirlwinds bend;
With furious tug, and desperate strain,
To rive that goodly oak in twain.
He bowed himself, as whirlwinds bend;
With furious tug, and desperate strain,
To rive that goodly oak in twain.
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Till, one by one, with loosening clang,
Those iron wedges outward sprang;
And, narrowing its elastic strands,
The tough oak closed on Milo's hands.
Those iron wedges outward sprang;
And, narrowing its elastic strands,
The tough oak closed on Milo's hands.
It crushed him in its fierce rebound;
It shook each black wedge to the ground;
It lifted up its crest of stars,
And bade the sunbeams gild its scars!
It shook each black wedge to the ground;
It lifted up its crest of stars,
And bade the sunbeams gild its scars!
I know not if Pythagoras spoke
To freeborn souls of Milo's oak;
But this I know—that if there towers
Such oak-tree in this land of ours
To freeborn souls of Milo's oak;
But this I know—that if there towers
Such oak-tree in this land of ours
And if some impious hand should strain
To rend that goodly oak in twain—
Methinks I'd cry aloud, this day,
“In God's name, strike the WEDGE away!”
To rend that goodly oak in twain—
Methinks I'd cry aloud, this day,
“In God's name, strike the WEDGE away!”
The wedge, that rent the strands apart,
The wedge, that fain would cleave the heart;
Strike out this wedge! and God will close
The Union's oak on Union's foes!
The wedge, that fain would cleave the heart;
Strike out this wedge! and God will close
The Union's oak on Union's foes!
August, 1862.
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