 | Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems |  |
67
PENNSYLVANIA.
A fair and lovely State is ours, with valleys broad and green,
Where, smiling in the summer ray, the cultured fields are seen,
Cities with spires and turrets proud, and rivers winding by—
Mountains whose stormy summits rise to meet the arching sky.
Where, smiling in the summer ray, the cultured fields are seen,
Cities with spires and turrets proud, and rivers winding by—
Mountains whose stormy summits rise to meet the arching sky.
When harvest suns are fierce and high, upon a thousand fields
The billowy swell of golden grain, its bounteous tribute yields;
Upon a thousand hill-sides fair, the herds in quiet graze,
And all the land rejoices 'neath Plenty's smiling rays.
The billowy swell of golden grain, its bounteous tribute yields;
Upon a thousand hill-sides fair, the herds in quiet graze,
And all the land rejoices 'neath Plenty's smiling rays.
Amid the damp coal-caverns, is heard the miner's din,
Where faint and far the light of day comes sadly streaming in:
Along the lonely mountain-side, and through the valleys gay,
The “iron steed” with tireless speed, goes thund'ring on his way.
Where faint and far the light of day comes sadly streaming in:
Along the lonely mountain-side, and through the valleys gay,
The “iron steed” with tireless speed, goes thund'ring on his way.
68
Alas for Pennsylvania! a curse is on her now:
Gone are her boasted honors—in dust her lofty brow;
Obscuring all her former pride, a cloud is on her fame,—
A heavy burden doth she bear, a weary load of shame.
Gone are her boasted honors—in dust her lofty brow;
Obscuring all her former pride, a cloud is on her fame,—
A heavy burden doth she bear, a weary load of shame.
What though the summer's genial warmth shall bless the ripening grain,
And bounteous harvest-fields repay the labors of the swain,
Still must her proud, free farmers think upon the debt they bear,
And wheresoe'er their duties call, must see its traces there!
And bounteous harvest-fields repay the labors of the swain,
Still must her proud, free farmers think upon the debt they bear,
And wheresoe'er their duties call, must see its traces there!
Oh! rouse ye in your strength and pride, the freemen of our land—
No longer turn despairing back, or still inactive stand;
Show that the spirit yet is yours, that made your fathers free,
For though your fortunes may be crushed, your honor must not be!
No longer turn despairing back, or still inactive stand;
Show that the spirit yet is yours, that made your fathers free,
For though your fortunes may be crushed, your honor must not be!
Then up and act! from Chester's plains to Erie's sea-like tide,
Where Beaver meets Ohio's waves, or Delaware rolls in pride—
'Mid Clinton's dark and pine-clad hills, where howls the autumn gale—
Where Susquehanna lingers slow, by Wyoming's fair vale!
Where Beaver meets Ohio's waves, or Delaware rolls in pride—
'Mid Clinton's dark and pine-clad hills, where howls the autumn gale—
Where Susquehanna lingers slow, by Wyoming's fair vale!
69
The boasts of former, prouder days, but ill become us now;
We may not point to Penn's pure mind, or Franklin's laurelled brow,
No more the Keystone of the Arch may Pennsylvania be,
Till we have reft her of her shame, and she again is free!
We may not point to Penn's pure mind, or Franklin's laurelled brow,
No more the Keystone of the Arch may Pennsylvania be,
Till we have reft her of her shame, and she again is free!
| Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems | |