 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
373
CALHOUN.
Nations themselves are but the monuments
Of deathless men, whom the Divine intents
Decree for mighty purposes.
They rise
Superior, by their mission from the skies,
To thoughts of self; and, in self-sacrifice,
Assert the race: guide, fashion, and inform,
Direct for conquest, gather from the storm,
And build in strength!
Of deathless men, whom the Divine intents
Decree for mighty purposes.
They rise
Superior, by their mission from the skies,
To thoughts of self; and, in self-sacrifice,
Assert the race: guide, fashion, and inform,
Direct for conquest, gather from the storm,
And build in strength!
Their powerful arms maintain
The realm of Peace, and consecrate her reign
By Justice, Truth, Protection. They defend
The land that gave them being, and commend
Her virtues to the love of other climes,
That else had lapsed from weaknesses to crimes,
And so, to ruin! They foresee the fate,
And arm against the danger ere too late;
Meet the assailing foeman at the wall,
And nobly conquer, or as nobly fall.
Their lives, devote to patriot service, teach
How best to build the tower and man the breach;
Their hands, outstretch'd in blessing rites, have made
The nations safe and sacred in their shade!
The realm of Peace, and consecrate her reign
By Justice, Truth, Protection. They defend
The land that gave them being, and commend
Her virtues to the love of other climes,
That else had lapsed from weaknesses to crimes,
And so, to ruin! They foresee the fate,
And arm against the danger ere too late;
Meet the assailing foeman at the wall,
And nobly conquer, or as nobly fall.
Their lives, devote to patriot service, teach
How best to build the tower and man the breach;
Their hands, outstretch'd in blessing rites, have made
The nations safe and sacred in their shade!
We rear our humble column to the name
Of one who led our power and won us fame!
Whose wondrous genius, with Ithuriel spear,
Hath made the crouching fiend start up in fear;
Smote the foul reptile, even where he lay
Coiled round our altar, poisoning still his prey;
Expell'd the foe that threatened as a fate,
And saved from loss the sacred shield of state!
Of one who led our power and won us fame!
Whose wondrous genius, with Ithuriel spear,
Hath made the crouching fiend start up in fear;
374
Coiled round our altar, poisoning still his prey;
Expell'd the foe that threatened as a fate,
And saved from loss the sacred shield of state!
His lips spoke lightnings! His immaculate thought,
From seraph source, divinest fervors caught;
His fiery argument, with eagle rush,
Spell'd mightiest Senates into trembling hush;
While the great billowy thunders, echoing still,
With rolling surges round the Sacred Hill,
Strike with sharp terrors into nerveless awe
The insidious enemies of Right and Law!
Even to the last, still battling in the van,
For the great truths and natural rights of man,
He died in harness, in the thick of strife,
His very death a triumph—like his life!
From seraph source, divinest fervors caught;
His fiery argument, with eagle rush,
Spell'd mightiest Senates into trembling hush;
While the great billowy thunders, echoing still,
With rolling surges round the Sacred Hill,
Strike with sharp terrors into nerveless awe
The insidious enemies of Right and Law!
Even to the last, still battling in the van,
For the great truths and natural rights of man,
He died in harness, in the thick of strife,
His very death a triumph—like his life!
The Great fall from us. We have need to fear,
When voice like his no longer thrills the ear!
When, in the Senate, owls and mousing things
Creep to high places which were made for wings,
'Tis need we should do homage, and implore
Great shoulders, such as his white mantle bore!
'Tis reverence brings the prophet. If we praise
The perish'd virtue, and its altar raise,
We may recall the genius, lost too soon,
And find, 'mong other sons, a new Calhoun!
When voice like his no longer thrills the ear!
When, in the Senate, owls and mousing things
Creep to high places which were made for wings,
'Tis need we should do homage, and implore
Great shoulders, such as his white mantle bore!
'Tis reverence brings the prophet. If we praise
The perish'd virtue, and its altar raise,
We may recall the genius, lost too soon,
And find, 'mong other sons, a new Calhoun!
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |