Ballads for the Times (Now first collected,) Geraldine, A Modern Pyramid, Bartenus, A Thousand Lines, and other poems. By Martin F. Tupper. A new Edition, enlarged and revised |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. | VI.— “Yet once again.”
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 | Ballads for the Times |  |
465
VI.— “Yet once again.”
Yet once again, my Jonathan!
Your loving brother greets you,
To do you all the good he can,
Yes, every time he meets you;
To speak with true and tender tongue,
Not like a scolding Stentor,
But (though a year or so too young)
A frank and faithful Mentor.
Your loving brother greets you,
To do you all the good he can,
Yes, every time he meets you;
To speak with true and tender tongue,
Not like a scolding Stentor,
But (though a year or so too young)
A frank and faithful Mentor.
See! from my tassell'd wrist upsprings
No falcon with its jesses,
But a fair dove, whose silver wings
Were made for soft caresses;
Right glad the olive-branch to bear
Across the sounding ocean,
And find a welcome everywhere
In every heart's emotion!
No falcon with its jesses,
But a fair dove, whose silver wings
Were made for soft caresses;
Right glad the olive-branch to bear
Across the sounding ocean,
And find a welcome everywhere
In every heart's emotion!
And here to-day my carrier dove
Is burden'd with a packet,
Which, well inscribed with peace and love,
Has justice too to back it;
For many sterner souls there be
Who nurse their wrongs intently,
And well it were, if all, like me,
Could judge and chide you gently.
Is burden'd with a packet,
Which, well inscribed with peace and love,
Has justice too to back it;
For many sterner souls there be
Who nurse their wrongs intently,
And well it were, if all, like me,
Could judge and chide you gently.
They say,—aye, many sorts of men,
In bitterness they say it,—
You borrow'd of the world, and then
Resolve you won't repay it;
That sundry of the thirty States
Which heap your giant nation,
Disgrace their honourable mates
By rank “Repudiation.”
In bitterness they say it,—
You borrow'd of the world, and then
Resolve you won't repay it;
466
Which heap your giant nation,
Disgrace their honourable mates
By rank “Repudiation.”
They say,—and make believe you say,—
“What fools they were to lend it;
We calculate that everyway
They gave it us to spend it:
And since it's sunk in road and rail,
Canal, and dock, and clearing,—
Our creditors are out of hail,
And we'll be hard of hearing!”
“What fools they were to lend it;
We calculate that everyway
They gave it us to spend it:
And since it's sunk in road and rail,
Canal, and dock, and clearing,—
Our creditors are out of hail,
And we'll be hard of hearing!”
I don't believe it, Jonathan;
You're wiser, truer, better:
I know you'll pay us when you can,
And blush to be a debtor:
Not Illinois, nor Michigan,
Florida, nor Arkansas,
Nor Mississippi, to a man,
Would give such shabby answers:
You're wiser, truer, better:
I know you'll pay us when you can,
And blush to be a debtor:
Not Illinois, nor Michigan,
Florida, nor Arkansas,
Nor Mississippi, to a man,
Would give such shabby answers:
I don't believe it; never did;
I'd buy your stocks to-morrow;
I only wish my purse could bid
For all that you can borrow;
I'd lend in faith and patience too,
But cannot quite afford it,—
Because in lending cash to you
I know we do but hoard it.
I'd buy your stocks to-morrow;
I only wish my purse could bid
For all that you can borrow;
I'd lend in faith and patience too,
But cannot quite afford it,—
Because in lending cash to you
I know we do but hoard it.
467
For, men must wait at any rate
(It stands to rhyme and reason,)
Till Labour in a rising State
Produces in its season;
Till banks, canals, and roads, and rails
Are well in working order,
And better hap and prosperous gales
Are every one's rewarder.
(It stands to rhyme and reason,)
Till Labour in a rising State
Produces in its season;
Till banks, canals, and roads, and rails
Are well in working order,
And better hap and prosperous gales
Are every one's rewarder.
Now then!—Behold that better hap!
A mighty store of treasure
Is pour'd into Columbia's lap
In Californian measure;
Commerce, and labour, land, and gold,
And spirited migration
Now bless your shores an hundredfold
And—shame Repudiation!
A mighty store of treasure
Is pour'd into Columbia's lap
In Californian measure;
Commerce, and labour, land, and gold,
And spirited migration
Now bless your shores an hundredfold
And—shame Repudiation!
Up, worthies all! up, kindly stock!
Up, all my honest hearties!
And bring to shame's own whipping-block
The few defaulting parties:
Why should a tythe of all your States
Throw scorn upon the others,
And lay dishonour'd debts as rates
Upon their better brothers?
Up, all my honest hearties!
And bring to shame's own whipping-block
The few defaulting parties:
Why should a tythe of all your States
Throw scorn upon the others,
And lay dishonour'd debts as rates
Upon their better brothers?
No! ten long years is long enough
Without a longer dating:
And times are smooth that once were rough,
And all the world's awaiting:
And many sneers at Jonathan
Will no more get a hearing,
And spite have lived its little span
In bygone pamphleteering:
Without a longer dating:
And times are smooth that once were rough,
And all the world's awaiting:
468
Will no more get a hearing,
And spite have lived its little span
In bygone pamphleteering:
And many a widow's heart for joy
Will brighten into gladness,—
And many an orphan girl and boy
Forget their years of sadness,—
And many an honest poor old man
Shall have outlived his ruin,
If you, my brother Jonathan,
Be only up and doing!
Will brighten into gladness,—
And many an orphan girl and boy
Forget their years of sadness,—
And many an honest poor old man
Shall have outlived his ruin,
If you, my brother Jonathan,
Be only up and doing!
Pull one, pull all! and break away
From this reproachful halter,
Let not one witling have to say,
One Yankee's a defaulter:
Kick out the rogues, if rogues there be;
Why should they blot your brightness?
And let all Europe shout to see
Your honour and uprightness!
From this reproachful halter,
Let not one witling have to say,
One Yankee's a defaulter:
Kick out the rogues, if rogues there be;
Why should they blot your brightness?
And let all Europe shout to see
Your honour and uprightness!
O children of a noble race,
Go on and prosper greatly!
I love your Anglo-Saxon face,
A British face so lately:
Let Spain alone be found in fraud,
And scorn be found upon her;
But stand with us, and blaze abroad
In Anglo-Saxon honour!
Go on and prosper greatly!
I love your Anglo-Saxon face,
A British face so lately:
Let Spain alone be found in fraud,
And scorn be found upon her;
But stand with us, and blaze abroad
In Anglo-Saxon honour!
| Ballads for the Times | |