 | Duganne's Poetical Works |  |
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The True Republic.
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TO YOUNG AMERICA, “Garde Mobile” OF Liberty's Temple, THIS POEM IS DEDICATED.
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Not mine to rule the poet's realms of light—
Not mine to sway the golden tides of song;
Nor may my fingers sweep the chords
That once their stormy music flung,
When Homer trod the Chian strand;
Or rained celestial strains, when sung
Another sightless one in Albion's land.
Oh! not for me the deep, melodious words
That only to those raptured bards belong,
Who, blind to earth, saw heaven with saintly sight,
And spake its language with seraphic tongue.
I may not strike immortal Dante's lyre,
Nor dare the organ-swell of Avon's choir,
Nor thrill with Harold's grand and gloomy fire!
Not mine to sway the golden tides of song;
Nor may my fingers sweep the chords
That once their stormy music flung,
When Homer trod the Chian strand;
Or rained celestial strains, when sung
Another sightless one in Albion's land.
Oh! not for me the deep, melodious words
That only to those raptured bards belong,
Who, blind to earth, saw heaven with saintly sight,
And spake its language with seraphic tongue.
I may not strike immortal Dante's lyre,
Nor dare the organ-swell of Avon's choir,
Nor thrill with Harold's grand and gloomy fire!
Yet, haply I, with reach of high desire,
May lift my song to greet the orient breaks
Of freedom—as old Memnon hailed the sun;
And fling my numbers to the aspiring wind
That swells exultant with the voice of man,
Singing the birth-song of his dawning hopes;—
Even I, out-looking from my yearning soul,
May chant with answering joy the sounding strain
That mounts impetuous from each patriot's heart—
Crying to all the world, that Freedom lives!
May lift my song to greet the orient breaks
Of freedom—as old Memnon hailed the sun;
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That swells exultant with the voice of man,
Singing the birth-song of his dawning hopes;—
Even I, out-looking from my yearning soul,
May chant with answering joy the sounding strain
That mounts impetuous from each patriot's heart—
Crying to all the world, that Freedom lives!
Oh! when can Freedom die? When summer suns
No longer glow upon man's lifted brow,
Nor warm his grateful breast; when Ocean's wave
No more shall roll beneath the changing stars,
But stagnant lie—in desolate repose;
When winds forget their solemn symphonies,
And thunders break not from the gathered clouds;
When Nature shall grow weary of her life,
And thriftless of her stores—and dull Decay
O'erbrood the dying earth,—then, only then,
May human souls despair of Liberty!
No longer glow upon man's lifted brow,
Nor warm his grateful breast; when Ocean's wave
No more shall roll beneath the changing stars,
But stagnant lie—in desolate repose;
When winds forget their solemn symphonies,
And thunders break not from the gathered clouds;
When Nature shall grow weary of her life,
And thriftless of her stores—and dull Decay
O'erbrood the dying earth,—then, only then,
May human souls despair of Liberty!
Be thou, O Washington! the witness—thou
Whose memory, moonlike, sits amid our stars,
And rules their brightness with its steadier light!
Whose spirit fills the temple of our love,
And from its portals moves through all the earth;
Whose life is patriotism's chart—whose name
A Pharos burns, o'er all the future's gloom,
To guide the world to its enfranchisement.
Thee! Washington! I now invoke! Thee, Sire
And Savior of my own—my native land!
Whose memory, moonlike, sits amid our stars,
And rules their brightness with its steadier light!
Whose spirit fills the temple of our love,
And from its portals moves through all the earth;
Whose life is patriotism's chart—whose name
A Pharos burns, o'er all the future's gloom,
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Thee! Washington! I now invoke! Thee, Sire
And Savior of my own—my native land!
Shall it not come?—shall not the hallowed strife,
Of living Man with the dead nightmare shape
Of kingly craft, soon shake the orient world?
Shall not that cruel Moloch, at whose shrine
(Girt with the tyrants of all time) the Earth
Too long hath bowed, and offered up her best
And bravest children in sad hecatombs,—
Oh! shall not this false idol, Royalty,
Be hurled forever from its bloody seat,
And Man, the Patriot, own but God—the Sire?
Of living Man with the dead nightmare shape
Of kingly craft, soon shake the orient world?
Shall not that cruel Moloch, at whose shrine
(Girt with the tyrants of all time) the Earth
Too long hath bowed, and offered up her best
And bravest children in sad hecatombs,—
Oh! shall not this false idol, Royalty,
Be hurled forever from its bloody seat,
And Man, the Patriot, own but God—the Sire?
Command it, Heaven! assert it, Earth! O pray,
Ye suffering millions! that the Hope, so long
Nourished in secret—wildly uttered forth—
Wounded too oft in vainly-daring strife,
But never wholly crushed,—may yet find tongue,
And arm, and soul, to gauge its awful strength,
And clothe it grandly in immortal Deeds!
Ye suffering millions! that the Hope, so long
Nourished in secret—wildly uttered forth—
Wounded too oft in vainly-daring strife,
But never wholly crushed,—may yet find tongue,
And arm, and soul, to gauge its awful strength,
And clothe it grandly in immortal Deeds!
But thou, my country! land of birth and love!
Delphos of Nations! at whose gate
Their countless multitudes await
The oracle that, thundering from above,
Interprets Freedom's fate!—
Mecca of Ages! at whose shrine
The pilgrim centuries recline,
And look to thee—to THEE!
For that great sequel to their noblest deeds;
For that broad harvest of their scattered seeds;
For that dear bounty to their sorest needs,—
The PROOF of liberty!
Delphos of Nations! at whose gate
Their countless multitudes await
The oracle that, thundering from above,
Interprets Freedom's fate!—
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The pilgrim centuries recline,
And look to thee—to THEE!
For that great sequel to their noblest deeds;
For that broad harvest of their scattered seeds;
For that dear bounty to their sorest needs,—
The PROOF of liberty!
The old world throbs with turbulent unrest!
Her nations crowd to war—
And, hark! with dreadful jar
The temple-gates of Janus they unbar!
Her monarchs mad with empire's quest—
Her peoples sore opprest—
Await the strife of Sultan and of Czar!
But, throned serenely in the West—
Where struggling Man beholds his freedom-star—
One Great Republic watches from afar!
Her nations crowd to war—
And, hark! with dreadful jar
The temple-gates of Janus they unbar!
Her monarchs mad with empire's quest—
Her peoples sore opprest—
Await the strife of Sultan and of Czar!
But, throned serenely in the West—
Where struggling Man beholds his freedom-star—
One Great Republic watches from afar!
One Great Republic!—great in generous souls!
Supremely great—that she herself controls,
Nor yokes her power to Havoc's car,
To swell the Orient war!
Great in her storied Past!
Whose mighty deeds are mankind's Runnymedes—
Whereby its freedom-charter, broad and vast,
Each yearning nation reads!
Great in her Present, while her flag, unfurled,
In neutral calmness challenges the world!—
But yet more gloriously great
That she can cast her awful power
In Virtue's shining van:
That she may all the future dower
With blessings unto Man!
Supremely great—that she herself controls,
Nor yokes her power to Havoc's car,
To swell the Orient war!
Great in her storied Past!
Whose mighty deeds are mankind's Runnymedes—
Whereby its freedom-charter, broad and vast,
Each yearning nation reads!
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In neutral calmness challenges the world!—
But yet more gloriously great
That she can cast her awful power
In Virtue's shining van:
That she may all the future dower
With blessings unto Man!
No armies fright her vales!
No battle-din assails!
No hireling guards around her portal stand!
But when a stranger nation, starving, cries
For succor at her hand;
O then, in marshalled lines,
Each ripening harvest shines,
And glittering sheaves of golden corn arise—
To conquer and o'er-run the foreign land!
No battle-din assails!
No hireling guards around her portal stand!
But when a stranger nation, starving, cries
For succor at her hand;
O then, in marshalled lines,
Each ripening harvest shines,
And glittering sheaves of golden corn arise—
To conquer and o'er-run the foreign land!
One Great Republic! lo! she towers sublime!
The Hope of Nations, and the Goal of Time!
The van of empire and the throne of mind!
Like that dread Angel who at last shall stand,
With foot upon the sea and land,—
With power from God to loose and bind
The myriads of mankind!
The Hope of Nations, and the Goal of Time!
The van of empire and the throne of mind!
Like that dread Angel who at last shall stand,
With foot upon the sea and land,—
With power from God to loose and bind
The myriads of mankind!
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O, Memories of the Past! ye come
With trumpet blast and roll of drum:
Around me like a bannered host ye are!
I hear the awful signal gun
From Bunkers' Height and Lexington,
And Moultrie's cannon thundering from afar!
On every hill—through every glen—
From every mountain-gorge—
I hear the tread of Minute-Men!
I hear their mingling battle-cries
From Trenton's glorious field arise,
And sink in Valley Forge;
But still a clarion voice goes forth
And cries, amid the wintry snows:
No East—no West—no South—no North
The Revolution knows!
With trumpet blast and roll of drum:
Around me like a bannered host ye are!
I hear the awful signal gun
From Bunkers' Height and Lexington,
And Moultrie's cannon thundering from afar!
On every hill—through every glen—
From every mountain-gorge—
I hear the tread of Minute-Men!
I hear their mingling battle-cries
From Trenton's glorious field arise,
And sink in Valley Forge;
But still a clarion voice goes forth
And cries, amid the wintry snows:
No East—no West—no South—no North
The Revolution knows!
O ye immortal and heroic souls,
Whose visioned glory rolls
Triumphant through the wondrous Past—Ye men
Of Seventy-six! who wielded sword and pen!
Ye twins of eloquence, whose burning will
First drew the electric flame of freedom forth—
The Southern Henry—Adams of the North!—
Ye martyred twain,
The Northern Warren and the Southern Hayne!
Oh! ye are with us still!
Your awful phantoms walk the viewless air!
On every wind ye glide!
And cry aloud—“Not here—not there:
“On EVERY plain your fathers died—
“Their battle-field the Union wide;—
“No border claims a separate share!
“And palsied be the patricide
“Who would your heritage divide!”
Whose visioned glory rolls
Triumphant through the wondrous Past—Ye men
Of Seventy-six! who wielded sword and pen!
Ye twins of eloquence, whose burning will
First drew the electric flame of freedom forth—
The Southern Henry—Adams of the North!—
Ye martyred twain,
The Northern Warren and the Southern Hayne!
Oh! ye are with us still!
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On every wind ye glide!
And cry aloud—“Not here—not there:
“On EVERY plain your fathers died—
“Their battle-field the Union wide;—
“No border claims a separate share!
“And palsied be the patricide
“Who would your heritage divide!”
In History is God—no state may rise—
No nation flourishes—no empire dies—
But hath its lesson writ by Him whose Will
Evoked the Universe, and rules it still.
Not Israel's tribes alone beheld His hand:
In Fire and Cloud He leads through every land!
His Sinai altar flames on every shore;
And nations move but when HE moves before!
No nation flourishes—no empire dies—
But hath its lesson writ by Him whose Will
Evoked the Universe, and rules it still.
Not Israel's tribes alone beheld His hand:
In Fire and Cloud He leads through every land!
His Sinai altar flames on every shore;
And nations move but when HE moves before!
Land of my birth! O land of Washington!
For thee, the Past its mightiest work hath done!
For thee, God's finger shines o'er History's page—
For thee, in solemn words Age answers Age!
Land of each freeman's heart and home and love!
High-throned among the nations! Oh! by thee
May God out-lead the world and free
The expectant tribes of men! Even now, above
The surging waters of their troublous life,
Thou sittest calm, unmingling in the strife!—
Yet, evermore, as heaves the billowy sea
Of Europe's revolutions—evermore,
As freedom's surges break from shore to shore,—
Behold! each struggling patriot, from the crest
Of some huge wave, looks, yearning, to the West,
And, dying, smiles with but a glimpse of thee!
For thee, the Past its mightiest work hath done!
For thee, God's finger shines o'er History's page—
For thee, in solemn words Age answers Age!
Land of each freeman's heart and home and love!
High-throned among the nations! Oh! by thee
May God out-lead the world and free
The expectant tribes of men! Even now, above
The surging waters of their troublous life,
Thou sittest calm, unmingling in the strife!—
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Of Europe's revolutions—evermore,
As freedom's surges break from shore to shore,—
Behold! each struggling patriot, from the crest
Of some huge wave, looks, yearning, to the West,
And, dying, smiles with but a glimpse of thee!
O proud America! exalted clime!
Thy soil enriched with heroes' blood:
And every vale, and every crag,
And every field and flood
With freedom beautiful—with strength sublime!
Whilst, over all, thy Flag
Streams from its towering battle-tent,
With heaven's own shimmering ensigns blent,
And marks, where'er the foot of freedom falls,
One beacon more upon the Future's walls—
One other star in Glory's firmament!
Thy soil enriched with heroes' blood:
And every vale, and every crag,
And every field and flood
With freedom beautiful—with strength sublime!
Whilst, over all, thy Flag
Streams from its towering battle-tent,
With heaven's own shimmering ensigns blent,
And marks, where'er the foot of freedom falls,
One beacon more upon the Future's walls—
One other star in Glory's firmament!
The True Republic! Wouldst thou, then, enroll
Thy name—the noblest upon Empire's scroll?
Be still thy soil the refuge of th' oppressed!—
Be still thy navies first in danger's quest!
Be still thy succoring hand the first to save!—
Be still thy power the shelter of the brave!
But, evermore, upon thy starlit gate,
His words inscribe who taught thee to be great—
Who—first in peace, in war, in patriot hearts—
One peril saw—THE CURSE OF FOREIGN ARTS!
Thy name—the noblest upon Empire's scroll?
Be still thy soil the refuge of th' oppressed!—
Be still thy navies first in danger's quest!
Be still thy succoring hand the first to save!—
Be still thy power the shelter of the brave!
But, evermore, upon thy starlit gate,
His words inscribe who taught thee to be great—
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One peril saw—THE CURSE OF FOREIGN ARTS!
Where threats the danger? lo! in yonder SCHOOL;
Where bigot zeal usurps a separate rule:
In yonder CHURCH, where Labor's scanty mite
Uprears cathedral domes—to shame the light,
Whilst ermined Priestcraft sweeps the marble floors,
And—pauper thousands grovel at the doors!
In yonder CROWD, with jesuit listener nigh;
In yonder HOME—where lurks a foreign spy!
In crafty shepherd and in slavish flocks—
In Freedom's councils, and—her BALLOT-BOX.
'Tis Superstition! child of deepest night,—
We fear—and Ignorance! its kindred blight.
'Tis these we combat—these we would repel
Back from our Temple, to their native hell!
O, marvel not that, when our sorrowing eyes
Behold the storm-portending clouds arise,
We cry aloud, with Monticello's sire:
“O that the Atlantic were a WALL OF FIRE!”
Where bigot zeal usurps a separate rule:
In yonder CHURCH, where Labor's scanty mite
Uprears cathedral domes—to shame the light,
Whilst ermined Priestcraft sweeps the marble floors,
And—pauper thousands grovel at the doors!
In yonder CROWD, with jesuit listener nigh;
In yonder HOME—where lurks a foreign spy!
In crafty shepherd and in slavish flocks—
In Freedom's councils, and—her BALLOT-BOX.
'Tis Superstition! child of deepest night,—
We fear—and Ignorance! its kindred blight.
'Tis these we combat—these we would repel
Back from our Temple, to their native hell!
O, marvel not that, when our sorrowing eyes
Behold the storm-portending clouds arise,
We cry aloud, with Monticello's sire:
“O that the Atlantic were a WALL OF FIRE!”
A Wall of Fire! 'Tis ours to thus engirth
This land of refuge for the tribes of earth.
A Wall of Fire—the tyrant's power to brave!
A Sea of Flame—to purify the slave!—
To purge his ignorance—his servile shame—
And make him worthy of a Patriot's name!
Who would be free must suffer and aspire:
Our LAWS should make for us this Wall of Fire!
This land of refuge for the tribes of earth.
A Wall of Fire—the tyrant's power to brave!
A Sea of Flame—to purify the slave!—
To purge his ignorance—his servile shame—
And make him worthy of a Patriot's name!
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Our LAWS should make for us this Wall of Fire!
Nations are built of MEN—the mighty frame
Of that huge skeleton—a state—
Govern we it with priest or potentate,
Is evermore the same:
Bones, sinews, flesh and blood of human kind:
Moulded together, and made one,
By that tremendous charm—the mind!
And ruled (if ruin it would shun)
By one great bond of Brotherhood,
Swayed for one object—Human Good!
Of that huge skeleton—a state—
Govern we it with priest or potentate,
Is evermore the same:
Bones, sinews, flesh and blood of human kind:
Moulded together, and made one,
By that tremendous charm—the mind!
And ruled (if ruin it would shun)
By one great bond of Brotherhood,
Swayed for one object—Human Good!
But if the Mind be perished—if the Heart
Of Brotherhood, from which alone
All the life-blood of Liberty must start,—
If this be trampled down,—
Then sinks a nation, from its living state,
Back to the mouldering skeleton!
Such has been—such will be its fate
As Israel's prophet looked upon:
A Valley filled with Human Bones—
Dry, senseless, soulless, as the stones!
Of Brotherhood, from which alone
All the life-blood of Liberty must start,—
If this be trampled down,—
Then sinks a nation, from its living state,
Back to the mouldering skeleton!
Such has been—such will be its fate
As Israel's prophet looked upon:
A Valley filled with Human Bones—
Dry, senseless, soulless, as the stones!
Only the breath of true-born Liberty
Can bid such crumbling bones arise—
Only the voice which through all nature cries:
“Man is by birthright free!”
Only the spirit which ennobles Toil,
And makes the Anvil equal to the Sword;
And makes the peasant, while he delves the soil,
A compeer with the lord,—
So long as mind shall dignify his brain,
And love for human kind within his heart remain.
Can bid such crumbling bones arise—
Only the voice which through all nature cries:
“Man is by birthright free!”
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And makes the Anvil equal to the Sword;
And makes the peasant, while he delves the soil,
A compeer with the lord,—
So long as mind shall dignify his brain,
And love for human kind within his heart remain.
This, then, the True Republic!—where true souls
Shall write their actions on its deathless scrolls!
Where Labor with his burden proudly smiles,
And Men are reared, instead of marble piles!
Where willing toils embrace the yielding sod,
And millions kneel in prayer—but pray alone to God!
Shall write their actions on its deathless scrolls!
Where Labor with his burden proudly smiles,
And Men are reared, instead of marble piles!
Where willing toils embrace the yielding sod,
And millions kneel in prayer—but pray alone to God!
Shall this be our Republic? Ay! though guile
And wrong may lift their threat'ning front a while;
Though leaders falter, and defenders fail;
Though statesmen may betray, and champions quail,—
Be sure, (though leprous spots have scarred it o'er,)
The People's Heart is sound within its core!
Above the din of battling Politics
The People's Heart still throbs—with Seventy-six!
And wrong may lift their threat'ning front a while;
Though leaders falter, and defenders fail;
Though statesmen may betray, and champions quail,—
Be sure, (though leprous spots have scarred it o'er,)
The People's Heart is sound within its core!
Above the din of battling Politics
The People's Heart still throbs—with Seventy-six!
God bless the Heart of the People! It meaneth
Eternally well—and it hateth all wrong:
And ever to goodness and nobleness leaneth;
And hopeth in heaven, though long
It hath suffered from shackle and thong.
Eternally well—and it hateth all wrong:
And ever to goodness and nobleness leaneth;
And hopeth in heaven, though long
It hath suffered from shackle and thong.
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'Tis the Heart of the People first throbbeth indignant,
When despots would rivet their fetters accurst:
And fronts with bold bosom the tyrant malignant—
And swells, till with glorious burst,
Out gushes the flame it hath nursed.
When despots would rivet their fetters accurst:
And fronts with bold bosom the tyrant malignant—
And swells, till with glorious burst,
Out gushes the flame it hath nursed.
'Tis the Heart of the People—in mighty ovation—
Flings chaplets of fame in the patriot's path:
Or grapples with fraud on his mountainous station,
And showeth what terrors it hath,
When wrong shall awaken its wrath!
Flings chaplets of fame in the patriot's path:
Or grapples with fraud on his mountainous station,
And showeth what terrors it hath,
When wrong shall awaken its wrath!
'Tis the Heart of the People that lovingly weepeth,
When famishing nations cry wildly for bread;
And forth from that Heart, how its sympathy leapeth,
Till banquets for hunger are spread;
And the living arise from the dead!
When famishing nations cry wildly for bread;
And forth from that Heart, how its sympathy leapeth,
Till banquets for hunger are spread;
And the living arise from the dead!
Then, God bless the Heart of the People! and arm it
With boldness, and goodness, and vigor and light;
Till Force shall not frighten, till Fraud shall not charm it;
And, shaken by sinews of Right,
Shall crumble the idols of Might!
With boldness, and goodness, and vigor and light;
Till Force shall not frighten, till Fraud shall not charm it;
And, shaken by sinews of Right,
Shall crumble the idols of Might!
Oh! then shall the Heart of the People—an ocean
Of rivers, commingling, each spirit a wave—
Roll on in one choral, harmonic devotion,
The Throne of the Father to lave:
One Heaven, one Hope—as one Grave.
Of rivers, commingling, each spirit a wave—
Roll on in one choral, harmonic devotion,
The Throne of the Father to lave:
One Heaven, one Hope—as one Grave.
| Duganne's Poetical Works | |