The ghost's entry and other poems | ||
CLIO IN THE CAPITOL, ETC.
CLIO IN THE CAPITOL
SEEN AT SUNSET FROM THE LIBRARY WINDOW OPPOSITE
[Franzoni's Clock, with the marble sculpture of the Muse of History, Clio, listening and writing, upon a winged chariot—one wheel of which, supported by the hemisphere of a globe, is the clock-face—stands over the northern entrance of the Old Hall of Representatives, now assigned for the statues and portraits of our great public men at Washington. Through the centre of this Old Hall is the passage from the Rotunda of the Capitol toward the present Hall of Representatives.]
With the still halo of the last, low ray,
Motionless, beautiful, in the Sacred Place,
While the late-jarring footstep floats away.
(Its hurrying wheel notes the quick hour's hushed flight,
The half-globe beneath it)—in her patient hands
The open book, the pen applied to write!
Whom erst she marked—who marked her not, perchance,—
And there below, for those long-vanished hosts,
Show marble shape and pictured countenance.
With partial schemes and strifes of public breath,
To the New Hall new-jostling statesmen crowd
Through that White Congress of undying death.
She heard, she saw, she knew you there, indeed!
Oh, ye New-Comers, eddying to and fro,
Behold the still Recorder and take heed!
Ready to give the patriot's deathless dower:
Look!—living, speaking, acting, passing men!—
The Eternal Present on her Flying Hour!
TRANSFIGURATION
CHARLESTOWN, VA., DECEMBER 2, 1859
WASHINGTON, D. C., DECEMBER 2, 1863
Took in his strong, brave arms a slave-born child—
Ere from the gallows to the martyr's grave
He passed—with manly blessing, deep and mild.
Such office then! Like Christopher of old,
In that poor child the lifted Christ he knew,
The great Bond-Breaker in his human hold!
Thou liftest yonder Shape of Freedom now,
Where Morning shall be quick to see her face,
And Eve to touch with dew her sacred brow!
In that bright shape shall see another sight:
A grey old man, holding, in calm or storm,
The unfettered child forever in the light!
It was remarked as a suggestive coincidence, that Crawford's Statue of Freedom (the work of putting which in bronze was said to have been done by negroes who were, or had been, slaves in the employment of Clark Mills, another sculptor) was raised to its position on the dome of the National Capitol at Washington on the anniversary of the execution of John Brown at Charlestown, Virginia, four years previous, and at the same hour of the day.
THE END OF THE JOURNEY
At home, with all best paths, his long Path ends.
Earth-smiting king, or patriot conqueror!
World-lighting, this his Pathway lit by fame.
He went, with some new land each new-risen day.
Warriors, and statesmen gave him welcomings.
In this still man the Great Land's Majesty;
The Banded Stars that quicken all the West.
But in the man the Many-in-One they knew.
World-lighting, this is Pathway lit by fame.
And the sun rose across the roofs loved best!
Mingle the martial trumpet, quickening drum,—
The warrior's welcome now be rest and peace.
Long since we proudly gave, he justly wore.
The bow unstrung leave, wind-swayed, in the hall.
Breathed on by blessing of home-breathing airs,—
Or that plain Roman soldier-citizen.
At home, with all best paths, his long Path ends.
Written by request for the occasion of General Grant's reception at Philadelphia on his return from travel around the world. It may be recalled that General Grant was doubtless the first man so distinguished personally and as the recognised representative of a great country, who, under circumstances made possible by the telegraph, railway, steamship, and modern newspaper, ever made a journey around the world.
THE BOYS IN BLUE
TWO PROCESSIONS
Not only these, survivors tried and true,
Vote as they fought, the loyal Boys in Blue:
The flag whose tatters keep their story well
(New hands upheld it when the old bearers fell).
From their long bivouacs in the grass and snow—
By these they fought and suffered long ago.
(Quicken the living, ye the Living Dead!)—
Look, the same tattered flag is overhead!
(Lincoln looks down, as often he has done,
To see their marching-past, at Washington:
They vote; the dead, as living, vote for you,—
Vote, Garfield, as they fought, the Boys in Blue!
The ghost's entry and other poems | ||