 | Duganne's Poetical Works |  |
94
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!
95
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!—
96
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—
97
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!
98
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!”
99
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!
| Duganne's Poetical Works | |