 | Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) |  |
146
THE HOSTAGE'S RELEASE.
COMPOSED ON THE LIBERATION OF THE SAC CHIEF, BLACK HAWK.
A warrior still, a chieftain once again,
Back to thy forest-home, old Sagamore!
As the caged panther from his galling chain
To the lone desert and the untrodden shore.
Back to thy forest-home! The eternal roar
Of boundless cataracts, the whispered tone
Of winds unfettered, from the cedars hoar
Waking wild music, shall thy spirit own
The untutored hymns that peal about thy throne!
Back to thy forest-home, old Sagamore!
As the caged panther from his galling chain
To the lone desert and the untrodden shore.
Back to thy forest-home! The eternal roar
Of boundless cataracts, the whispered tone
Of winds unfettered, from the cedars hoar
Waking wild music, shall thy spirit own
The untutored hymns that peal about thy throne!
Dearer to thee the mountain's tangled side,
The lake's blue mirror, or the dim wood glen,
Than pomp of palaces, or gorgeous pride
Of multitudinous roofs. The hum of men,
Swarming and battening in their splendid pen,
Is poison to thy soul; the petty stream
Of daily joys or cares thine eagle ken
With calm derision views—not as they seem,
But fleeting, false, a mockery, or a dream.
The lake's blue mirror, or the dim wood glen,
Than pomp of palaces, or gorgeous pride
Of multitudinous roofs. The hum of men,
Swarming and battening in their splendid pen,
Is poison to thy soul; the petty stream
Of daily joys or cares thine eagle ken
With calm derision views—not as they seem,
But fleeting, false, a mockery, or a dream.
What can their letters or their learning give,
These pale usurpers of thy native sway?
Can all their wisdom bid the mortal live,
Restore the halt to strength, the blind to day,
Relume the frenzied mind with reason's ray,
One passion quench that fires the burning breast,
Or quell one pang that rends the fragile clay?
Can music's sweetness yield the mourner rest,
Charm slavery's ills, or make the captive blest?
These pale usurpers of thy native sway?
Can all their wisdom bid the mortal live,
Restore the halt to strength, the blind to day,
Relume the frenzied mind with reason's ray,
One passion quench that fires the burning breast,
Or quell one pang that rends the fragile clay?
Can music's sweetness yield the mourner rest,
Charm slavery's ills, or make the captive blest?
147
Doth pure religion stride o'er vanquished crime?
Do sinners tremble, and oppressors cease?
Doth every kindred land, and sister clime,
Sheathe the red blade in universal peace?
Doth every keel that ploughs unnumbered seas,
The joyful banners of their faith uphold?
Doth heavenly freedom, hallowed love, increase?
Are Christians—free from cursèd lust of gold—
One flock united in one shepherd's fold?
Do sinners tremble, and oppressors cease?
Doth every kindred land, and sister clime,
Sheathe the red blade in universal peace?
Doth every keel that ploughs unnumbered seas,
The joyful banners of their faith uphold?
Doth heavenly freedom, hallowed love, increase?
Are Christians—free from cursèd lust of gold—
One flock united in one shepherd's fold?
Hath the Great Spirit given to these alone
A pale-faced passport to His promised land,
Their sole complexion welcome to His throne,
All else sad exiles from the immortal strand?
Are their sons braver, or their maids more bland,
Stronger their arms, their eloquence more bright?
Are their domes consecrate by Virtue's hand,
Purer their dwellings, or their hearths more light,
That they should bask in day, thou lurk in night?
A pale-faced passport to His promised land,
Their sole complexion welcome to His throne,
All else sad exiles from the immortal strand?
Are their sons braver, or their maids more bland,
Stronger their arms, their eloquence more bright?
Are their domes consecrate by Virtue's hand,
Purer their dwellings, or their hearths more light,
That they should bask in day, thou lurk in night?
Back to thy forest-home! to ponder there
On Christian precept and on Christian deed;
To bless the power that conquered but to spare,
To teach thy tribe such mercy's fitting meed.
Back to thy forest-home! to preach the need
Of calm submission to the overwhelming foe.
In thee 'twere guilt for man's best rights to bleed;
Guilt to lay privileged oppressors low;
Hence learn to kiss the hand that deals the blow.
On Christian precept and on Christian deed;
To bless the power that conquered but to spare,
To teach thy tribe such mercy's fitting meed.
Back to thy forest-home! to preach the need
Of calm submission to the overwhelming foe.
In thee 'twere guilt for man's best rights to bleed;
Guilt to lay privileged oppressors low;
Hence learn to kiss the hand that deals the blow.
Back, murderer and heathen, to thy lair!
The heroic Spartans in their deathless tomb
By the everlasting hills, which saw them dare,
In hopeless strife, their unavailing doom—
They are earth's demigods! The charnel's gloom
Shrinks from their clear eternity of praise:
They are immortal; and wouldst thou presume
To claim participation in their bays,
A nameless savage in these latter days?
The heroic Spartans in their deathless tomb
By the everlasting hills, which saw them dare,
In hopeless strife, their unavailing doom—
They are earth's demigods! The charnel's gloom
148
They are immortal; and wouldst thou presume
To claim participation in their bays,
A nameless savage in these latter days?
Leonidas and Washington! Twin names
In the high scroll of glory, save that he,
Columbia's champion, loftier splendor claims
Than Greece's martyr at Thermopylæ:
Both fathers of their country, both the free;
But one successful. Battling for the earth
That bore them; for the hills, the vales, the sea;
The sepulchres of those who gave them birth;
The sacred shrines, and the domestic hearth.
In the high scroll of glory, save that he,
Columbia's champion, loftier splendor claims
Than Greece's martyr at Thermopylæ:
Both fathers of their country, both the free;
But one successful. Battling for the earth
That bore them; for the hills, the vales, the sea;
The sepulchres of those who gave them birth;
The sacred shrines, and the domestic hearth.
But thou, wild rover of the wilderness,
Hast thou no dwelling in the trackless wood,
No home to cherish, and no babes to bless?
Hast thou no rights to be preserved by blood?
No! The wild-cat may perish for her brood,
The wren to guard her nest may glut the snake.
Their strife is valor, nature's hardihood:
But the red warrior in his native brake
Fights, dies, and is despised for Freedom's sake.
Hast thou no dwelling in the trackless wood,
No home to cherish, and no babes to bless?
Hast thou no rights to be preserved by blood?
No! The wild-cat may perish for her brood,
The wren to guard her nest may glut the snake.
Their strife is valor, nature's hardihood:
But the red warrior in his native brake
Fights, dies, and is despised for Freedom's sake.
Back to thy forest home, free nature's child!
Back to thy sunburnt mate and lusty boys,
Thy proud dominion in yon central wild,
Thine untaught virtues, and thy guileless joys:
Virtues which thrive not 'midst the effeminate toys
Of polished learning and voluptuous grace,
Unmurmuring patience, love that never cloys;
High soul, that fears no evil but disgrace;
Faith, that nor charms can bend nor time erase.
Back to thy sunburnt mate and lusty boys,
Thy proud dominion in yon central wild,
Thine untaught virtues, and thy guileless joys:
Virtues which thrive not 'midst the effeminate toys
Of polished learning and voluptuous grace,
Unmurmuring patience, love that never cloys;
High soul, that fears no evil but disgrace;
Faith, that nor charms can bend nor time erase.
149
Firm to thy friends, and guileless as the dove
Wise as the serpent, winding on thy foe,
True to thy country, though thy steps may rove;
Swift as the eagle swooping on the roe;
Mute as the fox beneath the torturer's blow:
Last in the war-dance, first in battle's tide,
Unmoved by triumph, unsubdued by woe
Fixed in thy purpose as the mountain's side,
Thy foeman's terror, and thy people's pride.
Wise as the serpent, winding on thy foe,
True to thy country, though thy steps may rove;
Swift as the eagle swooping on the roe;
Mute as the fox beneath the torturer's blow:
Last in the war-dance, first in battle's tide,
Unmoved by triumph, unsubdued by woe
Fixed in thy purpose as the mountain's side,
Thy foeman's terror, and thy people's pride.
Mild to the suppliant, haughty to the proud,
To hoary old of reverential mien,
Silent in council, in the death-song loud:
Though grave, determined; scornful, though serene;
True as thine arrow, as thy hatchet keen,
Unscared by peril, and unbought by gold,
Felt as the tempest, as the lightning seen;
As now thou art, such Cato was of old:
Are heroes fashioned in a different mould?
To hoary old of reverential mien,
Silent in council, in the death-song loud:
Though grave, determined; scornful, though serene;
True as thine arrow, as thy hatchet keen,
Unscared by peril, and unbought by gold,
Felt as the tempest, as the lightning seen;
As now thou art, such Cato was of old:
Are heroes fashioned in a different mould?
Back to thy forest-home! but not to sleep
Supine and helpless till the storm shall break;
Not in the melting tears that women weep,
Not in pure draughts from thine ancestral lake,
The burning thirst of that deep heart to slake.
No! Slaves who mocked the eagle in his cage,
When his soul's hoarded vengeance shall awake,
And streams of gore his fiery pride assuage,
May curse the reckless shaft that stirred his rage!
Supine and helpless till the storm shall break;
Not in the melting tears that women weep,
Not in pure draughts from thine ancestral lake,
The burning thirst of that deep heart to slake.
No! Slaves who mocked the eagle in his cage,
When his soul's hoarded vengeance shall awake,
And streams of gore his fiery pride assuage,
May curse the reckless shaft that stirred his rage!
And they shall curse it; from the limpid verge
Of inland oceans, from the foreheads high
Of western mountains to the Atlantic surge
Shall ring, with earthquake sound, the battle-cry
Of tribes, appealing to the eternal sky,
Battling for freedom! warring for the graves
Of their forefathers, the poor right to die
In their own forests, by their native waves,
Rather than roam as exiles, crouch as slaves!
Of inland oceans, from the foreheads high
Of western mountains to the Atlantic surge
Shall ring, with earthquake sound, the battle-cry
Of tribes, appealing to the eternal sky,
150
Of their forefathers, the poor right to die
In their own forests, by their native waves,
Rather than roam as exiles, crouch as slaves!
And thou, old chieftain, when the strife is o'er,
Vanquished in arms, but unsubdued in fight,
A martyred patriot on thy parent shore,
Ere thine undaunted soul shall wing its flight
To the far hunting-grounds of endless light,
Shalt haply joy thou hast not lived to see
Thy nation's glory sunk in utter night;
Knowing that innocent to die, and free,
Is worthier deathless fame than sordid victory.
Vanquished in arms, but unsubdued in fight,
A martyred patriot on thy parent shore,
Ere thine undaunted soul shall wing its flight
To the far hunting-grounds of endless light,
Shalt haply joy thou hast not lived to see
Thy nation's glory sunk in utter night;
Knowing that innocent to die, and free,
Is worthier deathless fame than sordid victory.
| Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) | |