 | Later Lays and Lyrics |  |
5
AGRICULTURAL ODE.
I.
Mother of Arts! that tilleth soilOn prairie wide, and upland lea
“Thy mercies, corn and wine, and oil,”
The tribes of men receive from thee.
II.
Towns that are dotting ocean's shore,The mountain-slope, and inland vale,
Could flourish populous no more,
If thy full granaries should fail.
III.
States would decay; no longer thriveIf God withheld thy golden shower;
And nations that wax great derive
From thee the sinews of their power.
IV.
Not gold alone: for those that makeThe desert blossom like the rose
Are first Oppression's yoke to break,
And with proud Wrong in conflict close.
V.
Roused like the wintry storm when bowThe kingly oaks beneath its might,
Our rustic fathers left the plow,
And met on Bunker's awful height.
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VI.
While sternly marshalled there in arms,To drive the fell invader back,
Love for their families and farms
Nerved them to brave the fierce attack.
VII.
A “maranatha” on the foeTheir musketry in thunder pealed,
While ranks in crimson swaths lay low,
And battle's cloud the sun concealed.
VIII.
Their deeds on that momentous day,In lines of light are written down
To cheer our race when thrown away,
Like toys, are mitre, crosier, crown.
IX.
When Freedom in the mart is foundThe phantom of a sounding name,
Nursed by bold tillers of the ground
Is a pure, patriotic flame.
X.
For them is traced a liberal creedIn Nature's everlasting tome,
And “books in running brooks” they read
That knit their hearts to hearth and home.
XI.
Old Art of Husbandry! that gaveTo mortals occupation first,
Thy ministry alone could save
When fearfully the land was cursed.
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XII.
Gray Eld, and wives and little onesWithin the tents of Peace were fed,
When earned by sweat-drops of thy sons,
Was man's primeval blessing—bread.
XIII.
Sad exiles from their garden fair,While flashed behind the flaming sword,
Our great First Parents did not dare
To dream of Paradise restored.
XIV.
But Earth can boast of many a spotRedeemed by industry and skill
From wastes where roses harbored not,
That have a smile of Eden still.
XV.
Grenada, in romantic Spain,Was prosperous under Moorish sway;
Rude hill side, and the barren plain
Soon wore the livery of May.
XVI.
Great Abderahmen, famed in song,And styled “magnificent,” would toil
Where golden Darro rolled along
Laving the renovated soil.
XVII.
Well sung the laureled bards of Rome,That rural life promoted health,
And Ceres, Queen of Harvest-Home,
Was mother of the God of Wealth.
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XVIII.
Her countless banks will never fail,Their bases Earth from whence we sprung,
And Commerce to the salt-sea gale
At her command the flag outflung.
XIX.
Far from the city's stifling heatChief, poet, orator and sage
To rural villas would retreat,
And delve in Rome's Augustan Age.
XX.
There, like the singing Lark of Ayr,The plow great master spirits held,
Drank rapture from the scenery fair,
And founts that at their feet outwelled.
XXI.
There Maro wooed, enwreathed with bays,The Rural Muse with art divine,
And Flaccus warbled lyric lays
Rich as his own Falernian wine.
XXII.
There Cincinnatus threw asideHis rustic garb, and drew the blade
When rolled the Volscian battle tide,
And Conscript Fathers sat dismayed;
XXIII.
And then in his triumphal hour,When the good fight was fought and won,
Resigned was dictatorial power
By Glory's memorable son.
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XXIV.
The Guardian of a rescued landFound quiet on Mount Vernon's farm
When sheathed his conquering battle-brand,
And hushed the drum-beat of alarm.
XXV.
Alas! that fratricidal bloodPollutes the land that holds his bones,
While, sitting by Potomac's flood,
The Genius of Columbia moans!
XXVI.
With Labor's moisture on the browKings turned the globe, once Israel's own,
And on Elijah, at the plow,
The mantle of the Seer was thrown.
XXVII.
What story of the Golden Age,In tenderness, descriptive truth,
Compares with that inspired page
That tells us of the gleaner—Ruth?
XXVIII.
And imagery that most delights,The Past unfolding to our view,
The Royal Bard from rural sights,
And pastoral scenes of beauty drew.
XXIX.
“The cattle on a thousand hills”In Palestine we see again;
Chime with his verse the singing rills,
“The early, and the latter rain.”
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XXX.
Theme for his minstrelsy divineWere brooks through fertile field that ran
“The bread that strengthens, and the wine
That maketh glad the heart of man.”
XXXI.
In cities where the mildewed denOf Want yawns near the halls of Pride
Are cradeled not illustrious men
To duty true, in danger tried.
XXXII.
In haunts remote from scenes like theseAre nobler spirits nursed, that tower
Like pines above the smaller trees,
Unwarped by creed, unspoiled by power.
XXXIII.
Far from the tumult of the townLoved mighty Webster to retire,
And seek, forgetful of renown,
Fields where he labored with his sire:
XXXIV.
Or, freed from care, he loved to dwellAt Marshfield, by the sounding main,
Where low of kine and pastoral bell
Disposed to calm his troubled brain.
XXXV.
And Clay, in country costume drest,Sick of Corruption's wild misrule,
On his plantation in the West,
Felt like an urchin loosed from school:
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XXXVI.
And Wright, stern Cato of the State,Whose honored grave is holy ground,
Towered in the Hall of high debate,
With face and hands by toil embrowned.
XXXVII.
Well were these famous men awareThat impulse Agriculture gave,
To human progress everywhere,
On solid land and rolling wave.
XXXVIII.
The bellows would no longer blow,The hammer clash, the anvil ring,
If Culture should forget to sow,
And reap the promise of the spring.
XXXIX.
Invention baffled would despond,Cease progress in Mechanic Art,
And Genius drop the wizard wand
That governs thought, controls the heart.
XL.
Ships would lie rotting in the bay,In thoroughfares the grass upgrow,
And, lords of mansions in decay,
Reign Famine, Pestilence and Woe.
XLI.
What spectacle more dread is foundFrom Polar regions to the Line,
Than minds inactive and unsound,
In frames of premature decline.
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XLII.
Mother of Learning—Labor Free!If ripens into fruit the flower,
Such ruins here he will not see,
But grandest types of human power:—
XLIII.
And, here, proud nursery of men!While rivers flow and mountains stand,
May issues of the tongue and pen
Keep pace with issues of the hand.
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