Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton collected and arranged by H. Augusta Dodge |
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ORIGINAL ODE
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 | Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton |  |
ORIGINAL ODE
Written for the Anniversary of the Essex Agricultural Society,
September 25, 1861.
Now hang up the sickle, the reapers are done!
The warm rains, the soft dews, and the sweet summer sun
Have cheerily wrought with the brawny arms here,
And the Harvest-Moon smiles on the fruits of the year.
The warm rains, the soft dews, and the sweet summer sun
Have cheerily wrought with the brawny arms here,
And the Harvest-Moon smiles on the fruits of the year.
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Ho! Freemen of Essex! Stout sons of the soil!
What meed to your labors, what rest to your toil,
While the tread of the traitor pollutes the wronged earth,
And Liberty faints in the land of her birth?
What meed to your labors, what rest to your toil,
While the tread of the traitor pollutes the wronged earth,
And Liberty faints in the land of her birth?
Runs the blood of your sires pale and weak in your veins?
Will the ringing of gold drown the clanking of chains?
Will you sit by your firesides and count up your store,
While shame keeps with death, watch and ward at the door?
Will the ringing of gold drown the clanking of chains?
Will you sit by your firesides and count up your store,
While shame keeps with death, watch and ward at the door?
No! a thousand times No! thunder out on the air,
Here are strong arms to do—here are brave hearts to dare!
The fair vales that thrilled under Putnam's young tread,
Give birth to no dastards—bring shame to no dead.
Here are strong arms to do—here are brave hearts to dare!
The fair vales that thrilled under Putnam's young tread,
Give birth to no dastards—bring shame to no dead.
By the past that bequeathed us our might of to-day—
By the future that calls up a glory-paved way,
All the strength of our prime, all the fire of our youth,
We joyfully lay on the altar of Truth.
By the future that calls up a glory-paved way,
All the strength of our prime, all the fire of our youth,
We joyfully lay on the altar of Truth.
183
In the sheen of our steel, guilt shall read its just doom.
The breath of the North is the traitor's simoom!
Flash brightly, sharp steel! Rush swiftly, fierce breath!
And sweep treachery down to the valley of death!
The breath of the North is the traitor's simoom!
Flash brightly, sharp steel! Rush swiftly, fierce breath!
And sweep treachery down to the valley of death!
Fling our flag to the breeze. It shall never be furled—
The gleam of its stars is the hope of the world!
With its folds floating o'er us, we gird on the sword,
And go forth to fight in the name of the Lord.
The gleam of its stars is the hope of the world!
With its folds floating o'er us, we gird on the sword,
And go forth to fight in the name of the Lord.
Brave yeomen of Essex! Your field is our Land,
Immortal the fruits it shall yield to your hand.
Match your strength to your day—Sow to God, the good Giver,
And ring out your Harvest-Home one and forever!
The day is done and the darkness
Falls from the wings of night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
Longfellow. Boston, 8th Oct., '61.
Immortal the fruits it shall yield to your hand.
Match your strength to your day—Sow to God, the good Giver,
And ring out your Harvest-Home one and forever!
(From “Life in Letters.”)
Mr. D. showed my “Ode” to Mr. Caleb Cushing, who professed to admire it, and being asked to criticise it pointed to the first line and asked if the reapers were done brown? I thought usage justified that construction, and tried to hunt up authorities, but with small success—so it came into my mind to ask Charles Sumner. I wrote him, and the next day he sent me the following reply:
184
Falls from the wings of night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
Longfellow. Boston, 8th Oct., '61.
Madam:
I think your verses excellent, including the first line. You must write more. Accept my thanks for your kind, good words about myself.
Faithfully yrs., Charles Sumner.
| Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton | |