Duganne's Poetical Works Autograph edition. Seventy-five Copies |
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Manifest Destiny. A WAR ECLOGUE |
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 | Duganne's Poetical Works |  |
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Manifest Destiny. A WAR ECLOGUE
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To the Manes of the Dead Who in Mexic battles bled, And to all the hapless Living, Suffering still, and still forgiving, Sacred be What here is said: As a memory of the Past,
To the Unknown Future cast, Grant, O God! Its meanings last.
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“Our Country—right or wrong!”—
Decatur.
Decatur.
I.
TRUMPET-SONG.
Mark! 'tis the battle peal!
The foe hath crossed our borders:
The dogs who wait at our country's gate
Would slay its valiant warders.
Brave hearts, prepare you!
The foes who dare you
Are bold and strong!
The foe hath crossed our borders:
The dogs who wait at our country's gate
Would slay its valiant warders.
Brave hearts, prepare you!
The foes who dare you
Are bold and strong!
But, war to the proud oppressor!—
War to the rude aggressor!
Our Country! may she ne'er be wrong!—
And while she's right, God bless her!
Chant ye, in battle's hour,
The Alamo's bloody story,
Of Goliad's day, and Bexar's fray,
And wild Jacinto's glory!
Their souls shall lead you
Whose blood has freed you—
A glorious throng!
Then war to the proud oppressor!
War to the rude aggressor!
Our Country! may she ne'er be wrong!—
And while she's right, God bless her!
War to the rude aggressor!
Our Country! may she ne'er be wrong!—
And while she's right, God bless her!
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The Alamo's bloody story,
Of Goliad's day, and Bexar's fray,
And wild Jacinto's glory!
Their souls shall lead you
Whose blood has freed you—
A glorious throng!
Then war to the proud oppressor!
War to the rude aggressor!
Our Country! may she ne'er be wrong!—
And while she's right, God bless her!
II.
THE RUBICON.
It were a glorious strife to guard
The ramparts of our land—
And at her portals stand,
Hurling back the invading hordes;
But to stain our patriot swords
With the blood of those who never
Raised the hostile hand,
Save in Freedom's bold endeavor,
Foreign foemen to withstand,—
Is but lust, and wrong, and crime—
Branding us to endless time.
And they are mad who counsel now
The fetters and the steel,
Our triumph dark to seal:
Better far the olive-wreath
Offer now, than flames and death.
Pause, ye rash, unthinking zealots!
Ere ye rivet chains!
Freedom brooks nor kings nor helots—
Crowns and whips alike disdains.
Better now in glory pause,
Than to break great Freedom's laws!
The ramparts of our land—
And at her portals stand,
Hurling back the invading hordes;
But to stain our patriot swords
With the blood of those who never
Raised the hostile hand,
Save in Freedom's bold endeavor,
Foreign foemen to withstand,—
Is but lust, and wrong, and crime—
Branding us to endless time.
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The fetters and the steel,
Our triumph dark to seal:
Better far the olive-wreath
Offer now, than flames and death.
Pause, ye rash, unthinking zealots!
Ere ye rivet chains!
Freedom brooks nor kings nor helots—
Crowns and whips alike disdains.
Better now in glory pause,
Than to break great Freedom's laws!
Christian men! who lift your hearts
To Heaven, this day, in prayer—
And lay your conscience bare,—
Know YE not, that War and Wrong
Can never make your temples strong?
Know ye not that blood and battles
Are not from the Lord?
Serve ye God's great laws, or Vattel's?
Bear ye gospels, or the sword?
Lo! on high the record stands—
Ye, like Pilate, wash your hands!
To Heaven, this day, in prayer—
And lay your conscience bare,—
Know YE not, that War and Wrong
Can never make your temples strong?
Know ye not that blood and battles
Are not from the Lord?
Serve ye God's great laws, or Vattel's?
Bear ye gospels, or the sword?
Lo! on high the record stands—
Ye, like Pilate, wash your hands!
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III.
TRIUMPH.
Destiny! Destiny!
Warder! look forth! sound now the warning cry—
Give the alarum-word!
Lo! the Destroyer of the Free draws nigh:
Swings the dread balance midway from on high—
The wall with fire is scored:
Ambition whets his sword!
Warder! look forth! sound now the warning cry—
Give the alarum-word!
Lo! the Destroyer of the Free draws nigh:
Swings the dread balance midway from on high—
The wall with fire is scored:
Ambition whets his sword!
War! war! war!
What says this Christian nation to the world?
Earth with our threats is rife:
Heaven hath beheld our crimson flag unfurled—
In flaming wrath our armies have been hurled
Against a nation's life!
War to the bloody knife!
What says this Christian nation to the world?
Earth with our threats is rife:
Heaven hath beheld our crimson flag unfurled—
In flaming wrath our armies have been hurled
Against a nation's life!
War to the bloody knife!
Raise ye your pæan loud
For the man-slayers! Crown the crimson brows
Of your wild hero crowd
With mural diadems! Arouse—arouse!
Come from your wheels, your altars, and your ploughs;
Come ye whom toil has bowed—
Hail ye those warriors proud!
For the man-slayers! Crown the crimson brows
Of your wild hero crowd
With mural diadems! Arouse—arouse!
Come from your wheels, your altars, and your ploughs;
Come ye whom toil has bowed—
Hail ye those warriors proud!
Hail ye those hearts of flame!
And twine your flow'rs, and weave your garlands bright,
And peal each warrior's name:
They have held Christian throats in murderous fight;
They have spread fire, and pestilence, and blight;
They have sown death and shame:
Rear ye the arch of Fame!
And twine your flow'rs, and weave your garlands bright,
And peal each warrior's name:
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They have spread fire, and pestilence, and blight;
They have sown death and shame:
Rear ye the arch of Fame!
Slaves of the South—arise!
Clang ye your gyves, to swell the cymbals' sound—
Lift your exulting eyes!
Lo! your white masters have new victims found—
Comrades ye have—in war's red bondage bound:
Ye shall hear answering cries,
Swelling your gasping sighs.
Clang ye your gyves, to swell the cymbals' sound—
Lift your exulting eyes!
Lo! your white masters have new victims found—
Comrades ye have—in war's red bondage bound:
Ye shall hear answering cries,
Swelling your gasping sighs.
White slaves of Northern gold!
Build ye a Teocalli—where the foes
Of our ambition bold
May writhe beneath our Anglo-Saxon blows,
And shriek their curses in expiring throes—
Curses that shall be told
Till Eternity is old!
Build ye a Teocalli—where the foes
Of our ambition bold
May writhe beneath our Anglo-Saxon blows,
And shriek their curses in expiring throes—
Curses that shall be told
Till Eternity is old!
Destiny! Destiny!
Lo! 'tis our mission to pour out the tide
Of our heart-blood, and die,
With foeman's corse stretched ghastly by our side;
Or live and trample him in vengeful pride:
This is our mission high—
Gospel of Liberty!
Lo! 'tis our mission to pour out the tide
Of our heart-blood, and die,
With foeman's corse stretched ghastly by our side;
Or live and trample him in vengeful pride:
This is our mission high—
Gospel of Liberty!
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We preach great Freedom's creed?
We? with our heels upon the writhing necks
Of millions yet unfreed,
Whose gasping prayers the soul of Justice vex?
We! who upon a crumbling nation's wrecks
Would build a pyramid
Where millions more might bleed?
We? with our heels upon the writhing necks
Of millions yet unfreed,
Whose gasping prayers the soul of Justice vex?
We! who upon a crumbling nation's wrecks
Would build a pyramid
Where millions more might bleed?
Sparta-like, would we found
A Helotage?—Rome-like, usurp the sway
Of a world in slavery bound?
Lo! in their might those wrongs were swept away!
What shall be our palladium from decay,
When Rome, with triumph crown'd,
Fell, crumbling, to the ground?
A Helotage?—Rome-like, usurp the sway
Of a world in slavery bound?
Lo! in their might those wrongs were swept away!
What shall be our palladium from decay,
When Rome, with triumph crown'd,
Fell, crumbling, to the ground?
Destiny! Destiny!
Hark! the slain Prophets warn us from above—
The Past uplifts its cry!
Tame ye the Eagle! send ye forth the Dove!
Land of my heart, my life, my home, my love!
Cast not God's warning by—
Preach thou TRUE liberty!
Hark! the slain Prophets warn us from above—
The Past uplifts its cry!
Tame ye the Eagle! send ye forth the Dove!
Land of my heart, my life, my home, my love!
Cast not God's warning by—
Preach thou TRUE liberty!
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IV.
IO PŒAN.
Ho! ye who lit your triumph fires,
And waved your thousand banners—
When brothers, husbands, sons, and sires,
Met on the south savannas!—
When human blood like water ran,
And men sank down like cattle,
From Palo Alto's bloody van
To Churubusco's battle!
And waved your thousand banners—
When brothers, husbands, sons, and sires,
Met on the south savannas!—
When human blood like water ran,
And men sank down like cattle,
From Palo Alto's bloody van
To Churubusco's battle!
Ho! ye who hailed each victory
With cannon salutations,
And dazzled mountain, plain, and sea,
With grand illuminations,—
Lo! Mexico hath bent the knee—
Her grief and pain she stifles:
Ye 've manifested Destiny—
With Anglo-Saxon rifles!
With cannon salutations,
And dazzled mountain, plain, and sea,
With grand illuminations,—
Lo! Mexico hath bent the knee—
Her grief and pain she stifles:
Ye 've manifested Destiny—
With Anglo-Saxon rifles!
Peace is proclaimed! Hurrah! hurrah!
Our valorous Yankee nation
Has whipped the Mexic mongrel, far
Beyond all calculation.
Two hundred millions dollars lost—
A thousand score of fighters;
A bloody page in history's crost,
With bloody men for writers.
Our valorous Yankee nation
Has whipped the Mexic mongrel, far
Beyond all calculation.
Two hundred millions dollars lost—
A thousand score of fighters;
A bloody page in history's crost,
With bloody men for writers.
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Hurrah! hurrah! at least ye've laid
In dust the Mexic forces—
Orphans and widows ye have made,
And sixty thousand corses!
And Mexico's partitioned, too—
Her highland from her lowland
Oh! brave REPUBLICANS are you—
As Russians were—in Poland!
In dust the Mexic forces—
Orphans and widows ye have made,
And sixty thousand corses!
And Mexico's partitioned, too—
Her highland from her lowland
Oh! brave REPUBLICANS are you—
As Russians were—in Poland!
O, ye who in our pulpits praised
The Lord for battle's glories,—
And ye who swore that peace disgraced,
And peace-men were but tories,—
Light tapers now!—illuminate!
Let trump and cannon mingle!—
Till every heart shall palpitate,
And ever ear shall tingle.
The Lord for battle's glories,—
And ye who swore that peace disgraced,
And peace-men were but tories,—
Light tapers now!—illuminate!
Let trump and cannon mingle!—
Till every heart shall palpitate,
And ever ear shall tingle.
Ye've conquered Mexico! 'Twas bold!
The war will surely cease now—
In part by blood, in part by gold,
Ye've gained (we thank you) peace now.
IO TRIUMPHE! Homeward come
Those who in camp were quartered;
Save—twenty thousand dead and dumb,
By ball and fever slaughtered.
The war will surely cease now—
In part by blood, in part by gold,
Ye've gained (we thank you) peace now.
IO TRIUMPHE! Homeward come
Those who in camp were quartered;
Save—twenty thousand dead and dumb,
By ball and fever slaughtered.
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IO—O—IO! Sound the trump!
The Mexic war is ended:—
Moloch has gulped a heavy lump,
And gold the gap has mended.
A five-act tragedy, fair sirs,
We've had for us enacted!
May God forgive the managers,
Who for this PLAY contracted!
The Mexic war is ended:—
Moloch has gulped a heavy lump,
And gold the gap has mended.
A five-act tragedy, fair sirs,
We've had for us enacted!
May God forgive the managers,
Who for this PLAY contracted!
V.
INDEMNITY.
I wandered forth, a dreamer lone,
While wintry winds around me whistled;
And from the boughs where once they nestled,
Bird and bee were flown.
And to my side there crept a child,
With azure eyes and features mild,
And sunny Saxon hair—
But tangled was that hair, and wild,
As if it knew no mother's care—
That desolate young child!
While wintry winds around me whistled;
And from the boughs where once they nestled,
Bird and bee were flown.
And to my side there crept a child,
With azure eyes and features mild,
And sunny Saxon hair—
But tangled was that hair, and wild,
As if it knew no mother's care—
That desolate young child!
I stooped me down, and gently drew
The trembler to my melting bosom;
And wondered where so fair a blossom
In life's sad desert grew.
But though with accents soft and low,
And tears that spite of me would flow,
I questioned of his home—
He only murmured “Let me go!
“For Pa-pa's killed in Mexico,
“And ma-ma's dead at home!”
The trembler to my melting bosom;
And wondered where so fair a blossom
In life's sad desert grew.
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And tears that spite of me would flow,
I questioned of his home—
He only murmured “Let me go!
“For Pa-pa's killed in Mexico,
“And ma-ma's dead at home!”
I clasped his little hand, and tried
To win the heart so wildly heaving,
And soothe the passion of his grieving;
But still he wept and sighed.
And though his eyes of mystic blue,
Like sunny rain, upon me threw
A radiancy of gloom,—
He only murmured—“Let me go!
“For Pa-pa's killed in Mexico,
“And Ma-ma's dead at home!”
To win the heart so wildly heaving,
And soothe the passion of his grieving;
But still he wept and sighed.
And though his eyes of mystic blue,
Like sunny rain, upon me threw
A radiancy of gloom,—
He only murmured—“Let me go!
“For Pa-pa's killed in Mexico,
“And Ma-ma's dead at home!”
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