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81

CLIO IN THE CAPITOL, ETC.

CLIO IN THE CAPITOL

SEEN AT SUNSET FROM THE LIBRARY WINDOW OPPOSITE

[_]

[Franzoni's Clock, with the marble sculpture of the Muse of History, Clio, listening and writing, upon a winged chariot—one wheel of which, supported by the hemisphere of a globe, is the clock-face—stands over the northern entrance of the Old Hall of Representatives, now assigned for the statues and portraits of our great public men at Washington. Through the centre of this Old Hall is the passage from the Rotunda of the Capitol toward the present Hall of Representatives.]

Here, looking down, I see her Grecian grace,
With the still halo of the last, low ray,
Motionless, beautiful, in the Sacred Place,
While the late-jarring footstep floats away.
Lo, on the wingéd chariot where she stands!—
(Its hurrying wheel notes the quick hour's hushed flight,
The half-globe beneath it)—in her patient hands
The open book, the pen applied to write!
82

In the Old Hall the men have changed to ghosts
Whom erst she marked—who marked her not, perchance,—
And there below, for those long-vanished hosts,
Show marble shape and pictured countenance.
Daily across yon floor, long since so loud
With partial schemes and strifes of public breath,
To the New Hall new-jostling statesmen crowd
Through that White Congress of undying death.
Men of the Past! your word her pages show—
She heard, she saw, she knew you there, indeed!
Oh, ye New-Comers, eddying to and fro,
Behold the still Recorder and take heed!
There she remains, with listening face and pen
Ready to give the patriot's deathless dower:
Look!—living, speaking, acting, passing men!—
The Eternal Present on her Flying Hour!
83

TRANSFIGURATION

CHARLESTOWN, VA., DECEMBER 2, 1859

WASHINGTON, D. C., DECEMBER 2, 1863

Four years ago the Saviour of the Slave
Took in his strong, brave arms a slave-born child—
Ere from the gallows to the martyr's grave
He passed—with manly blessing, deep and mild.
O Land, however strong, too weak to do
Such office then! Like Christopher of old,
In that poor child the lifted Christ he knew,
The great Bond-Breaker in his human hold!
84

O humbled Nation! To thy proudest place
Thou liftest yonder Shape of Freedom now,
Where Morning shall be quick to see her face,
And Eve to touch with dew her sacred brow!
But he who seeks the soul within the form
In that bright shape shall see another sight:
A grey old man, holding, in calm or storm,
The unfettered child forever in the light!
 

It was remarked as a suggestive coincidence, that Crawford's Statue of Freedom (the work of putting which in bronze was said to have been done by negroes who were, or had been, slaves in the employment of Clark Mills, another sculptor) was raised to its position on the dome of the National Capitol at Washington on the anniversary of the execution of John Brown at Charlestown, Virginia, four years previous, and at the same hour of the day.

85

THE END OF THE JOURNEY

Our new-plucked flowers to the world's full garland, friends!—
At home, with all best paths, his long Path ends.
Oh, such a Path no man e'er went before,
Earth-smiting king, or patriot conqueror!
The sun's long path—the path it ever came
World-lighting, this his Pathway lit by fame.
Far toward its native East the sun's great way
He went, with some new land each new-risen day.
86

At each land's threshold, as he crossed it, kings,
Warriors, and statesmen gave him welcomings.
Crowned princes met him crownless, awed to see
In this still man the Great Land's Majesty;
O'er lands, o'er seas, they saw, through him confest,
The Banded Stars that quicken all the West.
A hero's honours?—yes, a hero's, too:
But in the man the Many-in-One they knew.
The sun's long path—the path it ever came
World-lighting, this is Pathway lit by fame.
Toward the sun's native East, till the East was West,
And the sun rose across the roofs loved best!
—Hark, with the cannon's thunder, ‘He is come,’
Mingle the martial trumpet, quickening drum,—
87

A warrior's welcome! ... Let the war-sound cease;
The warrior's welcome now be rest and peace.
The laurel, meed of mighty conqueror,
Long since we proudly gave, he justly wore.
Put up the sword, well-sheathed; upon the wall
The bow unstrung leave, wind-swayed, in the hall.
Long may he live, unvexed by clamorous cares,
Breathed on by blessing of home-breathing airs,—
Live long, grow old, like him our First of Men,
Or that plain Roman soldier-citizen.
Our new-plucked flowers to the world's full garland, friends!—
At home, with all best paths, his long Path ends.
 

Written by request for the occasion of General Grant's reception at Philadelphia on his return from travel around the world. It may be recalled that General Grant was doubtless the first man so distinguished personally and as the recognised representative of a great country, who, under circumstances made possible by the telegraph, railway, steamship, and modern newspaper, ever made a journey around the world.

Edmund Spenser.

88

THE BOYS IN BLUE

TWO PROCESSIONS

Garfield, not only these do vote for you,—
Not only these, survivors tried and true,
Vote as they fought, the loyal Boys in Blue:
Not only these, who bore through shot and shell
The flag whose tatters keep their story well
(New hands upheld it when the old bearers fell).
Another mighty host comes marching slow
From their long bivouacs in the grass and snow—
By these they fought and suffered long ago.
89

Through every street they march with silent tread,
(Quicken the living, ye the Living Dead!)—
Look, the same tattered flag is overhead!
What captains lead them!—names well-kept as won.
(Lincoln looks down, as often he has done,
To see their marching-past, at Washington:
He votes with them and these.)—The tried and true,
They vote; the dead, as living, vote for you,—
Vote, Garfield, as they fought, the Boys in Blue!
 

A great political demonstration of the Grand Army of the Republic—composed of surviving officers and men of the Union Army—at Cincinnati, a few nights before, and in favour of, the election of General Garfield as President of the United States of America.

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