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126
MASSACHUSETTS.
“Ense petit placidam quietem sub Libertate.”
Inscribed to his Excellency Edward Everett, Governor of the commonwealth of Massachusetts.
Forgive this freedom in a rustic bard,
Thou who art skilful at the helm of state!
Relax awhile your weightier regard
Of learn'd oration and of wise debate,
And his poor Muse shall never prove ingrate;
She who delights to sing her father-land,
Where Freedom dwells in every breast innate,
Where Learning's temple doth enduring stand
And patriots unsheath the vengeance-gleaming brand!
Thou who art skilful at the helm of state!
Relax awhile your weightier regard
Of learn'd oration and of wise debate,
And his poor Muse shall never prove ingrate;
She who delights to sing her father-land,
Where Freedom dwells in every breast innate,
Where Learning's temple doth enduring stand
And patriots unsheath the vengeance-gleaming brand!
Hail Massachusetts! land of learned lore;
Thy pleasant rivers, and thy ocean shore!
Thy bosky hills, high towering to the sky!
Thy happy homes, with streamlets wandering nigh!
Thy pleasant rivers, and thy ocean shore!
Thy bosky hills, high towering to the sky!
Thy happy homes, with streamlets wandering nigh!
Hail Massachusetts! to thy soil I cling;
Thy name I honor and thy worth I sing!
Thou art my mother, I thy true-born son—
Thou ne'er shalt call me an unworthy one!
Thy name I honor and thy worth I sing!
Thou art my mother, I thy true-born son—
Thou ne'er shalt call me an unworthy one!
Hail to the time, far back in days of yore,
When thou didst welcome to thy desert shore
A band of wanderers who came in quest,
Worn with oppression, of a place of rest!
Feeble in numbers and with prospects drear,
December frowning at the dying year;
The pleasant sun obscured by wintry cloud,
And nature ghastly in her frigid shroud.
But they were firm—for tho' in nature's wild
His eye is ever on his humble child;
So with the oft-repeated heaven-ward prayer,
With hearts to suffer and with souls to dare,
They made the howling wilderness their home,
Let good betide them or let evil come.
Trials ensued at first, and full of wo,
Such as New-England ne'er again may know;
But heaven was pleased to favor them at last,
Their numbers strengthened and collected fast.
The Indian, too, poor child of nature! felt
His wild heart soften and in pity melt
To see the strangers' misery and want,
And shared with them his pittance poor and scant.
When thou didst welcome to thy desert shore
A band of wanderers who came in quest,
Worn with oppression, of a place of rest!
Feeble in numbers and with prospects drear,
December frowning at the dying year;
The pleasant sun obscured by wintry cloud,
And nature ghastly in her frigid shroud.
But they were firm—for tho' in nature's wild
His eye is ever on his humble child;
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With hearts to suffer and with souls to dare,
They made the howling wilderness their home,
Let good betide them or let evil come.
Trials ensued at first, and full of wo,
Such as New-England ne'er again may know;
But heaven was pleased to favor them at last,
Their numbers strengthened and collected fast.
The Indian, too, poor child of nature! felt
His wild heart soften and in pity melt
To see the strangers' misery and want,
And shared with them his pittance poor and scant.
Shall I digress and tell a mournful tale?
Shall I, instead of singing, weep and wail?
Alas, that I have cause to! pardon me,
My muse loves Justice, stern altho' he be!
Shades of the Puritans! can ye review
Your lives so faultless, and yet faulty, too,
And feel no pang akin to fell remorse?
Ah, happy thrice if ye feel nothing worse!
Doth not the Maker of the universe
Account the Indian rational, altho'
Save fashioning his life-depending bow,
Or his poor wigwam, yet to him as dear
As splendid palace to the kingly peer,
Or light canoe to swim his native flood—
His arts were lacking? (and these few were rude.)
Altho' fair Science never deigned to shine
Upon his path with influence benign—
Without that revelation from on high,
To teach him how to live and how to die—
With nought to guide his erring steps aright
Thro' Nature's darkness, but her own dim light—
Yet was he not a man, lord of the soil?
Whose rights, whose liberty ye did despoil?
And did ye ever deem him more or less
Than savage beast that roamed the wilderness?
But I forbear to dwell upon the theme—
I would 't were nothing but an idle dream.
So to my “first love” I'll return again,
And let poor Indian to his God complain.
Shall I, instead of singing, weep and wail?
Alas, that I have cause to! pardon me,
My muse loves Justice, stern altho' he be!
Shades of the Puritans! can ye review
Your lives so faultless, and yet faulty, too,
And feel no pang akin to fell remorse?
Ah, happy thrice if ye feel nothing worse!
Doth not the Maker of the universe
Account the Indian rational, altho'
Save fashioning his life-depending bow,
Or his poor wigwam, yet to him as dear
As splendid palace to the kingly peer,
Or light canoe to swim his native flood—
His arts were lacking? (and these few were rude.)
Altho' fair Science never deigned to shine
Upon his path with influence benign—
Without that revelation from on high,
To teach him how to live and how to die—
With nought to guide his erring steps aright
Thro' Nature's darkness, but her own dim light—
Yet was he not a man, lord of the soil?
Whose rights, whose liberty ye did despoil?
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Than savage beast that roamed the wilderness?
But I forbear to dwell upon the theme—
I would 't were nothing but an idle dream.
So to my “first love” I'll return again,
And let poor Indian to his God complain.
We'll overlook an interval of years
Replete with wars and peace, with hopes and fears,
And see Oppression stern, with iron hand,
Casting her shackles o'er a struggling land.
Wasted and worn beneath their galling weight,
And nerved to daring at her pending fate,
That land determined to resist the fiend,
And for support on righteous heaven leaned.
Long shall the glorious annals of those days
Speak volumes to old Massachusetts' praise!
Long shall the blood—the first was made to run,
Cry from the ground at famous Lexington!
Long, too, shall Bunker's gore-drenched height remain,
The altar where in sacrifice was slain
Full many a son of Massachusetts brave,
Her dearest rights and life-dear homes to save!
Shall not thy memory, ill-starred Warren,
Live in the hearts of these thy countrymen?
Shall not remembrance of those braves who fell
On that dread mount be ever cherished well?
It shall be ever, and with fond regard;
It shall inspire the patriotic bard
To sing their deathless fame in future time,
In accents lofty and in strains sublime.
Replete with wars and peace, with hopes and fears,
And see Oppression stern, with iron hand,
Casting her shackles o'er a struggling land.
Wasted and worn beneath their galling weight,
And nerved to daring at her pending fate,
That land determined to resist the fiend,
And for support on righteous heaven leaned.
Long shall the glorious annals of those days
Speak volumes to old Massachusetts' praise!
Long shall the blood—the first was made to run,
Cry from the ground at famous Lexington!
Long, too, shall Bunker's gore-drenched height remain,
The altar where in sacrifice was slain
Full many a son of Massachusetts brave,
Her dearest rights and life-dear homes to save!
Shall not thy memory, ill-starred Warren,
Live in the hearts of these thy countrymen?
Shall not remembrance of those braves who fell
On that dread mount be ever cherished well?
It shall be ever, and with fond regard;
It shall inspire the patriotic bard
To sing their deathless fame in future time,
In accents lofty and in strains sublime.
Like as the flame, tho' small at first awhile,
Spreads high and wide and wraps the stately pile,
So on this soil the factions kindled first
Soon o'er the land in revolution burst.
Wherever arms were borne against the foe,
New-England's sons dealt hardest in the blow;
Where'er was battle fought or victory won,
There, too, was marshalled Massachusetts' son.
Spreads high and wide and wraps the stately pile,
So on this soil the factions kindled first
Soon o'er the land in revolution burst.
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New-England's sons dealt hardest in the blow;
Where'er was battle fought or victory won,
There, too, was marshalled Massachusetts' son.
But who is there the sleeping dead can raise?
Who, then, shall paint the perils of those days?
Ah! who can paint the sufferings of those
Who fought 'gainst want and mercenary foes?
Who shall recount the melancholy tale
Of tearful orphans, and the widow's wail?
Who tell the price that this our freedom bought,
So full of blessings and so nobly sought?
I'll not impose on my unwilling Muse
The task she doth so modestly refuse.
Who, then, shall paint the perils of those days?
Ah! who can paint the sufferings of those
Who fought 'gainst want and mercenary foes?
Who shall recount the melancholy tale
Of tearful orphans, and the widow's wail?
Who tell the price that this our freedom bought,
So full of blessings and so nobly sought?
I'll not impose on my unwilling Muse
The task she doth so modestly refuse.
Oh, ever shall their memory be dear
Who caused this day of glory to appear!
Who pledged their lives, their fortunes, honor, all,
Whose dauntless hearts no dangers could appal.
Thrice blessed is the memory of the blest—
Sweet as the dews of heaven be their rest!
Who caused this day of glory to appear!
Who pledged their lives, their fortunes, honor, all,
Whose dauntless hearts no dangers could appal.
Thrice blessed is the memory of the blest—
Sweet as the dews of heaven be their rest!
Hail Massachusetts! aye the brightest gem
In Liberty's refulgent diadem!
There is a light that bright above thee dwells,
That decks thy vales and burnishes thy hills;
Whose beams afar throughout the world are seen,
Bright as the sun, and clear as star at e'en.
It is the light of Knowledge, streaming free
To every one whose eyes are ope'd to see.
How doth the glare beam from her ancient halls,
Where Fame to deep-read Science loudly calls!
Whence issuing forth, each with a torch in hand,
Lit at the shrine of Learning, go a band
Of thy bright sons, to give their cheering light
To all whom Ignorance enwraps in night.
I ween a leader in that brilliant throng
Is he to whom I dedicate my song!
In Liberty's refulgent diadem!
There is a light that bright above thee dwells,
That decks thy vales and burnishes thy hills;
Whose beams afar throughout the world are seen,
Bright as the sun, and clear as star at e'en.
It is the light of Knowledge, streaming free
To every one whose eyes are ope'd to see.
How doth the glare beam from her ancient halls,
Where Fame to deep-read Science loudly calls!
Whence issuing forth, each with a torch in hand,
Lit at the shrine of Learning, go a band
Of thy bright sons, to give their cheering light
To all whom Ignorance enwraps in night.
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Is he to whom I dedicate my song!
On every side I hear a sound arise—
'T is that of never-wearied Enterprise.
Hark! to the clamor of the forge and mill,
The whirling waters and the laboring rill;
The busy factory so full of life,
In all its thousand wheels with business rife.
Hark! to the seaman's glad home-hailing cry,
So full of vigor and so heartily!
Behold his canvass whitening every sea,
To every wind, to every billow free!
'T is that of never-wearied Enterprise.
Hark! to the clamor of the forge and mill,
The whirling waters and the laboring rill;
The busy factory so full of life,
In all its thousand wheels with business rife.
Hark! to the seaman's glad home-hailing cry,
So full of vigor and so heartily!
Behold his canvass whitening every sea,
To every wind, to every billow free!
There is a voice goes up from all thy streams,
As sweet as falling water in our dreams;
From every sheltered vale ascends that cry;
From every forest deep, and mountain high;
From every home of thine where freemen dwell
In every passing breeze I hear it swell;
Solemn it rises from thy sea-washed shore,
Amid the hoary tide's obstreperous roar;—
It is the voice of Liberty I hear
Forever sounding in my waking ear!
As sweet as falling water in our dreams;
From every sheltered vale ascends that cry;
From every forest deep, and mountain high;
From every home of thine where freemen dwell
In every passing breeze I hear it swell;
Solemn it rises from thy sea-washed shore,
Amid the hoary tide's obstreperous roar;—
It is the voice of Liberty I hear
Forever sounding in my waking ear!
My dear-loved mother, list the warm appeal
Of one who ever glories in thy weal!
While thou dost often rear thy warrior son—
To patriotic deeds incite him on;
While thou dost give thy patriot statesmen, too,
The heart of wisdom, and the will to do—
Canst thou not also rear the patriot bard,
Who in thy smile shall find his own reward?
Thy noble name shall oft adorn his lays,
And oft his theme shall be thy nobler praise.
Of one who ever glories in thy weal!
While thou dost often rear thy warrior son—
To patriotic deeds incite him on;
While thou dost give thy patriot statesmen, too,
The heart of wisdom, and the will to do—
Canst thou not also rear the patriot bard,
Who in thy smile shall find his own reward?
Thy noble name shall oft adorn his lays,
And oft his theme shall be thy nobler praise.
So, in conclusion, Everett, thy health!
And God forever save our commonwealth!
And God forever save our commonwealth!
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