 | Odes in Ohio, and other poems |  |
TO MY FRIEND
DR. A. W. WHELPLEY
LIBRARIAN OF THE PUBLIC LIBRARY
OF CINCINNATI
1
ODE
WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF THE ONE HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE FOUNDING OF THE CITY OF CLEVELAND AND THE SETTLEMENT OF THE WESTERN RESERVE IN OHIO: READ ON THE OCCASION OF THE CELEBRATION AT CLEVELAND, JULY 22, 1896
I
Praise to the sower of the seed,The planter of the tree!—
What though another for the harvest gold
The ready sickle hold,
Or breathe the blossom, watch the fruit unfold?
Enough for him, indeed,
That he should plant the tree, should sow the seed,
And earn the reaper's guerdon, even if he
Should not the reaper be:
“Let him who after a while, when I shall pass, may dwell
In my sweet close, 'neath my dear roof instead,
Enjoy the harvest, pluck the fruit as well,
2
For every other man is other me.”
II
And praise be theirs who planAnd fix the corner-stone
Of house or fane devote to God or man,
Not for themselves alone.
—Not for themselves alone
The Pilgrim Fathers of the Western Wood,
Not only for themselves and for their own,
Came hither planting in heroic mood
The seeds of civil-graced society,
Repeating their New England by the sea
In the green wilderness.
From church and school, with church and school they came
To kindle here their consecrated flame:
With the high passion for humanity,
The largest light, the amplest liberty,
(No man a slave, unless himself enthrall,)
3
For eager-seeking youth,
With priceless opportunity for all,
(The tree of knowledge no forbidden tree,)—
Free speech and conscience free.
—Honor and praise no less
Be theirs, who in the mighty forest, then
The haunt of savage men,
And tenanted by ravening beasts of prey
Only less fierce than they,
(The fever-chill, the hunger-pang they bore,
Dangers of day and darkness at their door)
Abode, and in the panther-startled shade
The deep foundations of an empire laid.
The corner-stone they put
(Where he the patriot sage, with foresight keen,
Its fittest site on some vague chart had seen)
Of the fair Place we know—
Their capital of New Connecticut.
4
III
In the green solitude,A hundred years ago,
The founder stood.
Hark, the first axe-stroke in the clearing! Lo,
The log house with its civilizing gleam
By yonder Indian stream!—
Such was the small beginning far away
We celebrate to-day.
IV
There were two prophecies. He the founder, heWhose statue stands in yonder public square,
(He only came and went:
The city itself is his best monument,)
That lonely evening gleam,
Reflected heavenly fair
In the still Indian stream,
He saw, and prophesied,
With home-returning eyes:
A peaceful forest-shadowed town should rise,
5
With clustered church-spires, happy roofs half seen
Through leafy avenues of ambush green,
And school-house belfry—such he erewhile knew,
And the fond picture homesick memory drew,
In far New England by the Atlantic tide.
It was not long before the prophecy
Had grown reality:
That Forest City seemed a haven of rest—
New Haven of the West.
Another later came, in dreamful mood,
Where the tree-shadowed early village stood,
Who saw the flitting sails, the horizon-bound
Of the great Inland Sea before
Its open harbor door,
With the broad wealth-abundant land around;
(What wealth above of corn and fleece and vine!—
What wealth beneath of myriad-gifted mine!)
To him another vision: prophet-wise,
With prescient eyes,
A great commercial mart he saw arise,
6
And linking continent to continent
With bands of gold beneficent;
The smoke of steamers, plying ceaselessly,
Bearing our harvest stores to far-off hands
In transatlantic lands;
With interchange of goods and gifts divine
In rivalry benign,
Lo, peaceful navies, alien with our own!
The foundry's plume of fire, a dreadful flower,
He saw, at midnight hour.
With ears that heard, as eyes that saw, the foreknown,
He heard the hum of mighty industries,—
The vulcanic forge's echoing clang of steel,
The whirring wheel,
With other myriad sounds akin to these;
And up and down, and everywhere, the beat
Of busy-moving feet,—
In throngëd thoroughfares of Trade apart,
The throbbing of the Titan Labor's heart.—
7
But lo, the prophecy!
The Genie's dream-built tower, in morning's ray,
In fable-world it shone—the City stands to-day!
V
Whoever backward looks shall seeWhat wonder-working strange
Of ever-moving change!
Lo, everywhere around we meet,
In every highway, every street,
New daily miracles of the century!
The harnessed elements, with that elusive sprite,
The errand-running Slave, with world-compelling might,
Obedient to man, and hurrying to and fro,
Wherever he would send, wherever wish to go!
In every house at night
The enchanted lamp alight,
In each frequented way
Its keen celestial ray,—
8
And all repeated, all reflected show
In the fair Place we know! ...
—A sigh for their sad fate,
For those red tribes, so late
Tenants-at-will of their vast hunting-ground,
That had nor mete nor bound
In the deep wood around.
Him, lord the forest knew,
On Cuyahoga's stream where glides his bark canoe?
We have not banished quite their names from stream and wood,
We cannot banish quite their ghosts that will intrude;
We cannot exorcise
Their still reproachful eyes.
Pity we must their fate—
The inexorable doom
That gave our fathers room;—
That they must fade,
Shadow-like, into shade,
So we might celebrate the city's founding here:
9
So we might celebrate
Their mighty wilderness our mighty State,
Among the brightest of her galaxy,
(With New Connecticut her chiefest pride,)
Mother of famous soldiers, statesmen tried,
(New Mother of Presidents, her well-beloved,
In camp and council proved.) ...
—One time an alien fleet was hovering near,
(Let us be strong, and well protect our own!)
When on yon shore the school-boy at his play
Stooped down with hand at ear
By the lake-side to hear
The guns at Put-in Bay.
War summoned then and since again her sons.
(City and State, with common sympathies,
Unite in claiming these.)
Her Past is bitter-sweet.
Heroic grief, heroic gladness meet,
With memories proud in monumental stone,
In civic square and street:
Of him that hero of an earlier day;
10
Her eager youth who went
To battle as to tennis tournament,
Not for themselves alone,
Not only for themselves and for their own—
For all men, us and ours!
Returning but in sacred memories,
That ever green are kept and sweet with flowers;
Of him the kindly neighbor, cordial friend,
(Now far uplifted from familiar ways,
Blameless and high above the stain of praise,)
Down-stricken at the Helm of Highest Trust.
(She keeps his honored dust.)
And many another worthy even as they,
Banded to sweep the nightmare dark and dire,
If with cyclonic broom—with earthquake, flood, and fire—
From our great land away! ...
—Old griefs and glories blend.
11
VI
Into the Future—who shall lookInto that cloud-clasped Book?
What strong miraculous spark
Shall pierce that deep-walled dark?
Whoever forward looks shall see,
Mayhap, a vision, an enthusiast's dream,
Of this or of another century,—
The flower of each together here as one
Blossoming in the sun.
Whoever looks shall see, reflected there,
The features of her Past, oh, not less fair;
The features of her Present, even more bright:
A city that shall seem
To bear aloft and hold a steadfast light:
With ampler domes of Science, Learning, Art,
In academic groves apart:
Earth-blessing commerce at her every door,
With sails that come and go forevermore:
The earthly Titan's sweltering toil made light
By the invisible heaven-descended might,
12
With myriad mechanisms faëry-nice,
Beneficent art and delicate artifice,—
All human goods and graces priceless wrought
In every house for nought
But a mere wish or thought:
The enchanted statue's grace
In every market-place,—
But Nature breathing ever, everywhere,
Her breath from flower and leaf, from park and pasture fair:
Streets that are highways to green fields and woods,
With charmëd solitudes,
Whither the workman pent
Flies from his toil, content:
With hanging gardens of delight
For all men's sense and sight,
Where they may see the dancing fountain's flower,
Faërily silvered, wavering in the moon,
And hear the wild bird sing his vesper hymn in June,
13
—In that bright city then,
Himself one of a myriad multitude,
Shall the Good Citizen,
Who loves his fellow-men,
Who makes self-interest work for common good,
Dwell, and make beautiful his dwelling-place,
Striving to keep his city pure and clean,
With avenues to heaven its walls between.
Gentle, but strong and just,
He holds his vote a sacred gift and trust,
And every neighbor's sacred as his own,
Not bossed, or bought, or sold
For bribe of public place or private gold.
He knows his public duty, will not shirk
His burden of public work:
Public Affairs his pleasure, study, pride
Rightly to know and not ignore but guide,
Not leaving to ignorant, faithless hands to rule
City and court and school.
He gives his hand and heart
14
Not a foul huckster's mart,—
Where woman, if she please, may use her right
Inalienable as man's to speak, how still!
A still small voice to execute her will,
And go with son or sire, without disgrace,
In Sabbath garments pure and dedicate
To home and child and State,
Even as at church to share their sacrament,
Guarding her world-old sphere beneficent
And share of government.
He builds for others, not for himself alone,
Not only for himself and for his own,
And gladdens with all good that comes to all,
Wherever it befall.
So the House Beautiful the poor man's home shall be,
In that far, better day,
(Is it so far away?)
The day we may not see,
Save only in prophecy,
15
With few or peer or mate,
She shall be seen afar and known of all,
Our City Beautiful—Forest City still,
The seaside Capital
Of our proud Forest State!
It appears that Dr. Benjamin Franklin, as early as 1754, had indicated the mouth of the Cuyahoga, on Lake Erie, as an eligible site for a future commercial and maritime city.
Commodore Perry, the soldiers of the Union army from Cleveland, President Garfield, and the antislavery leaders and agitators of the Western Reserve are referred to in the foregoing passage.
43
ANARCHY
Dread is the hour when giant Mob, mad child of Liberty,
Blows his volcanic trumpet-blast, and shakes the land and sea.
Blows his volcanic trumpet-blast, and shakes the land and sea.
Not when Pompeii danced or dreamed, with spasms and groans of earth
Sprang fiercer light, rushed darker night, to quench her moans and mirth.
Sprang fiercer light, rushed darker night, to quench her moans and mirth.
The hurricane, that holds its breath a century in mid-air,
Breathes palace-gates and castle-walls away like gossamer.
Breathes palace-gates and castle-walls away like gossamer.
44
Murder usurps the judgment-seat, while Justice writhes in prison,—
Lo, from the corpse of Government its soul, the law, has risen!
Lo, from the corpse of Government its soul, the law, has risen!
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