HE has gone down!" They shout it from
Kings, Nobles, Priests-all men, of every race,
Whose lagging clogs Time's swift relentless pace:
"She has gone down, our evil-boding star!-
Rebellion smitten with Rebellion's sword,
Anarchy done to death by slavery,
Of Ancient Right insolent enemy-
Beneath a hideous cloud of civil war,
Strife such as heathen slaughterers had abhorred.
The lawless land where no man was called lord,
Spurning all wholesome curb, and dreaming free
Her rabble rule's licentious tyranny,
In the fierce splendor of her arrogant morn, She has gone down-the world's eternal scorn!"
She has gone down! Woe for the world and all
The weary workers gazing from afar
At the clear rising of that hopeful star-
Star of redemption to each weeping thrall
Of Power decrepit, and of rule outworn;
Beautiful shining of that blessed morn
Which was to bring leave for the poor to live,
To work and rest, to labor and to thrive,
And righteous room for all who nobly strive.
She has gone down! Woe for the panting world
Back on its path of progress sternly hurled!
Land of sufficient harvests for all dearth,
Home of far-seeing hope, Time's latest birth,
Woe for the promised land of the whole earth!
Triumph not, fools, and weep not, ye fainthearted!
Have ye believed that the supreme decree
Of Heaven had given this people o'er to perish?
Have ye believed that God had ceased to cherish
This great New World of Christian liberty?
And its fair light forever had departed?
Nay-by the precious blood shed to redeem
The nation from its selfishness and sin,
By each brave heart that burst in holy strife,
Leaving its kindred hearts to break through life;
By all the bitter tears whose source must stream
Forever every desolate home within,
We will return to our appointed place,
First in the vanguard of the human race.
KEMBLE (Sonnets on the American War).
It is time to be old,
To take in sail:
The god of bounds,
Who sets to seas a shore,
Came to me in his fatal rounds,
And said: "No more!
No farther shoot
Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root.
Fancy departs: no more invent;
Contract thy firmament
To compass of a tent.
There's not enough for this and that,
Make thy option which of two;
Economize the failing river,
None the less revere the Giver,
Leave the many and hold the few,
Timely wise accept the terms,
Soften the fall with wary foot;
A little while
Still plan and smile,
And,-fault of novel germs,—
Mature the unfallen fruit.
Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires,
Bad husbands of their fires,
Who, when they gave thee breath,
Failed to bequeath
The needful sinew stark as once,
The Baresark marrow to thy bones,
But left a legacy of ebbing veins,
Inconstant heat and nerveless reins,-
Amid the Muses, left thee deaf and dumb,
Amid the gladiators, halt and numb.”
As the bird trims her to the gale,
I trim myself to the storm of time,
I man the rudder, reef the sail,
Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime:
"Lowly faithful, banish fear,
Right onward drive unharmed;
The port, well worth the cruise, is near,
And every wave is charmed."
|