ARMS AND THE MAN.

A Metrical Address recited on the one hundredth anniversary of the surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown on invitation of a joint committee of the Senate and House of the United States Congress.

PROLOGUE.

Full-burnished through the long-revolving years The ploughshare of a Century to-day Runs peaceful furrows where a crop of Spears Once stood in War's array.

And we, like those who on the Trojan plain See hoary secrets wrenched from upturned sods;— Who, in their fancy, hear resound again The battle-cry of gods;—

We now,—this splendid scene before us spread Where Freedom's full hexameter began— Restore our Epic, which the Nations read As far its thunders ran.

Here visions throng on People and on Bard, Ranks all a-glitter in battalions massed And closed around as like a plumed guard, They lead us down the Past.

I see great Shapes in vague confusion march Like giant shadows, moving vast and slow, Beneath some torch-lit temple's mighty arch Where long processions go.

I see these Shapes before me, all unfold, But ne'er can fix them on the lofty wall, Nor tell them, save as she of Endor told What she beheld to Saul.

THE DEAD STATESMAN.

I see his Shape who should have led these ranks— GARFIELD I see whose presence had evoked The stormy rapture of a Nation's thanks— His chariot stands unyoked!

Unyoked and empty, and the Charioteer To Fame's expanded arms has headlong rushed Ending the glories of a grand career, While all the world stood hushed.

The thunder of his wheels is done, but he Sustained by patience, fortitude, and grace— A Christian Hero—from the struggle free— Has won the Christian's race!

His wheel-tracks stop not in the Valley cold But upward lead, and on, and up, and higher, Till Hope can realize and Faith behold His chariot mount in fire!

Therefore, my Countrymen, lift up your hearts! Therefore, my Countrymen, be not cast down! He lives with those who well have done their parts, And God bestowed his crown!

And yet another form to-day I miss;— Grigsby the scholar, good, and pure, and wise, Who now, perchance, from scenes of perfect bliss Looks down with tender eyes.

Where his great friend, through life great Winthrop stands, Winthrop, whose gift, in life's departing hours, Went to the dying Old Virginian's hands Who died amid those flowers.[11]

Prayers change to blooms, the ancient Rabbins taught; So his, then, seemed to blossom forth and glow, As if his supplicating soul had brought Sandalphon down below.

But, happily, that Winthrop stood to-day, The patriot, scholar, orator, and sage, To tell the meaning of this grand array And vindicate an Age.

That Era's life and meaning his to teach, To him the parchments, but the shell to me, His voice the voice of billows on the beach Wherein we heard the sea.

My voice the voice of some sequestered stream Which only boasts, as on its waters glide, That, here and there, it shows a broken gleam Of pictures on its tide.

II.

THE COLONIES.

The fountain of our story spreads no clouds Of mist above it rich in varied glows, None paint us Gods and Goddesses in crowds Where some Scamander flows.

The tale of Jamestown, which I need not gild, With that of Plymouth, by the World is seen, But none, in visions, fancifully build Olympus in between.

At Jamestown stood the Saxon's home and graves, There Britain's spray broke on the native rock, There rose the English tide with crested waves And overwhelming shock.

Virginia thence, stirred by a grand unrest, Swept o'er the waters, scaled the mountain's crag, Hewed out a more than Roman roadway West, And planted there her flag.

Her fortune was forewritten even then— That fortune in the coming years to be "Mother of States and unpolluted men," And nurse of Liberty.

Then 'twas our coast all bore Virginia's name; Next North Virginia took its separate place, And grew by slow degrees in wealth and fame And Freedom's special grace.

[Footnote 11: Hugh Blair Grigsby, L.L.D., Chancellor of William and Mary College, and President of the Virginia Historical Society, Scholar and Historian, died on the day on which he received a gift of flowers from his life-long friend, Mr. Winthrop, and these literally gladdened the dying eyes of the noble gentleman whose loss will long be deplored by all who knew him, whether they live in Virginia or Massachusetts.]

THE NEW ENGLAND GROUP.

At Plymouth Rock a handful of brave souls, Full-armed in faith, erected home and shrine, And flourished where the wild Atlantic rolls Its pyramids of brine.

There rose a manly race austere and strong, On whom no lessons of their day were lost, Earnest as some conventicle's deep song, And keen as their own frost.

But that shrewd frost became a friend to those Who fronted there the Ice-King's bitter storm, For see we not that underneath the snows The growing wheat keeps warm?

Soft ease and silken opulence they spurned; From sands of silver, and from emerald boughs With golden ingots laden full, they turned Like Pilgrims under vows.

For them no tropic seas, no slumbrous calms, No rich abundance generously unrolled: In place of Cromwell's proffered flow'rs and palms They chose the long-drawn cold.

The more it blew, the more they faced the gale; The more it snowed, the more they would not freeze; And when crops failed on sterile hill and vale— They went to reap the seas!

Far North, through wild and stormy brine they ran, With hands a-cold plucked Winter by the locks! Masterful mastered great Leviathan And drove the foam as flocks!

Next in their order came the Middle Group, Perchance less hardy, but as brave they grew,— Grew straight and tall with not a bend, or stoop— Heart-timber through and through!

Midway between the ardent heat and cold They spread abroad, and by a homely spell, The iron of their axes changed to gold As fast the forests fell!

Doing the things they found to do, we see That thus they drew a mighty empire's charts, And, working for the present, took in fee The future for their marts!

And there unchallenged may the boast be made, Although they do not hold his sacred dust, That Penn, the Founder, never once betrayed The simple Indian's trust.

To them the genius which linked Silver Lakes With the blue Ocean and the outer World, And the fair banner, which their commerce shakes, Wise Clinton's hand unfurled.

THE SOUTHERN COLONIES.

Then sweeping down below Virginia's Capes, From Chesapeake to where Savannah flows, We find the settlers laughing 'mid their grapes And ignorant of snows.

The fragrant uppowock, and golden corn Spread far a-field by river and lagoon, And all the months poured out from Plenty's Horn Were opulent as June.

Yet, they had tragedies all dark and fell! Lone Roanoke Island rises on the view, And this Peninsula its tale could tell Of Opecancanough!

But, when the Ocean thunders on the shore Its waves, though broken, overflow the beach; So here our Fathers on and onward bore With English laws and speech.

Kind skies above them, underfoot rich soils; Silence and Savage at their presence fled; This Giant's Causeway, sacred through their toils, Resounded at their tread.

With ardent hearts, and ever-open hands, Candid and honest, brave and proud they grew, Their lives and habits colored by fair lands As skies give waters hue.

The race in semi-Feudal State appears— Their Knightly figures glow in tender mist, With ghostly pennons flung from ghostly spears And ghostly hawks on wrist.

By enterprise and high adventure stirred, From rude lunette and sentry-guarded croft They hawked at Empire, and, as on they spurred, Fate's falcon soared aloft!

Fate's falcon soared aloft full strong and free, With blood on talons, plumage, beak, and breast! Her shadow like a storm-shade on the sea Far-sailing down the West!

Swift hoofs clang out behind that Falcon's flights— Hoofs shod with Golden Horse Shoes catch the eye! And as they ring, we see the Forest-Knights— The Cavaliers ride by!

THE OLD DOMINION.

Midway between the orange and the snows As some fair planet rounds up from the sea, Eldest of all, the Central Power arose In vague immensity.

She stretched from Seas in sun to Lakes in Shade, O'erstepped swift Rio Escondido's stream— Her bounds expressed, as by the Tudor made, An Alexander's dream.

And liberal Stuart granted broad and free Bound'ries which still the annalist may boast— Limits which ran "throughout from sea to sea," And far along the coast!

A mighty shaft through Raleigh's fingers slipped, Smith shot it, and—a Continent awoke! For that great arrow with an acorn tipped, Planted an English Oak!

III.

THE OAKS AND THE TEMPEST.

Oaks multiplied apace, and o'er the seas Big rumors went in many a winding ring; And stories fabulous on every breeze Swept to a distant King.

Full many a tale of wild romance, and myth, In large hyperbole the New World told, And down from days of Raleigh and of Smith The Colonies meant gold.

Not from Banchoonan's mines came forth the ore, But from the waters, and the woods, and fields, Paid for in blood, but bringing more and more The wealth that labor yields.

Then seeing this, that King beyond the sea, The jus divinum filling all his soul, Bethought him that he held these lands in fee And absolute control.

When this high claim in action was displayed With one accord the young Plantations spoke, And told him, English-like, they were not made To plough with such a yoke.

Thus met, not his to falter, or to flag, A sudden fury seized the Royal breast— Prometheus bound upon a Scythian crag His policy expressed.

And, so, he ordered in those stormy hours His adamantine chains for one and all, Brute "Force" and soulless "Strength" the only Power On which he chose to call.

Great men withstood him many a weary day; In Press and Parliament full well they strove: But all in vain, for he was bound to play A travesty on Jove!

Then flamed the crater! And the flame took wing; Furious and far the lava blazed around, Until at last, on this same spot that King His Herculaneum found!

Breed's Hill became Vesuvius, and its stream Rushed forth through years, a God-directed tide To light two Worlds and realize the dream For which brave Warren died.

IV.

THE EMBATTLED COLONIES.

Before this thought the present hour recedes, As from the beach a billow backward rolls, And the great past, rich in heroic deeds Illuminates our souls!

Stern Massachusetts Bay uplifts her form, Boston the tale of Lexington repeats, With breast unarmored she confronts the storm— New England England meets.

I see the Middle Group by Fortune made The bloody Flanders of the Northern Coast, And, in a varying play of light and shade, Host thundering fall on host.

I see the Carolinas, Georgia, mowed By War the Reaper, and grim Ruin stalk O'er wasted fields;—but Guilford paved the way That led to this same York.

Here, too, Virginia in the vision comes— Full-bent to crown the battle's closing arch, Her pulses trumpets and her heart throbs drums, To animate her march.

As Pocahontas, in a by-gone time, Leaped forth the wrath of Powhatan to brave, Virginia came, and here she stood sublime To perish, or to save.

I see her interposing now her frame Between her sisters and the alien bands, And taking both of Freedom and of Fame Full seisin with her hands.

V.

WELCOME TO FRANCE.

But, in that fiery zone She upriseth not alone, Over all the bloody fields Glitter Amazonian shields; While through the mists of years Another form appears, And as I bow my head Already you have said:— 'Tis France!

Welcome to France! From sea to sea, With heart and hand! Welcome to all within the land— Thrice welcome let her be!

And to France The Union here to-day Gives the right of this array, And folds her to her breast As the friend that she loves best. Yes to France. The proud Ruler of the West Bows her sun-illumined crest, Grave and slow, In a passion of fond memories of One hundred years ago!

France's colors wave again High above this tented plain, Stream and flaunt, and blaze and shine, O'er the banner-painted brine, Float and flow! And the brazen trumpets blow While upon her serried lines, Full the light of Freedom shines In a broad, effulgent glow. And here this day I see The fairest dream that ever yet Was dreamt by History!

As in cadence, and in time, To the martial throb and rhyme Of her bugles and her drums Forth a stately vision comes— Comes majestically slow— Comes a fair and stately vision of One hundred years ago!

Welcome to France! From sea to sea, With heart and hand! Welcome to all within the land! Thrice welcome let her be! Of Freedom's Guild made free! Welcome! Thrice Welcome! Welcome let her be!

And as in days of old Walter Raleigh did unfold His gay cloak, with all its hems Wrought in braided gold and gems, That his Queen might passing tread On the sumptuous cloth outspread, And step on the shining fold Or fair samnite rich in gold. So for France— Splendid, grand, majestic France!— May Fortune down her mantle throw To mend the way that she may go!

May GLORY leap before to reap— Up to the shoulders turned her sleeves— And FAME behind follow to bind Unnumbered honors in unnumbered sheaves! And may that mantle forever be Under thy footfall, oh France the Free! Forever and forever!

VI.

THE ALLIES AT YORKTOWN.

And here France came one hundred years ago! Red, russet, purple glowed upon the trees, And sunset glories deepened in their glow Along the painted seas.

A wealth of color blazed on land and wave, Topaz and gold, and crimson met the eye— October hailed the ships which came to save With banners in the sky.

DeBarras swept down from the Northern coast, DeGrasse, foam-driving, came with favoring breeze, And here surprised the proud, marauding host Like spectres of the seas.

Then was no time for such a boastful strain As Campbell sang o'er Baltic's bloody tide, Nor did Britannia dominate the main In customary pride.

France closed this river, and France ruled yon sea, Held all our waters in triumphant state, Her sails foretelling what was soon to be Like Ministers of Fate.

And when the Union chants her proudest Lay DeGrasse is often on her tuneful lips, And his achievement challenges to-day Some Homer of the ships.

So, when this spot its monument shall crown His name upon its base two Worlds shall see, With a fair wind his story shall sail down Through Ages yet to be,

VII.

THE RAVAGES OF WAR.

This on the water: on the land a scene Whose Epic scope is far beyond my power, For on this spot a People's fate hath been Decided in an hour.

Long was the conflict waged through weary years Counted from when the sturdy farmers fell: Hopes crucified, red trenches, bitter tears, Made Man another hell!

See pallid women girt in woe and weeds! See little children gaunt for lack of food! Behold the catalogue of War's black deeds Where evil stands for good!

See slaughtered cattle, never more to roam, Rot in the fields, while chimneys tall and bare Tell in dumb pathos how some quiet home Lit up the midnight air!

See that burnt crop, yon choked-up sylvan well, This yeoman slain ye corven in the sun! My GOD! shreds of a woman's dress to tell Why murder there was done!

Such things as these gave edge to all the blows Our fathers struck on this historic sod, Feet, hands, and faces turned toward their foes— Their valiant hearts to GOD.

VIII.

THE LINES AROUND YORKTOWN.

Troops late by Williamsburg's brave palace walls, With trump and drum had marched down Glo'ster street, And some with throb of oars, and loud sea-calls Had landed from the fleet.

And well our leader had befooled his foes— Left them like archers blundering in the dark To draw against the empty space their bows, While here was their true mark.

Brave Lincoln on the right with kindling eye Smiles 'mid the cares of grave command immersed, To see dramatic retribution nigh And Charleston's fate reversed!

The Light Troops stood upon the curved right flank, New Hampshire, Massachusetts Bay were there, Connecticut marched with them, rank on rank, And gallant Delaware.

There, too, Virginia's sturdy yeomen stood, Led on by Nelson of the open hand, As thick and stubborn as a living wood In some enchanted land.

Next came the steady Continental Line, Rhode Island, and New Jersey, breast to breast, Ready to tread the hot and smoking wine From War's red clusters pressed.

New York and Pennsylvania on these plains Closed boldly in on the embattled town, Nor feared they threatened penalties and pains Of Parliament, or Crown.

And Maryland, the gay and gallant came, As always ready for the battle's brunt; And here again Virginia faced the flame Along the deadly front.

IX.

THE FRENCH IN THE TRENCHES.

And as the allied hosts advance All the left wing is given to France, Is given to France and—Fame! Yes, these together always ride The Dioscouroi of the tide Where War plays out the game! And that broad front 'tis her's to hold With hand of iron, heart of gold And helmet plumed with flame. Across the river broad she sends DeChoisy and Lauzun where ends The leaguer far and wide, While Weedon seconds as he may The gallant Frenchmen in array Upon the Gloucester side.

As waves hurled on a stranded keel Make all the oaken timbers reel With many a pond'rous blow, So day by day, and night by night The French like billows foaming white Thunder against the foe.

X.

NELSON AND THE GUNNERS.

O'er town, and works, and waves amain Far fell grim Ruin's furious rain, O'er parapet and mast, And riding on the thunder-swell Far flew the shot, far flew the shell Red Havoc on the blast! Then as the flashing cannon sowed Their iron crop brave Nelson rode, His bridle bit all foam, Up to the gunners, and said he: "Batter yon mansion down for me"— "Basement, and walls, and dome!" And better to sharpen those gunners' wits, "Five guineas," he cried, "for each shot that hits!"— That mansion was his home!

XI.

THE BELEAGUERED TOWN.

Behind the town the sun sinks down Gilding the vane upon the spire, While many a wall reels to its fall Beneath the fell artillery fire.

As sinks that sun mortar and gun Like living things leap grim and hot, And far and wide across the tide Spray-furrows show the flying shot.

White smoke in clouds yon earthwork shrouds Where, steeped in battle to the lips, The French amain pour fiery rain On town, and walls, and English ships.

That deadly sleet smites lines and fleet, As closes in the Autumn night, And Aboville from head to heel Thrills with the battle's wild delight.

At every flash oak timbers crash— A sudden glare yon frigate dyes! Then flames up-gush, and roar, and rush, From deck to where her pennon flies!

Those flames on high crimson the sky And paint their signals overhead, And every fold of smoke is rolled And woven in Plutonian red.

All radiant now taffrail and prow, And hull, and cordage, beams and spars, Thus lit she sails on fiery gales To purple seas where float the stars.

Ages ago just such a glow Woke Agamemnon's house to joy, Its red and gold to Argos told The long-expected fate of Troy.

So, on these heights, that flame delights The Allies thundering at the wall, Forewrit they see the land set free And Albion's short-lived Ilium fall!

Then as the Lilies turn to red Dipped in the battles' wine Another picture is outspread Where still the figures shine— The picture of a deadly fray Worthy the pencil of Vernet!

XII.

STORMING THE REDOUBTS.

On the night air there floating comes, hoarse, war-like, low and deep, A sound as tho' the dreaming drums were talking in their sleep.

"Fall in! Fall in!" The stormers form, in silence, stern and grim, Each heart full-beating out the time to Freedom's battle hymn.—

"Charge! en Avant!"—The word goes forth and forth the stormers go, Each column like a mighty shaft shot from a mighty bow.

And tumult rose upon the night like sound of roaring seas, Mars drank of the Horn of Ulphus and he drained it to the lees!

Now by fair Freedom's splendid dreams! it was a gallant sight To see the blows against the foes well struck that Autumn night!

Gimat, and Fish, and Hamilton, and Laurens pressed the foe, And Olney—brave Rhode Islander!—was there, alas! laid low.

Viominil, and Noallies, and Damas, stout and brave, Broke o'er the English right redoubt a steel-encrested wave.

St. Simon from his sick couch rose, wooed by the battle's charms, And like a knight of old romance went to the shock of arms.

[But they who bore the muskets, who went charging thro' the flame, Deserve far more than ever will be given them by Fame—

Then let us pour libations out!—full freely let them flow For the men who bore the muskets here a century ago!]

And, then, the columns won the works, and then uprose the cheers That have lasted us and ours for a good one hundred years!

And there were those amid the French filled with a rapture stern And long the cry resounded: "Live the Regiment of Auverne!"

Long live the Gallic Army and long live splendid France, The Power that gives to History the beauty of Romance!

Upon our right commanded one dearer by far than all, The hero who first came to us and came without a call;

Whose name with that of his leader all histories entwine, The one as is the mighty oak, the other as the vine;

The one the staff, the other the great banner on its lance— Now, need I name the dearest name of all the names of France?

Oh, Marquis brave! Upon this shaft, deep-cut thy cherished name Twin Old Mortalities shall find—fond Gratitude and Fame!

THE TWO LEADERS.

Two chieftains watch the battle's tide and listen as it rolls And only HEAVEN above can tell the tumult of their souls!

Cornwallis saw the British power struck down by one fell blow, A Gallic spearhead on the lance that laid the Lion low.

But the Father of his Country saw the future all unrolled, Independence blazed before him written down in text of gold,

Like the Hebrew, on the mountain, looking forward then he saw The Promised Land of Freedom blooming under Freedom's law;

Saw a great Republic spurring in the lists where Nations ride, The peer of any Power in her majesty and pride;

Saw that young Republic gazing through her helmet's gilded bars Toward the West all luminous with th' light of coming stars;

From Atlantic to Pacific saw her banners all unfurled Heard sonorous trumpets blowing blessed Peace with all the world?

Roused from this glorious vision, with success within his reach, In few and simple words he made this long-resounding speech:

"The work is done, and well done:" thus spake he on this sod, In accents calm and measured as the accents of a God.

God, said I? Yes, his image rises on the raptured sight Like Baldur, the fair and blameless, the Goth's God of the Light!

XIII.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

As some spent gladiator, struck by Death, Whose reeling vision scarce a foe defines, For one last effort gathers all his breath, England draws in her lines.

Her blood-red flag floats out full fair, but flows O'er crumbling bastions, in fictitious state: Who stands a siege Cornwallis full well knows, Plays at a game with Fate.

Siege means surrender at the bitter end, From Ilium downward such the sword-made rule, With few exceptions, few indeed amend This law in any school!

The student who for these has ever sought 'Mid his exceptions Caesar counts as one, Besieger and besieged he, victor, fought Under a Gallic sun.

For Vircinget'rex failed, but at the wall: He strove and failed gilded by Glory's rays So that true soldiership describes that Gaul In terms of honest praise.

But there was not a Julius in the lines Round which our Chief the fatal leaguer drew, The noble Earl, though valiant, never shines 'Mid War's majestic few.

By hopes and fears in agonies long tossed— [Clinton hard fixed in method's rigid groove] The British Leader saw the game was lost; But, still, it had one move!

Could he attain yon spreading Gloucester shore; Could he and his cross York's majestic tide; He, then, might laugh to hear the cannon roar And far for safety ride.

Bold was the plan! and generous Light Horse Lee Gives it full measure of unstinted praise; But PROVIDENCE declared this should not be In its own wondrous ways.

Loud roared the storm! The rattling thunders rang! Against the blast his rowers could not row! White waves like hoary-headed Homers sang Hexameters of woe.

Then came the time to end the mighty Play, To drop the curtain and to quench the lamps, And soon the story took its jocund way Through all the Allied camps.

"Measure for measure" then was righteous law, The cup of Lincoln, bowed Cornwallis pressed, And as he drank the wondering Nations saw A sunrise—in the West!

Death fell upon the Royal cause that day, The King stood like Swift's oak with blighted crest, Headpiece and Crown both cleft he drooped away: Hic jacet—tells the rest!

And patriots stood where traitors late were jeered, Transformed from rebels into freemen bold, What seemed Membrino's helmet now appeared A real casque of gold!

XIV.

THE SURRENDER OF LORD CORNWALLIS.

Next came the closing scene: but shall I paint The scarlet column, sullen, slow, and faint, Which marched, with "colors cased" to yonder field, Where Britain threw down corslet, sword and shield?

Shall I depict the anguish of the brave Who envied comrades sleeping in the grave? Shall I exult o'er inoffensive dust Of valiant men whose swords have turned to rust? Shall I, like Menelaus by the coast, O'er dead Ajaces make unmanly boast? Shall I, in chains of an ignoble Verse, Degrade dead Hectors, and their pangs rehearse— Nay! such is not the mood this People feels, Their chariots drag no foemen by the heels! Let Ajax slumber by the sounding sea From the fell passion of his madness free! Let Hector's ashes unmolested sleep— But not to-day shall any Priam weep!

OUR ANCIENT ALLIES.

Superb in white and red, and white and gold, And white and violet, the French unfold Their blazoned banners on the Autumn air, While cymbols clash and brazen trumpets blare: Steeds fret and foam, and spurs with scabbards clank As far they form, in many a shining rank. Deux-Ponts is there, as hilt to sword blade true, And Guvion rises smiling on the view; And the brave Swede, as yet untouched by Fate, Rides 'mid his comrades with a mien elate; And Duportail—and scores of others glance Upon the scene, and all are worthy France! And for those Frenchmen and their splendid bands, The very Centuries shall clap their hands, While at their head, as all their banners flow, And all their drums roll out, and trumpets blow, Rides first and foremost splendid Rochambeau! And well he rides, worthy an epic rhyme— Full well he rides in attitude sublime— Fair Freedom's Champion in the lists of Time.

THE CONTINENTALS.

In hunting shirts, or faded blue and buff, And many clad in simple, rustic stuff, Their ensigns torn but held by Freedom's hand, In long-drawn lines the Continentals stand. To them precision, if not martial grace; Each heart triumphant but composed each face; Well taught in military arts by brave Steuben, With port of soldiers, majesty of men, All fathers of their Country like a wall They stand at rest to see the curtain fall. Well-taught were they by one who learned War's trade From Frederick, whom not Ruin's self dismayed;— Well-taught by one who never lost the heat Caught on an anvil where all Europe beat;— Beat in a storm of blows, with might and main, But on that Prussian anvil beat in vain! And to the gallant race of Steuben's name That long has held close intercourse with Fame, This great Republic bows its lofty crest, And folds his kinsmen to her ample breast: At fray, or festival, on march or halt, Von Steuben always far above the salt!

"THE MARQUIS."

The Brave young Marquis, second but to one For whom he felt the reverence of a son, Rides at the head of his division proud— A ray of Glory painted on the cloud! Mad Anthony is there, and Knox—but why Great names like battle flags attempt to fly? Who sings of skies lit up by Jove and Mars Thinks not to chant a catalogue of stars! I bow me low, and bowing low I pass Unnumbered heroes in unnumbered mass, While at their head in grave, and sober state, Rides one whom Time has found completely great Master of Fortune and the match of Fate!

* * * * *

Then Tilghman mounted on these Plains of York Swift sped away as speeds the homing hawk, And soon 'twas his to wake that watchman's cry That woke all Nations and shall never die!

THE ANCIENT ENEMIES.

Brave was the foeman! well he held his ground! But here defeat at kindred hands he found! The shafts rained on him, in a righteous cause, Came from the quiver of Old England's laws!

He fought in vain; and on this spot went down The jus divinum, and the kingly crown. But for those scenes Time long has made amends. The ancient enemies are present friends; Two swords, in Massachusetts, rich in dust, And, better still, the peacefulness of rust, Told the whole story in its double parts To one who lives in two great nations' hearts; And late above Old England's roar and din Slow-tolling bells spoke sympathy of kin: Victoria's wreath blooms on the sleeping breast Of him just gone to his reward and rest, And firm and fast between two mighty Powers New treaties live in those undying flowers.

THE SPLENDID THREE.

Turned back my gaze, on Spain's romantic shore I see Gaul bending by the grave of Moore, And later, when the page of Fame I scan I see brave France at deadly Inkerman, While on red Balaklava's field I hear Gallia's applause swell Albion's ringing cheer, England and France, as Allies, side by side Fought on the Pieho's melancholy tide, And there, brave Tattnall, ere the fight was done, Stirred English hearts as far as shone the sun, Or tides and billows in their courses run. That day, 'mid the dark Pieho's slaughter He said: "Blood is thicker than water!" And your true man though "brayed in a mortar" At feast, or at fray Will still feel it and say As he said: "Blood is thicker than water!"

And full homely is the saying but this story always starts An answer from ten thousand times ten thousand kindred hearts.

Then let us pray that as the sun shines ever on the sea Fair Peace forevermore may smile upon the Splendid Three!

May happy France see purple grapes a-glow on all her hills, And England breast-deep in her corn laugh back the laugh of rills!

May this fair land to which all roads lead as the roads of Rome Led to th' eternal city's gates still offer Man a home—

A home of peace and plenty, and of freedom and of ease, With all before him where to choose between the shining seas!

May the war-cries of the Captains yield to happy reapers shouts, And the clover whiten bastions and the olive shade redoubts!

XV.

THE WAR HORSE DRAWS THE PLOUGH.

At last our Fathers saw the Treaty sealed, Victory unhelmed her broad, majestic brow, The Sword became a Sickle in the field, The war horse drew the plough.

There is a time when men shape for their Land Its institutions 'mid some tempests' roar, Just as the waves that thunder on the strand Shape out and round the shore.

Then comes a day when institutions turn And carve the men, or cast them into moulds; One Era trembles while volcanoes burn, Another Age beholds

The hardened lava changed to hills and leas, With blooming glades and orchards intermixed, Vineyards which look abroad o'er purple seas, And deep foundations fixed.

So, when fell Chaos like a baleful Fate What we had won seemed bent to snatch away Sound thinkers rose who fashioned out the State As potters fashion clay.

XVI.

HEROES AND STATESMEN.

Of their great names I may record but few; He who beholds the Ocean white with sails And copies each confuses all the view, He paints too much—and fails.

His picture shows no high, emphatic light, Its shadows in full mass refuse to fall, And as its broken details meet the light Men turn it to the wall.

Of those great names but few may pass my lips, For he who speaks of Salamis then sees Not men who there commanded Grecian ships— But grand Themistocles!

Yet some I mark, and these discreetly take To grace my verse through duty and design, As one notes barks that leave the broadest wake Upon the stormy Brine.

These rise before me; and there Mason stands The Constitution-maker firm and bold, Like Bernal Diaz, planting with kind hands Fair trees to blaze in gold.

Amid the lofty group sedate, I see Great Franklin muse where Truth had locked her stores, Holding within his steady hand the key That opened many doors.

And Trumbull, strong as hammered steel of old, Stands boldly out in clear and high relief,— A blade unbending worth a hilt of gold,— He never failed his Chief.

Then Robert Morris glides into my Verse Turning the very stones at need to bread— Filling the young Republic's slender purse When Credit's self seemed dead.

Tylers I see—sprung from the sturdy Wat— A strong-armed rebel of an ancient date, With Falkland-Carys come, to draw the lot Cast in the helm of Fate.

And Marshall in his ermine white as snow, Wise, learned and profound Fame loves to draw, His noble function on the Bench to show That Reason is the Law.

His sword unbuckled and his brows unbent, The gallant Hamilton again appears, And in fair Freedom's mighty Parliament He marches with the Peers!

Henry is there beneath his civic crown; He speaks in words that thunder as they flow, And as he speaks his thunder-tones bring down An avalanche below!

Nor does John Adams in the picture lag, He was as bold, as resolute, and free, As is the eagle on a misty crag Above a stormy sea.

And 'mid his fellows in those days of need, Impassioned Jefferson burns like a sun, The New World's Prophet of the New World's Creed— Prophet and Priest in one!

These two together stood in our great past, When Independence flamed across the land; On Independence Day these two at last Departed hand in hand.

And they are taken by a patriot's mind As kindred types of our great Saxon stock, And that same thinker hopes some day to find Both statues in one block.[12]

But, here I number splendid names too fast, Heroes and Sages throng behind this group, And thick they come as came in Homer's past A Goddess and her troop;

And as that troop, 'mid frays and fell alarms, Swept, all a-glitter, on their mission bent, And bore from Vulcan the resplendent arms To great Achilles sent,

So came the names that light my pious Song— Came bearing Union forged in high debates— A sun-illuminated Shield, and strong, To guard these mighty States.

The Shield sent to the son of Peleus glowed With hammered wonders, all without a flaw; The Shield of Union in its splendor showed The Compromise of Law.

And as the Epic lifts a form sublime For all the Ages on its plinth of gold, So does our Story, challenging all time, Its crowning shape uphold!

[Footnote 12: This fine idea is borrowed from one of the addresses of Mr. Winthrop, the orator of the occasion.]

XVII.

PATER PATRAE.

Achilles came from Homer's Jove-like brain, Pavilioned 'mid his ships where Thetis trod; But he whose image dominates this plain Came from the hand of God!

Yet, of his life, which shall all time adorn I dare not sing; to try the theme would be To drink as 'twere that Scandinavian Horn Whose tip was in the Sea.

I bow my head and go upon my ways, Who tells that story can but gild the gold— Could I pile Alps on Apennines of praise The tale would not be told.

Not his the blade which lyric fables say Cleft Pyrenees from ridge to nether bed, But his the sword which cleared the Sacred Way For Freedom's feet to tread.

Not Caesar's genius nor Napoleon's skill Gave him proud mast'ry o'er the trembling earth; But great in honesty, and sense and will— He was the "man of worth."

He knew not North, nor South, nor West, nor East: Childless himself, Father of States he stood, Strong and sagacious as a Knight turned Priest, And vowed to deeds of good.

Compared with all Earth's heroes I may say He was, with even half his virtues hid, Greater in what his hand refrained than they Were great in what they did.

And thus his image dominates all time, Uplifted like the everlasting dome Which rises in a miracle sublime Above eternal Rome.

On Rome's once blooming plain where'er we stray That dome majestic rises on the view, Its Cross a-glow with every wandering ray That shines along the Blue.

So his vast image shadows all the lands, So holds forever Man's adoring eye, And o'er the Union which he left it stands Our Cross against the sky!

XVIII.

THE FLAG OF THE REPUBLIC.

My harp soon ceases; but I here allege Its strings are in my heart and tremble there: My Song's last strain shall be a claim and pledge— A claim, a pledge, a prayer!

I stand, as stood, in storied days of old, Vasco Balboa staring o'er bright seas When fair Pacific's tide of limpid gold Surged up against his knees.

For haughty Spain, her banner in his hand, He claimed a New World, sea, and plain, and crag— I claim the Future's Ocean for this land And here I plant her flag!

Float out, oh flag, from Freedom's burnished lance! Float out, oh flag, in Red, and White, and Blue! The Union's colors and the hues of France Commingled on the view!

Float out, oh flag, and all thy splendors wake! Float out, oh flag, above our Hero's bed! Float out, oh flag, and let thy blazon take New glories from the dead!

Float out, oh flag, o'er Freedom's noblest types! Float out, oh flag, all free of blot or stain! Float out, oh flag, the "Roses" in thy stripes Forever blent again!

Float out, oh flag, and float in every clime! Float out, oh flag, and blaze on every sea! Float out, oh flag, and float as long as Time And Space themselves shall be!

Float out, oh flag, o'er Freedom's onward march! Float out, oh flag, in Freedom's starry sheen! Float out, oh flag, above the Union's arch Where Washington is seen!

Float out, oh flag, above a smiling Land! Float out, oh flag, above a peaceful sod! Float out, oh flag, thy staff within the hand Beneficent of God!

XIX.

THE SOUTH IN THE UNION.

An ancient Chronicle has told That, in the famous days of old, In Antioch under ground The self-same lance was found— Unbitten by corrosive rust— The lance the Roman soldier thrust In CHRIST'S bare side upon the Tree; And that it brought A mighty spell To those who fought The Infidel And mighty victory.

And so this day To you I say— Speaking for millions of true Southern men— In words that have no undertow— I say, and say agen: Come weal, or woe, Should this Republic ever fight, By land, or sea, For present law, or ancient right The South will be As was that lance, Albeit not found Hid under ground But in the forefront of the first advance!

'Twill fly a pennon fair As ever kissed the air, On it, for every glance, Shall blaze majestic France Blent with our Hero's name In everlasting flame, And written, fair in gold, This legend on its fold: Give us back the ties of Yorktown! Perish all the modern hates! Let us stand together, brothers, In defiance of the Fates; FOR THE SAFETY OF THE UNION IS THE SAFETY OF THE STATES!