Kitabı oku: «Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving, with Other Ballads and Poems», sayfa 6

SONG OF THE CROAKER.¹

 
     An old frog lived in a dismal swamp,
       In a dismal kind of way;
     And all that he did, whatever befell,
       Was to croak the livelong day.
     Croak, croak, croak,
       When darkness filled the air,
     And croak, croak, croak,
       When the skies were bright and fair.
 
 
     "Good Master Frog, a battle is fought,
       And the foeman's power is broke."
     But he only turned a greener hue,
       And answered with a croak.
     Croak, croak, croak,
       When the clouds are dark and dun,
     And croak, croak, croak,
       In the blaze of the noontide sun.
 
 
     "Good Master Frog, the forces of right
       Are driving the hosts of wrong."
     But he gave his head an ominous shake,
       And croaked out, "Nous verrons!"
     Croak, croak, croak,
       Till the heart is full of gloom,
     And croak, croak, croak,
       Till the world seems but a tomb.
 
 
     To poison the cup of life,
       By always dreading the worst.
     Is to make of the earth a dungeon damp,
       And the happiest life accursed.
     Croak, croak, croak,
       When the noontide sun rides high,
     And croak, croak, croak,
       Lest the night come by and by.
 
 
     Farewell to the dismal frog;
       Let him croak as loud as he may,
     He cannot blot the sun from heaven,
       Nor hinder the march of day,
     Though he croak, croak, croak,
       Till the heart is full of gloom,
     And croak, croak, croak,
       Till the world seems but a tomb.
 

KING COTTON

 
     KING COTTON looks from his window
       Towards the westering sun,
     And he marks, with an anguished horror,
       That his race is almost run.
 
 
     His form is thin and shrunken;
       His cheek is pale and wan;
     And the lines of care on his furrowed brow
       Are dread to look upon.
 
 
     But yesterday a monarch,
       In the flush of his pomp and pride,
     And, not content with his own broad lands,
       He would rule the world beside.
 
 
     He built him a stately palace,
       With gold from beyond the sea;
     And he laid with care the corner-stone,
       And he called it Slavery:
 
 
     He summoned an army with banners,
       To keep his foes at bay;
     And, gazing with pride on his palace walls,
       He said, "They will stand for aye!"
 
 
     But the palace walls are shrunken,
       And partly overthrown,
     And the storms of war, in their violence,
       Have loosened the corner-stone.
 
 
     Now Famine stalks through the palace halls,
       With her gaunt and pallid train;
     You can hear the cries of famished men,
       As they cry for bread in vain.
 
 
     The king can see, from his palace walls.
       A land by his pride betrayed;
     Thousands of mothers and wives bereft.
       Thousands of graves new-made.
 
 
     And he seems to see, in the lowering sky,
       The shape of a flaming sword;
     Whereon he reads, with a sinking heart,
       The anger of the Lord.
 
 
     God speed the time when the guilty king
       Shall be hurled from his blood-stained throne;
     And the palace of Wrong shall crumble to dust,
       With its boasted corner-stone.
 
 
     A temple of Freedom shall rise instead,
       On the desecrated site:
     And within its shelter alike shall stand
       The black man and the white.
 

OUT OF EGYPT

 
     To Egypt's king, who ruled beside
       The reedy river's flow,
     Came God's command, "Release, O king,
       And let my people go."
 
 
     The king's proud heart grew hard apace;
       He marked the suppliant throng,
     And said, "Nay, they must here abide;
       The weak must serve the strong."
 
 
     Straightway the Lord stretched forth his hand,
       And every stream ran blood;
     The river swept towards the sea—
       A full ensanguined flood.
 
 
     The haughty king beheld the land,
       By plagues afflicted sore,
     But, as God's wonders multiplied,
       Hardened his heart the more;
 
 
     Until the angel of the Lord
       Came on the wings of Night,
     And smote first-born of man and beast,
       In his destructive flight.
 
 
     Throughout all Egypt, not a house
       Was spared this crowning woe.
     Then broke the tyrant's stubborn will;
       He bade the people go.
 
 
     They gathered up their flocks and herds,
       Rejoicing to be free;
     And, going forth, a mighty host,
       Encamped beside the sea.
 
 
     Then Pharaoh's heart repented him;
       He called a mighty force,
     And swiftly followed on their track,
       With chariot and with horse.
 
 
     Then Israel's host were sore afraid;
       But God was on their side,
     And, lo! for them a way is cleft,
       The Red-sea waves divide.
 
 
     At God's command the restless waves
       Obey the prophet's rod;
     And, through the middle of the sea,
       The people marched dry-shod.
 
 
     But, when the spoilers, following close,
       Would hinder Israel's flight,
     The waters to their course return,
       The parted waves unite,
 
 
     And Pharaoh's host is swept away,
       The chariots and the horse;
     And not a man is left alive
       Of all that mighty force.
 
 
     So in these days God looks from heaven,
       And marks his servants' woe;
     Hear ye his voice: "Break every yoke,
       And let my people go!"
 
 
     For them the Red-sea waves divide,
       The streams with crimson flow;
     Therefore we mourn for our first-born;—
       Then let the people go.
 
 
     They are not weak whom God befriends,
       He makes their cause His own;
     And they who fight against God's might
       Shall surely be o'erthrown.
 

THE PRICE OF VICTORY

 
     "A VICTORY!—a victory!"
       Is flashed across the wires;
     Speed, speed the news from State to State,
       Light up the signal fires!
     Let all the bells from all the towers
       A joyous peal ring out;
     We've gained a glorious victory,
       And put the foe to rout!
 
 
     A mother heard the chiming bells;
       Her joy was mixed with pain.
     "Pray God," she said, "my gallant boy
       Be not among the slain!"
     Alas for her! that very hour
       Outstretched in death he lay,
     The color from his fair, young face
       Had scarcely passed away.
 
 
     His nerveless hand still grasped the sword.
       He never more might wield,
     His eyes were sealed in dreamless sleep
       Upon that bloody field.
     The chestnut curls his mother oft
       Had stroked in fondest pride,
     Neglected hung in clotted locks,
       With deepest crimson dyed.
 
 
     Ah! many a mother's heart shall ache,
       And bleed with anguish sore,
     When tidings come of him who marched
       So blithely forth to war.
     Oh! sad for them, the stricken down
       In manhood's early dawn,
     And sadder yet for loving hearts.
       God comfort them that mourn!
 
 
     Yes, victory has a fearful price
       Our hearts may shrink to pay,
     And tears will mingle with the joy
       That greets a glorious day.
     But he who dies in freedom's cause,
       We cannot count him lost;
     A battle won for truth and right
       Is worth the blood it cost!
 
 
     O mothers! count it something gained
       That they, for whom you mourn,
     Bequeath fair Freedom's heritage
       To millions yet unborn;—
     And better than a thousand years
       Of base, ignoble breath,
     A patriot's fragrant memory,
       A hero's early death!
 

HARVARD ODES

     (SUNG AT ANNUAL DINNERS OF THE HARVARD CLUB OF New York. NEW YORK.)

     HARVARD ODES

     I

     (Feb. 23, 1869.)

 
     Fair Harvard, dear guide of our youth's golden days;
       At thy name all our hearts own a thrill,
     We turn from life's highways, its business, its cares,
       We are boys in thy tutelage still.
     And the warm blood of youth to our veins, as of yore,
       Returns with impetuous flow,
     Reviving the scenes and the hopes that were ours
       In the vanished, but sweet Long Ago.
 
 
     Once more through thy walks, Alma Mater, we tread,
       And we dream youth's fair dreams once again,
     We are heroes in fight for the Just and the Right,
       We are knights without fear, without stain;
     Its doors in fair prospect the world opens wide,
       Its prizes seem easy to win,—
     We are strong in our faith, we are bold in our might,
       And we long for the race to begin.
 
 
     Though dimmed are our hopes, and our visions are fled,
       Our dreams were but dreams, it is true;
     Dust-stained from the contest we gather to-night,
       The sweet dreams of youth to renew.
     Enough for to-morrow the cares it shall bring,
       We are boys, we are brothers, to-night;
     And our hearts, warm with love, Alma Mater, to thee,
       Shall in loyal devotion unite.
 

     II

     (Feb. 11, 1870.)

 
     As we meet in thy name, Alma Mater, to-night,
       All our hearts and our hopes are as one,
     And love for the mother that nurtured his youth
       Beats high in the breast of each son.
     The sweet chords of Memory bridge o'er the Past,
       The years fade away like a dream,
     By the banks of Cephissus, beneath the green trees,
       We tread thy fair walks, Academe.
 
 
     The heights of Hymettus that bound the near view
       Fill the air with an odor as sweet
     As the beautiful clusters of sun-tinted grapes
       From the vineyards that lie at our feet.
     O realm of enchantment, O Wonderful land,
       Where the gods hold high converse with men,
     Come out from the dusk of past ages once more,
       And live in our fancy again.
 
 
     Let us drink to the Past as our glasses we lift,
       Let eye speak to eye, heart to heart,
     Let the bonds of sweet fellowship bind each to each,
       In the hours that remain ere we part.
     And thou, Alma Mater, grown fairer with age,
       Let us echo the blessing that fell
     From thy motherly lips, as we stood at thy side,
       And thou bad'st us God-speed and Farewell.
 

     III

     (Feb. 21, 1872.)

 
     Fair Harvard, the months have accomplished their round
       And a year stands full-orbed and complete,
     Since last at thy summons, with dutiful hearts,
       Thy children sat here at thy feet.
     Since last in thy presence, grown youthful once more,
       We drank to the past and its joys,
     Shaking off every care that encumbered our years,
       And dreamed that again we were boys.
 
 
     To-night once again in thy presence we meet
       In the freshness and flush of life's spring;
     We wait but thy blessing, we ask but thy smile,
       As our sails to the free air we fling.
     The winds breathe auspicious that waft us along,
       The sky, undisturbed, smiles serene,
     Hope stands at the prow, and the waters gleam bright
       With sparkles of silvery sheen.
 
 
     And thy voice, Alma Mater, so potent and sweet,
       Still sounds in our ears as of yore,
     And thy motherly counsel we hear, wisdom-fraught,
       As we push our frail barks from the shore.
     From the foam-crested waves of the mountainous sea
       As backward our glances we strain,
     We see the dear face of our mother benign,
       And bless her again and again.
 

     IV

     (Feb. 21, 1873.)

 
     There's a fountain of Fable whose magical power
       Time's ravages all could repair,
     And replace the bowed form and the tottering step,
       The wrinkles and silvery hair,
     By the brown flowing locks and the graces of youth,
       Its footstep elastic and light,
     Could mantle the cheek with its long-vanished bloom
       And make the dull eye keen and bright.
 
 
     'Tis only a fable—a beautiful dream,
       But the fable, the dream, shall come true,
     As thy sons, Alma Mater, assemble to-night
       The joys of past years to renew.
     Our eyes shall grow bright with their old wonted light,
       Our spirits untrammelled by care,
     And the Goddess of Hope, with her fresh rainbow tints,
       Shall paint every prospect more fair.
 
 
     How sweet were the friendships we formed in thy halls!
       How strong were the tendrils that bound
     Our hearts to the mother whose provident care
       Encompassed her children around!
     Now strong in our manhood we cherish her still;