There is many a brave heart here, mother, Dying of want and cold, While only across the Channel, mother, Are many that roll in gold; There are rich and proud men there, mother, With wondrous wealth to view, And the bread they fling to their dogs to-night Come nearer to my side, mother, My father when he died; My breath is almost gone; MISS EDWARDS. WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE? WHAT constitutes a state? Not high-raised battlement or labored mound, Thick wall or moated gate; Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned; Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; No-men, high-minded men, With powers as far above dull brutes endued As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude, But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain, Prevent the long-aimed blow, And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain; And sovereign law, that state's collected will, Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill. The fiend, Dissension, like a vapor sinks; And e'en the all-dazzling crown Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks; Such was this heaven-loved isle, Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore ! No more shall freedom smile? Shall Britons languish, and be men no more? Since all must life resign, Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave 'T is folly to decline, And steal inglorious to the silent grave. SIR WILLIAM JONES. CARACTACUS. BEFORE proud Rome's imperial throne As if the triumph were his own, The dauntless captive stood. None, to have seen his freeborn air, Had fancied him a captive there. Though through the crowded streets of Rome, With slow and stately tread, Far from his own loved island home, That day in triumph led, Unbound his head, unbent his knee, A free and fearless glance he cast And now he stood, with brow serene, Claiming, with kindled brow and cheek, Nor could Rome's haughty lord withstand The suppliant should be heard, Deep stillness fell on all the crowd, "Think not, thou eagle Lord of Rome, I would address thee as thy slave, THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FA- And all are slaves beside. There 's not a chain THERS IN NEW ENGLAND. THE breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the heavy night hung dark When a band of exiles moored their bark That hellish foes confederate for his harm Of nature; and though poor, perhaps, compared Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, No nook so narrow but he spreads them there SLAVERY. WILLIAM COWPER. FROM "THE TIMEPIECE.' O FOR a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more! My ear is pained, My soul is sick, with every day's report Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled. There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart; It does not feel for man; the natural bond Of brotherhood is severed as the flax, That falls asunder at the touch of fire. He finds his fellow guilty of a skin Not colored like his own, and, having power To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. Lands intersected by a narrow frith Abhor each other. Mountains interposed Make enemies of nations, who had else Like kindred drops been mingled into one. I had much rather be myself the slave, And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. WILLIAM COWPER. BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. MINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword. His truth is marching on. I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps. His day is marching on. I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel: "As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal; Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on." |