VIII We sit here in the Promised Land That flows with Freedom's honey and milk; But 't was they won it, sword in hand, Making the nettle danger soft for us as silk. We welcome back our bravest and our best; Ah me! not all! some come not with the rest, Who went forth brave and bright as any here! I strive to mix some gladness with my strain, But the sad strings complain, 240 I sweep them for a pæan, but they wane Into a dirge, and die away, in pain. Dark to the triumph which they died to gain: Fitlier may others greet the living, I with uncovered head Salute the sacred dead, 250 Who went, and who return not. Say not so! Yea, Manhood hath a wider span And larger privilege of life than man. The single deed, the private sacrifice, So radiant now through proudly-hidden tears, Is covered up erelong from mortal eyes With thoughtless drift of the deciduous years; But that high privilege that makes all men peers, That leap of heart whereby a people rise Up to a noble anger's height, And, flamed on by the Fates, not shrink, but grow more bright, That swift validity in noble veins, 320 Of choosing danger and disdaining shame, Of being set on flame By the pure fire that flies all contact base But wraps its chosen with angelic might, These are imperishable gains, Sure as the sun, medicinal as light, These hold great futures in their lusty reins XI Not in anger, not in pride, But with far-heard gratitude, The strain should close that consecrates our brave. Lift the heart and lift the head! Lofty be its mood and grave, 360 Not without a prouder tread And a peal of exultation: Little right has he to sing Through whose heart in such an hour Beats no march of conscious power, Sweeps no tumult of elation! 'T is no Man we celebrate, By his country's victories great, A hero half, and half the whim of Fate, But the pith and marrow of a Nation Drawing force from all her men, Highest, humblest, weakest, all, For her time of need, and then Pulsing it again through them, Till the basest can no longer cower, Feeling his soul spring up divinely tall, Touched but in passing by her mantlehem. 370 Come back, then, noble pride, for 't is her dower! How could poet ever tower, If his passions, hopes, and fears, If his triumphs and his tears, Kept not measure with his people? 380 Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves! Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple! Banners, advance with triumph, bend your staves! And from every mountain-peak Let beacon-fire to answering beacon speak, Katahdin tell Monadnock, Whiteface And so leap on in light from sea to sea, 390 "Be proud! for she is saved, and all have helped to save her! She that lifts up the manhood of the poor, She of the open soul and open door, Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release! Thy God, in these distempered days, And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace! Bow down in prayer and praise! 410 No poorest in thy borders but may now Lift to the juster skies a man's enfranchised brow. O Beautiful! my country! ours once more! Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled hair O'er such sweet brows as never other wore, And letting thy set lips, Freed from wrath's pale eclipse, The rosy edges of their smile lay bare, What words divine of lover or of poet Could tell our love and make thee know it, 421 Among the Nations bright beyond com- The Atlantic Monthly, Sept.. 1865. POEMS OF THE CIVIL WAR (1861-1865) (Under this heading are included representative verse which would not otherwise have appeared in this volume. A full list of the poems of the War printed in the index, includes also contributions on this fruitful theme from Bryant, Whittier, Lowell, Timrod, Hayne, Longfellow, Holmes, Lanier, and Whitman.) Came homeward in the morning-to find his house burned down. Then he grasped his trusty rifle and boldly fought for freedom; Smote from border unto border the fierce, invading band; And he and his brave boys vowed-so might Heaven help and speed 'em!— They would save those grand old prairies from the curse that blights the land; II And Old Brown, Osawatomie Brown, Said, "Boys, the Lord will aid us!" and he shoved his ramrod down. And the Lord did aid these men, and they labored day and even, Saving Kansas from its peril; and their very lives seemed charmed, Till the ruffians killed one son, in the blessed light of Heaven, In cold blood the fellows slew him, as he journeyed all unarmed; Then Old Brown, Osawatomie Brown, Shed not a tear, but shut his teeth, and frowned a terrible frown! 20 1 Printed without signature, under the title "John Brown's Invasion." Emerson, who is said to have often enjoyed reading this aloud to his family, included it in his volume of selections, "Parnassus." |