XI Not in anger, not in pride, Pure from passion's mixture rude But with far-heard gratitude, Still with heart and voice renewed, To heroes living and dear martyrs dead, The strain should close that consecrates our brave. Lofty be its mood and grave, Through whose heart in such an hour '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 Till the basest can no longer cower, Feeling his soul spring up divinely tall, Touched but in passing by her mantle-hem. If his passions, hopes, and fears, Kept not measure with his people? COMMEMORATION ODE Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves! Let beacon-fire to answering beacon speak, Across a kindling continent, 81 Making earth feel more firm and air breathe braver: "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, With room about her hearth for all mankind! No challenge sends she to the elder world, That looked askance and hated; a light scorn XII Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release! Thy God, in these distempered days, Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways, And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace! Bow down in prayer and praise! No poorest in thy borders but may now Freed from wrath's pale eclipse, The rosy edges of their smile lay bare, We will not dare to doubt thee, James Russell Lowell. AUSPEX My heart, I cannot still it, The dreary days to fill it, Shall whirl dead leaves and snow. Had they been swallows only, SONG When I can feel no longer The impatience of their wings! A moment, sweet delusion, Before their wild confusion Fall wavering down to cover The poet and his song. 83 James Russell Lowell. SONG O BIRD, thou dartest to the sun, Thy burning heart doth draw thee up Unto the source of fire; Thou drinkest from its glowing cup And quenchest thy desire. O dew, thou droppest soft below, Yet, when the morning comes, I know Thou never canst be found. I would like thine had been my birth; Then I, without a sigh, Might sleep the night through on the earth O clouds, ye little tender sheep, Pastured in fields of blue, While moon and stars your fold can keep Let me, too, follow in the train Or lingers on the open plain O singing winds, that wander far, And freely play 'twixt star and star I often listen to your song, Yet never hear you say One word of all the happy worlds For they are free, ye all are free, Can dart upon the azure sea And leave me to my night; Oh, would like theirs had been my birth, Then I, without a sigh, Might sleep this night through on the earth To waken in the sky. Maria White Lowell. GRADATIM HEAVEN is not reached at a single bound; |