XI

Not in anger, not in pride,

Pure from passion's mixture rude
Ever to base earth allied,

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.
Lift the heart and lift the head!

Lofty be its mood and grave,
Not without a martial ring,
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 mantle-hem.
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?

COMMEMORATION ODE

Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves!
Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple!
Banners, a-dance with triumph, bend your staves!
And from every mountain-peak

Let beacon-fire to answering beacon speak,
Katahdin tell Monadnock, Whiteface he,
And so leap on in light from sea to sea,
Till the glad news be sent

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!
The fire is dreadful in her eyes no more;
From her bold front the helm she doth unbind,
Sends all her handmaid armies back to spin,
And bids her navies, that so lately hurled
Their crashing battle, hold their thunders in,
Swimming like birds of calm along the unharmful
shore.

No challenge sends she to the elder world,

That looked askance and hated; a light scorn
Plays o'er her mouth, as round her mighty knees
She calls her children back, and waits the morn
Of nobler day, enthroned between her subject seas."

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
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,
Among the Nations bright beyond compare?
What were our lives without thee?
What all our lives to save thee?
We reck not what we gave thee;

We will not dare to doubt thee,
But ask whatever else, and we will dare!

James Russell Lowell.

AUSPEX

My heart, I cannot still it,
Nest that had song-birds in it;
And when the last shall go,

The dreary days to fill it,
Instead of lark or linnet,

Shall whirl dead leaves and snow.

Had they been swallows only,
Without the passion stronger
That skyward longs and sings, —
Woe's me, I shall be lonely

SONG

When I can feel no longer

The impatience of their wings!

A moment, sweet delusion,
Like birds the brown leaves hover;
But it will not be long

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,
When morning beams first spring,
And I, like thee, would swiftly run;
As sweetly would I sing.

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,
And pearlest all the ground,

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
To waken in the sky.

O clouds, ye little tender sheep,

Pastured in fields of blue,

While moon and stars your fold can keep
And gently shepherd you,

Let me, too, follow in the train
That flocks across the night,

Or lingers on the open plain
With new-shorn fleeces white.

O singing winds, that wander far,
Yet always seem at home,

And freely play 'twixt star and star
Along the bending dome,

I often listen to your song,

Yet never hear you say

One word of all the happy worlds
That sing so far away.

For they are free, ye all are free,
And bird, and dew, and light,

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;
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit round by round.