Part 19 (1/2)
Thomas Paine
[Ill.u.s.tration]
THE RISING IN 1776.[3]
Out of the North the wild news came, Far flas.h.i.+ng on its wings of flame, Swift as the boreal light which flies At midnight through the startled skies.
And there was tumult in the air, The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, And through the wide land everywhere The answering tread of hurrying feet; While the first oath of Freedom's gun, Came on the blast from Lexington; And Concord, roused, no longer tame, Forgot her old baptismal name, Made bare her patriot arm of power, And swelled the discord of the hour.
Within its shade of elm and oak The church of Berkeley Manor stood; There Sunday found the rural folk, And some esteemed of gentle blood.
In vain their feet with loitering tread Pa.s.sed 'mid the graves where rank is naught; All could not read the lesson taught In that republic of the dead.
How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk, The vale with peace and suns.h.i.+ne full Where all the happy people walk, Decked in their homespun flax and wool!
Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom; And every maid with simple art, Wears on her breast, like her own heart, A bud whose depths are all perfume; While every garment's gentle stir Is breathing rose and lavender.
The pastor came; his snowy locks Hallowed his brow of thought and care; And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks, He led into the house of prayer.
The pastor rose; the prayer was strong; The psalm was warrior David's song; The text, a few short words of might-- ”The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!”
He spoke of wrongs too long endured, Of sacred rights to be secured; Then from his patriot tongue of flame The startling words for Freedom came.
The stirring sentences he spake Compelled the heart to glow or quake, And, rising on his theme's broad wing, And grasping in his nervous hand The imaginary battle brand, In face of death he dared to fling Defiance to a tyrant king.
Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed In eloquence of att.i.tude, Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher; Then swept his kindling glance of fire From startled pew to breathless choir; When suddenly his mantle wide His hands impatient flung aside, And, lo! he met their wondering eyes Complete in all a warrior's guise.
A moment there was awful pause-- When Berkeley cried, ”Cease, traitor! cease!
G.o.d's temple is the house of peace!”
The other shouted, ”Nay, not so, When G.o.d is with our righteous cause; His holiest places then are ours, His temples are our forts and towers.
That frown upon the tyrant foe; In this, the dawn of Freedom's day, There is a time to fight and pray!”
And now before the open door-- The warrior priest had ordered so-- The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er, Its long reverberating blow, So loud and clear, it seemed the ear Of dusty death must wake and hear.
And there the startling drum and fife Fired the living with fiercer life; While overhead, with wild increase, Forgetting its ancient toll of peace, The great bell swung as ne'er before; It seemed as it would never cease; And every word its ardor flung From off its jubilant iron tongue Was, ”War! War! War!”
”Who dares?”--this was the patriot's cry, As striding from the desk he came-- ”Come out with me, in Freedom's name, For her to live, for her to die?”
A hundred hands flung up reply, A hundred voices answered, ”I!”
Thomas Buchanan Read
AMERICA[4]
Foreseen in the vision of sages, Foretold when martyrs bled, She was born of the longing of ages, By the truth of the n.o.ble dead And the faith of the living fed!
No blood in her lightest veins Frets at remembered chains, Nor shame of bondage has bowed her head.
In her form and features still The unblenching Puritan will, Cavalier honor, Huguenot grace, The Quaker truth and sweetness, And the strength of the danger-girdled race Of Holland, blend in a proud completeness.
From the homes of all, where her being began, She took what she gave to Man; Justice, that knew no station, Belief, as soul decreed, Free air for aspiration, Free force for independent deed!