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THE EXILE'S LAY
PART
THIRD
Land of the Pilgrims! Home
for the oppress'd !
City of refuge!
Of blasting tyrany in every
form.
Where thy proud, graceful
standard is unfurled,
Thine arms are open to a
groaning world.
Thy endless prairies tempt
the plough and yoke;
Thy giant trees invite the
woodman's stroke.
From the St.Croix unto the
Rio Grande,
Atlantic doth more gently
kiss the strand,
And seem to roll with more
majestic pride,
While floating exiles
anchor on her tide.
Thy streams to meet them
run with smiling face,
In token of a welcome and
embrace.
To thy broad valleys,
stretching out sublime,
We come from every land,
from every clime:
Norwegians from their snowy
hills arise;
Italians leave their purple
glowing skies;
The Swiss boy quits his
dashing mountain streams,
Whose home with wond'rous
Alpine scenery teems.
The Spanish, and the
French, desert their vine;
And Dutch, and German,
cease to tend their kine:
The Irish start with many a
rending wail,
And Britons sigh, for many
an emerald vale.
No scenes, or skies,
however fair they be,
Nor love of home, nor
dangers of the sea,
Nor Briton"s pride,
nor climate e'er so blest,
Is proof against the
loadstone of the west.
From where society is out
of joint,
Where fate and fortune many
disappoint,
Where pure ambition swells
the breast in vain,
There in a dormant slumber
to remain,
Stifled by sighs, or
quenched with tears its doom,
Child of the heart, the
heart becomes its tomb!
Where blind aristocrats
believe they must
Usurp each place of honor,
power, and trust;
And humble worth, may to
the moon complain,
While gold, and brass,
supply the place of brain;
From where the favorites of
fortune flout,
By fate and circumstances
crouded out;-
Wishing for energies a
broader scope,-
To realize some early,
favorite hope;
We come to join the happy
and the free,
To taste the fruits of real
Liberty.
May no adopted citizen be
slack,
In echoing songs of sacred
Freedom back;
Making the Old World
feel, the New World see,
That we fulfil a righteous
destiny.
But if our fancy roam by
native streams,
Or sometimes visit them in
harmless dreams;-
Or if we drop a tributary
tear,
For parted friends, and
relatives still dear,
Ah! who can blame a
weakness all confess,
While we love not our new
found homes the less.
Thou country vast! O, with
what glories fraught!
What bounteous Nature and
thy sons have wrought!
Who can but see, the
Architect Divine
Hath beauty stamped, or
grandeur in each line!
Whether we view thy ancient
forests dim,
Or inland seas, o'er which
thy eagles skim;-
The rugged sides of Rocky
Mountains climb,
(Creeping o'er footsteps of
old Father Time;)
Where soaring Condor likes
to build his nest,
And snowy clouds their
weary pinions rest:
Whether among thy towering
cliffs one toils,
Above where Neptune's Ocean
cauldron boils!
Upon some bluff with an
astonished eye,
See giant Mississippi
striding by!-
Or view Niag'ra's waters
angry grow,
And madly leap into the
gulph below;
Making the strongest nerv'd
grow dumb with awe,
And feel himself an atom or
a straw!
(Dread Falls! Nature me
thinks took pains with you,
To show the insect man what
she could do!)
Or stand, where gushing
mountain torrents dash,
And gaily skip, and in the
sunlight flash;-
Stray where gay, native
flowers do sweetly bloom,
And load the air around
with sweet perfume;-
Or see at night the
glittering fire-flies glance,
Like fairies' sparkling
eyes in midnight dance ;
Or rove at sunset's holy
hour, and gaze
Where some deep river
smoothly, slowly strays,
Reflecting hues the Western
skies unfold,
That seem to change it to a
stream of gold!
Or be where zephyrs, like a
living thing,
Wave the tall prairie grass
with passing wing,
Graceful, and free from
each unwelcome sound,
As tho' a band of Angels
hovered round:-
Or steal along where gems
of liquid glass,
Deep in the woods are set,
and fringed with grass;
Where sweetly sheltered,
peacefully they rest,
Nor rudest gale scarce
heaves their tranquil breast:- .
They woo with modest beauty
like a bride,
And tempted wild swans
cleave their liquid tide;
E'en savage breasts must yield
the tribute, due
To thy sublimity and beauty
too!
By thy bold sons' undaunted
enterprise,
What rapid monuments of
glory rise:-
What various proofs of
industry and skill,
Are seen around, on vale,
and plain, and hill.
The forest wild, as if by
wizard wand,
Recedes apace before their
powerful hand.
Where quick-eared, timid
deer once cautious walk'd,
And broad-horned moose
aforetime proudly stalk'd;
Where the black sullen bear
hath nightly prowled,
The owlet screamed, and
hungry wolves have howled;-
Where wigwams stood, on
slopes by rolling waters;
Where toiled, and wept,
rude Nature's dark-eyed daughters;
Where painted Indian aimed
his arrow well,
Hunted, or bravely fought,
and nobly fell:
Protecting ashes of his
kindred dead,
From the profanity of white
man's tread,
Before whose haughty march
did scorn to flinch,
The right of soil disputing
inch by inch:
And where their dance and
council-fires were seen,
Now waves the grain, and
smiled the living green:
There, cottage homes are
seen, with cultured flowers,
Or mansions fair, with
lovely pleasure bowers;
Or cities rise, with
steeples, turrets, domes,
Where thousands dwell in
"brick and mortar" homes:-
Sage Learning strays with
meditative Art,
And anxious thousands crowd
the busy mart
Or flocks of sheep and
cattle safely feed,
And hastes on demon wing
the "iron steed,"
With scorching breath and
firy glaring eyes,
Like Satan racing, and a
Pope the prize;
And like him too, it does
not always win:
In leaping streams, it
sometimes tumbles in.
Or distant friends converse
with talking wire,
As though both sat down by
one chimney fire;
Or news is borne o'er
mountains, plains, and vales,
With speed more wonderful
than eastern tales;
Which to believe one's
faith doth surely tax,
That news "out
west" is published neat as wax,
Three hours before 'tis
sent from Halifax!
Where Red man skimmed with
fragile birch canoe,
O'er streams, and lakes,
and Ocean's deeper blue;
Now ships do ply and
distant products bring,
And steamers fly with
monstrous dipping wing;
Their clippers clip it o'er
the wave indeed,
And beat the world in
beauty and in speed;
Their steamers skim along
with conscious pride,
As on the deep those
palaces do ride:
And cataracts, that echo
far away,
Robed in their glowing,
rainbow-colored spray,
By night alone the vales
with music fill,
And wondering list by day,
to noisy mill.
The last of tbe poor
Indians will have fled,
Their nation's funeral
rites alas be said;
And the last echo of their
voice, where they
Once happy flourished, will
have died away,
And nought be left but
their transmitted name,
And volumes vast of
legendary fame:
Poor Afric's bitter tears
and dripping blood,
Will all be washed by
Freedom's ocean flood;
The whip with clotted gore
and clanking chain,
Will broken be, and never
used again.
Long centuries will unfold
their unknown pages,
(With changes vast,) till
they amount to ages,
Before thy countless acres
will be tilled,
Before thy endless vallies
will be filled:
Where a mild sway thy
scattered millions own,
Between the Frigid and tbe
Torrid zone:
Where east and west thou
stretchest far away,
Unbounded art thou, save by
Ocean's sway;
Where the Atlantic's trade
and commerce ride,
And smooth Pacific heaves
her gentle tide.
I glory in thy strength and
spirit high,
That did a monarch's giant
strength defy;
When tyrant parent wronged
her well-grown child,
Who e'er was loyal 'neath
her treatment mild:
Who at Quebec, with filial
foot and gory,
Stood by her side, and
added to her glory!
When thou with growing
strength to aid her went,
To sweep Gaul's Empire from
the Continent!
Before thy brief minority
had passed,
A storm was gathering o'er
thee, black and fast;
But thou didst stand by
wrongs stung into rage,
And unscathed British Lion
didst engage!
After full many a struggle
with thy foe,
Thy fortune's tide oft
ebbing too and fro,
King of the forest crouched
to thee full low!
Then Europe took new
courage, Freedom smiled,
And gazed with rapture on
her new-born child!
Harsh were the sounds that ushered
in its birth:
Artillery's roar, that
shook the trembling earth,
The crack of musketry, and
clang of arms!
While cannon's flash,
revealed the infant's charms!
Above its head, thy
conquering eagle soared,
Delighted eyes the glorious
form adored:
Around keen-edged,
triumphant swords, were gleaming,
And in the breeze,
victorious standards streaming!
The pall of battle-smoke
soon clear'd away:
Again the sun shot out its
cheerful ray;
A strain went echoing far
upon the blast:
"Our shrouded stormy
sky, is clear at last;
"The bays from tyrant
mother's brow are torn,
"And by victorious
injured sons are worn:
"And Liberty, fair
child, at last is born!
"Now wounded Despotism
bleeds and groans,
"And for his wrongs,
with agony atones:
"Our glorious Leader,
tribute due shall have,
"Hail! Washington! the
champion of the brave!
"The task assigned
thee, thou hast nobly done,
"With deeds immortal,
thou our rights hast won;
"You braved a tyrant
foe's colossal strength,
"And more than e'er we
asked, is ours at length;
"You snapped a mighty
chain, our country's fetter,
"And the whole world
must ever be thy debtor!
"Rejoice ye hills, and
vales, and plains around;
"Ye cloud-capped
mountains! echo back the sound!
"Ride on in triumph
now each perfumed breeze,
"And sweetly kiss,
more graceful waving trees;
"Dance on in glee each
crystal flowing stream,
"For 'rights of man'
are now no more a dream.
"Ye mighty rivers!
roll along in pride!
"To meet old conscious
Ocean's swelling tide!
"Look down,
resplendent sun! and smile to see,
"Your rays illume
homes of the brave and free!
"But oh! ye
light-winged evening zephyrs, sigh,
"You've passed above
where martyr'd patriots lie;
"Ye drooping willows
weep, your branches wave
"O'er gallant hearts,
who've found a soldier's grave!
"Moan through the
groves, each nightly passing gale,
"In sympathy with
wives' and orphans' wail!"
What volumes would it fill,
to tell the story
Of all thy ills from open
foe and Tory:
From time when flashing
torch of war was lit,
Until its horrid glaring
ceased to flit:
While idle plough-shares
rusted in the field,
And vales, and hills did
not their tribute yield;
While many a hearth, with
bitter tears were wet,
And many a sigh was heaved,
of deep regret
For husbands, fathers,
sons, and lovers, slain,
or struggling were, on
crimson battle-plain!
Ah! little recked old
George the royal foe,
His deeds of desolation
blood and woe!
Forgot how royalty at home,
once slunk away
Before the injured people's
iron sway; .
Forgot that Puritans were fiery
veined,
Forgot the block, his
predecessor stained!
But slept, and dreamed,
that since stern Cromwell died,
Freedom had been a constant
ebbing tide;
Nor Bunker Hill, nor
Saratoga's stroke,
The fatal slumber of the
monarch broke.
When Yorktown's thunder
o'er the ocean crossed;
And he awoke, a Continent
was lost! .
On western shores, the
people's Reign begun,
When he awoke a Continent
was won!
By thy solemn forest
aisles,
Where the wood nymph
sweetly smiles;
Lakes, gay mirrors of the
skies,
Where the wild fowl floats
and flies;
Majesty of mountain's
height,
Where the eagles point
their flight;
Praries (with their forest
strand,)
Like a sea turned into
land,
By Omnipotent command!
Beauty of thy vales and
dells,
Music of thy sleighing
bells:
Ringing merry, sweet, and
wild,
Like the laughter of a
child;
Singing, witty
mocking-bird,
Catching every sound that's
heard;
Bob-o-link with plumage
gay;
Voice of thrush at dawn of
day;
Evening dance of fiery
flies:
By thy clear and sunny
skies.
Mighty rivers rolling
waters,
And thy fair and cultur'd
daughters,-
Who in beauty will compare,
With their sex, aye, any
where;
By each educated son,
Who doth stoop nor cringe
to none;
By their courage, and their
daring,
For no dangers ever caring;
And their quick inventive
skill,
Boundless enterprising
will;
By the welcome hand you
lift,
To the exiles, who here
drift,
O'er the waters, o'er the
sea,
To where Freedom smiles on
thee;
Where they (as all ought
to) can,
Feel the dignity of man!
Where no titled nabobs
swell,
And no humble
"subjects" dwell;
Where each son is born true
heir,
To the Presidential chair:
A more honorable throne,
Than those Kings and
Emp'rors own!
For 'tis always filled with
ref'rence
To thy judging people's
pref'rence;
And its occupant must be,
Man of good ability;
While in Monarchies, a
throne
Falls by chance to some
dull drone;
And his people kneel down
flat,
Thanking God for one at
that:
By thy schools to each one
free,
Nurseries of Liberty;
And thy generous bounteous
store,
Thou dispensest to the
poor;
By thy Freedom's beacon
light!
May it shine forth ever
bright,
And its clear and glorious
ray,
Be reflected far away:
By each church with
graceful spire,
Pointing to a country
higher.
By the glorious glittering
page,
Of thy brief historic age:
Rapid course of onward
flight,
And thy honors won in
fight,
Twice with kindred-blooded
foe,
And on plains of Mexico.
By a name thou hast
unrolled,
Written down in type of
gold;
Stainless matchless,
WASHINGTON!
And the wonders by him
done:
Soldier! Sage! and Patriot!
Beauty he from chaos
wrought:
Freedom's standard he
unfurled,
Fought, and won the Western
world:
Who can weave a garland
now?
Worthy of such noble brow?
Nature's model! Nature's
King!
Who can worthy tribute
bring?
Hero of the star and
stripe!
Where, ah, where’s thy
prototype?
If thou hast a mate
sublime,
He is in the womb of Time!
By his generals, brave and
true,
Wayne, and Knox, and others
who
Green remain in mem'ry yet,
And none more than
Lafayette.
By more recent heroes' fame
Harrison's, and Jackson's
name,
Glorious battles Taylor
fought,
Fame of scientific Scott:
By thy naval hero's bays,
Won by deeds beyond all
praise:
Only deeds that ever broke,
Th' charmed spell round
English oak!
Youthful Perry on the
lakes,
Doing all he undertakes;
Spite of foes, valliant and
daring,
Spite of fate the victory
bearing;
Hull and Bainbridge on the
sea,
And McDonough's victory;
Chivalrous Decatur's grave,
None more true, and none
more brave.
Lawrence with his dying
lip,
Shouting, “Dont give up
the ship!”
By thy living poets, who
Have a noble task to do:
I sing thy deeds with
native lyre,
Touch Columbia's heart of
fire:
By thy Bryant's swelling
song,
Sounding sweet, and echoing
long;
Cool Longfellow's sparkling
glow,
Rich as diamonds on the
snow;
Whittier good, and Willis
gay,
Witty Holme's and Saxe's
lay;
Sweet and christian
Sigourney,
Honor to her sex and thee:
Irving's sweet poetic
prose,
Which true pathos does
disclose;
Cooper's sounding,
thrilling story,
Arthur, teaching moral
glory;
(By his tales in virtue
great,
Would that more would
imitate;)
By thy Franklin's great
renown,
He who charmed the
lightning down;
By thy orators of power,
Who stood by in trying
hour;
Patrick Henry's kindling
fire,
Adam's independent ire;
By thy Webster, and thy
Clay,
(Would that they were here
to-day,
With their mighty, rolling
thunder,
To rend treachery's wall
asunder!)
By thy science and thy
arts,
Fulton's bold inventive
parts;
Whitney's, West's, and
Allston's fame,
Powers, and a Stewart's
name;
By all we are now
beholding,
And the future that's
unfolding;
By thy blood and language
too,
I claim kindred still to
you:
(Loyalty will strive in
vain,
Nature will assert her
reign;)
And have sworn (whate'er be
mine,)
That in future, I am thine:
Thine Columbia till I die,
And I'm happy in the tie.
Great as thou art, though
loud thy sounding story,
Liberty's temples are thy
greatest glory.
On hill, and plain, by
winding stream they rise,
And point their lofty domes
toward the skies.
For every true American's
abode,
Hath smiling Liberty, its
household god.
The sound of bell, on
sabbath, sacred falls,
But Freedom's worshipper as
sweetly calls;
From bench, and field, from
valley, bill and plain,
Bidding stern Labor, from
his toil refrain
And hie to task less holy,
but to duty,
Involving the sublime in
moral beauty?
At church the poor man
feels that he is poor,
While on the bench he sits
behind the door;
At church the rich man
feels that he is such,
And thinks himself defiled
by poor man's touch:
But here, the honest
workman feels his strength,
Grows head and shoulders
higher in civil length!
'Tis here impartial Justice
doth preside
Unholy hands of tyrants
being tied;
Pride is abashed! High
birth has nought to win,
And Riches lurk around, but
ne'er go in!
Here high and low all on a
level come,
Frame local laws, and vote
the needed sum;
With voice, and ballot, all
their rights secure:
The great Republic shown in
miniature!
Hail humble Ballot-Box!
thou quiet source,
Of mighty strength! Thou
Archimedean force!
Thy votes that fall, still
as a snowy shower,
United gain an avalanchine
power!
These are the crystal
springs, the riv'lets' head,
By which the streams of liberty
are fed.
Those brooks flow murmuring
and swelling on,
Till by and by they sweetly
blend in one;
That rolls in grandeur, and
greets thirty more,
And heave along with a
majestic roar!
Its mighty voice is borne
upon the vast,
As it swells onward to the
ocean past:
Down-trodden distant
nations' hearts do bound,
To hear the music of its
cheering sound;
While Autocrats, with dark,
foreboding pun,
Think their dead march
already is begun!
That temple grand, the dome
of which doth gleam,
Near the Potomac's smoothly
gliding stream,
Is where the Western
Empire's voice is heard,
Is where a giant nation's
heart is stirred;
O! what a glorious and
majestic sight,
Where thrice ten nations
into one unite!
Columbia! what an influence
thou can'st wield,
By smile or frown, to
punish or to shield!
What rising power, for
virtue or for crime:
O! may'st thou grow as
spotless as sublime!
Then the Old World
beholding will admire.
And light its torch at
Freedom's sacred fire:
The poor oppressed. its
glorious beam will hail,
And bloated tyrants will
affrighted quail!
Their long unrighteous
reign at last be doomed,
And heartless Despotism be
entombed:
His chain reduced to atoms.
hurled as chaff,
And smiling Justice write
his epitaph!
While wicked spirits from
beneath, emerge.
To mourn their loss, and
howl a dismal dirge!
Pale Want, and
degradation's dreary night,
Will flee away, at
Freedom’s holy light,
That must illumine. and be
flashing yet
On Lisbon's tower, and
Moscow’s minaret.
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