Mary Elizabeth (Hewitt) Stebbins THE SUNFLOWER TO THE SUN HAROLD THE VALIANT1 I MID the hills was born, Death to the foemen. Over the sunken rocks I dash on delighted. The far waters know my keel, No tide restrains me; But ah! a Russian maid Coldly disdains me. Once round Sicilia's isle Sailed I, unfearing: Down, like the hungry hawk, We carved on the craven's deck I give no quarter. The far waters know my keel, Countless as spears of grain Stood the warriors of Drontheim, When like the hurricane I swept down upon them! Like chaff beneath the flail They fell in their numbers: Their king with the golden hair I sent to his slumbers. I love the combat fierce, No fear restrains me; But ah! a Russian maid Coldly disdains me. Once o'er the Baltic Sea Swift we were dashing; 1 See BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE, p. 822. Bright on our twenty spears The broad sail was riven: Filled our brown dragon; But I, with sinewy hand Strengthened in slaughter, The wild waters know my keel, Firmly I curb my steed, As e'er Thracian horseman; My hand throws the javelin true, And the bold skater marks, Where o'er the bending ice I skim the river: Forth to my rapid oar The boat swiftly springeth Springs like the mettled steed No fear restrains me; Saith she, the maiden fair, A feast to the ravens ! And like Thor's hammer crashed The sound of the Viking's spears The Southland remembers! I love the combat fierce, No fear restrains me; But ah! a Russian maid Coldly disdains me. That on old Bunker's lonely height, In Trenton, and in Monmouth ground, The grass grows green, the harvest bright Above each soldier's mound. The bugle's wild and warlike blast The starry flag, 'neath which they fought From their old graves shall rouse them not, For they have passed away. ISAAC MCLELLAN WASHINGTON'S STATUE THE quarry whence thy form majestic sprung Has peopled earth with grace, Heroes and gods that elder bards have sung, A bright and peerless race; But from its sleeping veins ne'er rose before A shape of loftier name Than his, who Glory's wreath with meekness wore, The noblest son of Fame. Sheathed is the sword that Passion never stained; His gaze around is cast, As if the joys of Freedom, newly gained, Before his vision passed; As if a nation's shout of love and pride With music filled the air, And his calm soul was lifted on the tide As if the crystal mirror of his life With scenes of patient toil and noble strife, As if the lofty purpose of his soul Expression would betray, - O, it was well in marble firm and white To carve our hero's form, Whose angel guidance was our strength in fight, Our star amid the storm! Whose matchless truth has made his name divine, And human freedom sure, His country great, his tomb earth's dearest shrine, While man and time endure ! Let meaner spirits, who its councils share, Let us go up with high and sacred love To look on his pure brow, And as, with solemn grace, he points above, Renew the patriot's vow! HENRY THEODORE TUCKERMAN THE STAR OF CALVARY It is the same infrequent star, Toward the hill of Bethlehem took It is the same infrequent star; Nor noon, nor night; for to the west And, like a ship, the lazy mist Between the broad sun and the earth There is no living wind astir; The bat's unholy wing Threads through the noiseless olive trees, Mount Calvary! Mount Calvary! That mournful tread, it rends the heart The mournful tread of them that crowd Thy melancholy hill! There is a cross, not one alone: 'Tis even three I count, II Like columns on the mossy marge Behold, O Israel! behold, have dared to crucify. It is your King, O Israel! A wreath of thorns, a wreath of thorns! 'Tis veiled in every woe: It is the foremost of the Three ! how he bears "Tis fixed on thee, O Israel! His gaze! how strange to brook; But that there's mercy blended deep In each reproachful look, "I would search thee, till the very heart Its withered home forsook. To God! to God! how eloquent 1 See BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE, p. 797. NATHANIEL HAWTHORNEL |