Poems of American Patriotism Part 1

Poems of American Patriotism.

by Brander Matthews (Editor).

PREFATORY NOTE

An attempt has been made in the present collection to gather together the patriotic poems of America, those which depict feelings as well as those which describe actions, since these latter are as indicative of the temper of the time. It is a collection, for the most part, of old favorites, for Americans have been quick to take to heart a stirring telling of a daring and n.o.ble deed; but these may be found to have gained freshness by a grouping in order. The arrangement is chronological so far as it might be, that the history of America as told by her poets should be set forth. Here and there occur breaks in the story, chiefly because there are fit incidents for song which no poet has fitly sung as yet.

The poems have been printed scrupulously from the best accessible text, and they have not been tinkered in any way, though some few have been curtailed slightly for the sake of s.p.a.ce. In a few cases, where the whole poem has not fallen within the scope of this volume, only a fragment is here given. When this has been done, it is pointed out. Brief notes have been prefixed to many of the poems, making plain the occasion of their origin, and removing any chance obscurity of allusion.

NEW YORK, November, 1882.

In the two score years since this collection was prepared many things have happened, and many poets have been in-spired to celebrate men and moods and deeds. It has been found necessary to omit a few of the less important verses in the earlier edition to make room for the most significant of the lyric commemorations of events almost contemporary, and therefore appealing to us more immediately, and perhaps more poignantly.

B. M.

July 4, 1922.

BOSTON

SICUT PATRIBUS, SIT DEUS n.o.bIS RALPH WALDO EMERSON

[sidenote: Dec. 16, 1773]

_This poem was read in Faneuil Hall, on the Centennial Anniversary of the "Boston Tea-Party," at which a band of men disguised as Indians had quietly emptied into the sea the taxed tea-chests of three British ships._

The rocky nook with hill-tops three Looked eastward from the farms, And twice each day the flowing sea Took Boston in its arms; The men of yore were stout and poor, And sailed for bread to every sh.o.r.e.

And where they went on trade intent They did what freemen can, Their dauntless ways did all men praise, The merchant was a man.

The world was made for honest trade,-- To plant and eat be none afraid.

The waves that rocked them on the deep To them their secret told; Said the winds that sung the lads to sleep, "Like us be free and bold!"

The honest waves refuse to slaves The empire of the ocean caves.

Old Europe groans with palaces, Has lords enough and more;-- We plant and build by foaming seas A city of the poor;-- For day by day could Boston Bay Their honest labor overpay.

We grant no dukedoms to the few, We hold like rights and shall;-- Equal on Sunday in the pew, On Monday in the mall.

For what avail the plough or sail, Or land or life, if freedom fail?

The n.o.ble craftsmen we promote, Disown the knave and fool; Each honest man shall have his vote, Each child shall have his school.

A union then of honest men, Or union nevermore again.

The wild rose and the barberry thorn Hung out their summer pride Where now on heated pavements worn The feet of millions stride.

Fair rose the planted hills behind The good town on the bay, And where the western hills declined The prairie stretched away.

What care though rival cities soar Along the stormy coast: Penn's town, New York, and Baltimore, If Boston knew the most!

They laughed to know the world so wide; The mountains said: "Good-day!

We greet you well, you Saxon men, Up with your towns and stay!"

The world was made for honest trade,-- To plant and eat be none afraid.

"For you," they said, "no barriers be, For you no sluggard rest; Each street leads downward to the sea, Or landward to the West."

O happy town beside the sea, Whose roads lead everywhere to all; Than thine no deeper moat can be, No stouter fence, no steeper wall!

Bad news from George on the English throne: "You are thriving well," said he; "Now by these presents be it known, You shall pay us a tax on tea; 'T is very small,--no load at all,-- Honor enough that we send the call."

"Not so," said Boston, "good my lord, We pay your governors here Abundant for their bed and board, Six thousand pounds a year.

(Your highness knows our homely word,) Millions for self-government, But for tribute never a cent."

The cargo came! and who could blame If _Indians_ seized the tea, And, chest by chest, let down the same Into the laughing sea?

For what avail the plough or sail Or land or life, if freedom fail?

The townsmen braved the English king, Found friendship in the French, And Honor joined the patriot ring Low on their wooden bench.

O bounteous seas that never fail!

O day remembered yet!

O happy port that spied the sail Which wafted Lafayette!

Pole-star of light in Europe's night, That never faltered from the right.

Kings shook with fear, old empires crave The secret force to find Which fired the little State to save The rights of all mankind.

But right is might through all the world; Province to province faithful clung, Through good and ill the war-bolt hurled, Till Freedom cheered and the joy-bells rung.

The sea returning day by day Restores the world-wide mart; So let each dweller on the Bay Fold Boston in his heart, Till these echoes be choked with snows, Or over the town blue ocean flows.

Let the blood of her hundred thousands Throb in each manly vein; And the wit of all her wisest Make sunshine in her brain.

For you can teach the lightning speech, And round the globe your voices reach.

And each shall care for other, And each to each shall bend, To the poor a n.o.ble brother, To the good an equal friend.

A blessing through the ages thus Shield all thy roofs and towers!

_G.o.d with the fathers, so with us,_ Thou darling town of ours!

PAUL REVERE'S RIDE

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

[Sidenote: April 18, 1775]

_This poem is the "Landlord's Tale," the first of the "Tales of a Wayside Inn."_

Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five: Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year.