"E venni dal martirio a questa pace."Paradiso, xv, 148.
"E venni dal martirio a questa pace."Paradiso, xv, 148.
"E venni dal martirio a questa pace."
Paradiso, xv, 148.
These words the poet heard in Paradise,Uttered by one who, bravely dying hereIn the true faith, was living in that sphereWhere the celestial cross of sacrificeSpread its protecting arms athwart the skies;And set thereon, like jewels crystal clear,The souls magnanimous, that knew not fear,Flashed their effulgence on his dazzled eyes.Ah me! how dark the discipline of pain,Were not the suffering followed by the senseOf infinite rest and infinite release!This is our consolation; and againA great soul cries to us in our suspense,"I came from martyrdom unto this peace!"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
These words the poet heard in Paradise,Uttered by one who, bravely dying hereIn the true faith, was living in that sphereWhere the celestial cross of sacrificeSpread its protecting arms athwart the skies;And set thereon, like jewels crystal clear,The souls magnanimous, that knew not fear,Flashed their effulgence on his dazzled eyes.Ah me! how dark the discipline of pain,Were not the suffering followed by the senseOf infinite rest and infinite release!This is our consolation; and againA great soul cries to us in our suspense,"I came from martyrdom unto this peace!"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
These words the poet heard in Paradise,Uttered by one who, bravely dying hereIn the true faith, was living in that sphereWhere the celestial cross of sacrificeSpread its protecting arms athwart the skies;And set thereon, like jewels crystal clear,The souls magnanimous, that knew not fear,Flashed their effulgence on his dazzled eyes.Ah me! how dark the discipline of pain,Were not the suffering followed by the senseOf infinite rest and infinite release!This is our consolation; and againA great soul cries to us in our suspense,"I came from martyrdom unto this peace!"
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
The hundredth anniversary of the surrender of the British at Yorktown was celebrated on October 19, 1881. The lyric for the occasion was written by Paul Hamilton Hayne.
The hundredth anniversary of the surrender of the British at Yorktown was celebrated on October 19, 1881. The lyric for the occasion was written by Paul Hamilton Hayne.
YORKTOWN CENTENNIAL LYRIC
[October 19, 1881]
Hark! hark! down the century's long reaching slopeTo those transports of triumph, those raptures of hope,The voices of main and of mountain combinedIn glad resonance borne on the wings of the wind,The bass of the drum and the trumpet that thrillsThrough the multiplied echoes of jubilant hills.And mark how the years melting upward like mistWhich the breath of some splendid enchantment has kissed,Reveal on the ocean, reveal on the shoreThe proud pageant of conquest that graced them of yore,When blended forever in love as in fameSee, the standard which stole from the starlight its flame,And type of all chivalry, glory, romance,The lilies, the luminous lilies of France.Oh, stubborn the strife ere the conflict was won!And the wild whirling war wrack half stifled the sun.The thunders of cannon that boomed on the lea,But reëchoed far thunders pealed up from the sea,Where guarding his sea lists, a knight on the waves,Bold De Grasse kept at bay the bluff bull-dogs of Graves.The day turned to darkness, the night changed to fire,Still more fierce waxed the combat, more deadly the ire,Undimmed by the gloom, in majestic advance,Oh, behold where they ride o'er the red battle tide,Those banners united in love as in fame,The brave standard which drew from the starbeams their flame,And type of all chivalry, glory, romance,The lilies, the luminous lilies of France.No respite, no pause; by the York's tortured flood,The grim Lion of England is writhing in blood.Cornwallis may chafe and coarse Tarleton aver,As he sharpens his broadsword and buckles his spur,"This blade, which so oft has reaped rebels like grain,Shall now harvest for death the rude yeomen again."Vain boast! for ere sunset he's flying in fear,With the rebels he scouted close, close in his rear,While the French on his flank hurl such volleys of shotThat e'en Gloucester's redoubt must be growing too hot.Thus wedded in love as united in fame,Lo! the standard which stole from the starlight its flame,And type of all chivalry, glory, romance,The lilies, the luminous lilies of France.O morning superb! when the siege reached its close;See! the sundawn outbloom, like the alchemist's rose!The last wreaths of smoke from dim trenches upcurled,Are transformed to a glory that smiles on the world.Joy, joy! Save the wan, wasted front of the foe,With his battle-flags furled and his arms trailing low;—Respect for the brave! In stern silence they yield,And in silence they pass with bowed heads from the field.Then triumph transcendent! so Titan of toneThat some vowed it must startle King George on his throne.When Peace to her own, timed the pulse of the land,And the war weapon sank from the war-wearied hand,Young Freedom upborne to the height of the goalShe had yearned for so long with deep travail of soul,A song of her future raised, thrilling and clear,Till the woods leaned to hearken, the hill slopes to hear:—Yet fraught with all magical grandeurs that gleamOn the hero's high hope, or the patriot's dream,What future, though bright, in cold shadow shall castThe proud beauty that haloes the brow of the past.Oh! wedded in love, as united in fame,See the standard which stole from the starlight its flame,And type of all chivalry, glory, romance,The lilies, the luminous lilies of France.Paul Hamilton Hayne.
Hark! hark! down the century's long reaching slopeTo those transports of triumph, those raptures of hope,The voices of main and of mountain combinedIn glad resonance borne on the wings of the wind,The bass of the drum and the trumpet that thrillsThrough the multiplied echoes of jubilant hills.And mark how the years melting upward like mistWhich the breath of some splendid enchantment has kissed,Reveal on the ocean, reveal on the shoreThe proud pageant of conquest that graced them of yore,When blended forever in love as in fameSee, the standard which stole from the starlight its flame,And type of all chivalry, glory, romance,The lilies, the luminous lilies of France.Oh, stubborn the strife ere the conflict was won!And the wild whirling war wrack half stifled the sun.The thunders of cannon that boomed on the lea,But reëchoed far thunders pealed up from the sea,Where guarding his sea lists, a knight on the waves,Bold De Grasse kept at bay the bluff bull-dogs of Graves.The day turned to darkness, the night changed to fire,Still more fierce waxed the combat, more deadly the ire,Undimmed by the gloom, in majestic advance,Oh, behold where they ride o'er the red battle tide,Those banners united in love as in fame,The brave standard which drew from the starbeams their flame,And type of all chivalry, glory, romance,The lilies, the luminous lilies of France.No respite, no pause; by the York's tortured flood,The grim Lion of England is writhing in blood.Cornwallis may chafe and coarse Tarleton aver,As he sharpens his broadsword and buckles his spur,"This blade, which so oft has reaped rebels like grain,Shall now harvest for death the rude yeomen again."Vain boast! for ere sunset he's flying in fear,With the rebels he scouted close, close in his rear,While the French on his flank hurl such volleys of shotThat e'en Gloucester's redoubt must be growing too hot.Thus wedded in love as united in fame,Lo! the standard which stole from the starlight its flame,And type of all chivalry, glory, romance,The lilies, the luminous lilies of France.O morning superb! when the siege reached its close;See! the sundawn outbloom, like the alchemist's rose!The last wreaths of smoke from dim trenches upcurled,Are transformed to a glory that smiles on the world.Joy, joy! Save the wan, wasted front of the foe,With his battle-flags furled and his arms trailing low;—Respect for the brave! In stern silence they yield,And in silence they pass with bowed heads from the field.Then triumph transcendent! so Titan of toneThat some vowed it must startle King George on his throne.When Peace to her own, timed the pulse of the land,And the war weapon sank from the war-wearied hand,Young Freedom upborne to the height of the goalShe had yearned for so long with deep travail of soul,A song of her future raised, thrilling and clear,Till the woods leaned to hearken, the hill slopes to hear:—Yet fraught with all magical grandeurs that gleamOn the hero's high hope, or the patriot's dream,What future, though bright, in cold shadow shall castThe proud beauty that haloes the brow of the past.Oh! wedded in love, as united in fame,See the standard which stole from the starlight its flame,And type of all chivalry, glory, romance,The lilies, the luminous lilies of France.Paul Hamilton Hayne.
Hark! hark! down the century's long reaching slopeTo those transports of triumph, those raptures of hope,The voices of main and of mountain combinedIn glad resonance borne on the wings of the wind,The bass of the drum and the trumpet that thrillsThrough the multiplied echoes of jubilant hills.And mark how the years melting upward like mistWhich the breath of some splendid enchantment has kissed,Reveal on the ocean, reveal on the shoreThe proud pageant of conquest that graced them of yore,When blended forever in love as in fameSee, the standard which stole from the starlight its flame,And type of all chivalry, glory, romance,The lilies, the luminous lilies of France.
Oh, stubborn the strife ere the conflict was won!And the wild whirling war wrack half stifled the sun.The thunders of cannon that boomed on the lea,But reëchoed far thunders pealed up from the sea,Where guarding his sea lists, a knight on the waves,Bold De Grasse kept at bay the bluff bull-dogs of Graves.The day turned to darkness, the night changed to fire,Still more fierce waxed the combat, more deadly the ire,Undimmed by the gloom, in majestic advance,Oh, behold where they ride o'er the red battle tide,Those banners united in love as in fame,The brave standard which drew from the starbeams their flame,And type of all chivalry, glory, romance,The lilies, the luminous lilies of France.
No respite, no pause; by the York's tortured flood,The grim Lion of England is writhing in blood.Cornwallis may chafe and coarse Tarleton aver,As he sharpens his broadsword and buckles his spur,"This blade, which so oft has reaped rebels like grain,Shall now harvest for death the rude yeomen again."Vain boast! for ere sunset he's flying in fear,With the rebels he scouted close, close in his rear,While the French on his flank hurl such volleys of shotThat e'en Gloucester's redoubt must be growing too hot.Thus wedded in love as united in fame,Lo! the standard which stole from the starlight its flame,And type of all chivalry, glory, romance,The lilies, the luminous lilies of France.
O morning superb! when the siege reached its close;See! the sundawn outbloom, like the alchemist's rose!The last wreaths of smoke from dim trenches upcurled,Are transformed to a glory that smiles on the world.Joy, joy! Save the wan, wasted front of the foe,With his battle-flags furled and his arms trailing low;—Respect for the brave! In stern silence they yield,And in silence they pass with bowed heads from the field.Then triumph transcendent! so Titan of toneThat some vowed it must startle King George on his throne.
When Peace to her own, timed the pulse of the land,And the war weapon sank from the war-wearied hand,Young Freedom upborne to the height of the goalShe had yearned for so long with deep travail of soul,A song of her future raised, thrilling and clear,Till the woods leaned to hearken, the hill slopes to hear:—Yet fraught with all magical grandeurs that gleamOn the hero's high hope, or the patriot's dream,What future, though bright, in cold shadow shall castThe proud beauty that haloes the brow of the past.Oh! wedded in love, as united in fame,See the standard which stole from the starlight its flame,And type of all chivalry, glory, romance,The lilies, the luminous lilies of France.
Paul Hamilton Hayne.
On May 24, 1883, the great bridge spanning the East River and connecting Brooklyn with New York City was opened to the public, having been thirteen years in process of construction.
On May 24, 1883, the great bridge spanning the East River and connecting Brooklyn with New York City was opened to the public, having been thirteen years in process of construction.
THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE
[May 24, 1883]
A granite cliff on either shore:A highway poised in air;Above, the wheels of traffic roar;Below, the fleets sail fair;—And in and out, forevermore,The surging tides of ocean pour,And past the towers the white gulls soar,And winds the sea-clouds bear.O peerless this majestic street,This road that leaps the brine!Upon its heights twin cities meet,And throng its grand incline,—To east, to west, with swiftest feet,Though ice may crash and billows beat,Though blinding fogs the wave may greetOr golden summer shine.Sail up the Bay with morning's beam,Or rocky Hellgate by,—Its columns rise, its cables gleam,Great tents athwart the sky!And lone it looms, august, supreme,When, with the splendor of a dream,Its blazing cressets gild the streamTill evening shadows fly.By Nile stand proud the pyramids,But they were for the dead;The awful gloom that joy forbids,The mourners' silent tread,The crypt, the coffin's stony lids,—Sad as a soul the maze that thridsOf dark Amenti, ere it ridsIts way of judgment dread.This glorious arch, these climbing towers,Are all for life and cheer!Part of the New World's nobler dowers;Hint of millennial yearThat comes apace, though evil lowers,—When loftier aims and larger powersWill mould and deck this earth of ours,And heaven at length bring near!Unmoved its cliffs shall crown the shore;Its arch the chasm dare;Its network hang the blue before,As gossamer in air;While in and out, forevermore,The surging tides of ocean pour,And past its towers the white gulls soarAnd winds the sea-clouds bear!Edna Dean Proctor.
A granite cliff on either shore:A highway poised in air;Above, the wheels of traffic roar;Below, the fleets sail fair;—And in and out, forevermore,The surging tides of ocean pour,And past the towers the white gulls soar,And winds the sea-clouds bear.O peerless this majestic street,This road that leaps the brine!Upon its heights twin cities meet,And throng its grand incline,—To east, to west, with swiftest feet,Though ice may crash and billows beat,Though blinding fogs the wave may greetOr golden summer shine.Sail up the Bay with morning's beam,Or rocky Hellgate by,—Its columns rise, its cables gleam,Great tents athwart the sky!And lone it looms, august, supreme,When, with the splendor of a dream,Its blazing cressets gild the streamTill evening shadows fly.By Nile stand proud the pyramids,But they were for the dead;The awful gloom that joy forbids,The mourners' silent tread,The crypt, the coffin's stony lids,—Sad as a soul the maze that thridsOf dark Amenti, ere it ridsIts way of judgment dread.This glorious arch, these climbing towers,Are all for life and cheer!Part of the New World's nobler dowers;Hint of millennial yearThat comes apace, though evil lowers,—When loftier aims and larger powersWill mould and deck this earth of ours,And heaven at length bring near!Unmoved its cliffs shall crown the shore;Its arch the chasm dare;Its network hang the blue before,As gossamer in air;While in and out, forevermore,The surging tides of ocean pour,And past its towers the white gulls soarAnd winds the sea-clouds bear!Edna Dean Proctor.
A granite cliff on either shore:A highway poised in air;Above, the wheels of traffic roar;Below, the fleets sail fair;—And in and out, forevermore,The surging tides of ocean pour,And past the towers the white gulls soar,And winds the sea-clouds bear.
O peerless this majestic street,This road that leaps the brine!Upon its heights twin cities meet,And throng its grand incline,—To east, to west, with swiftest feet,Though ice may crash and billows beat,Though blinding fogs the wave may greetOr golden summer shine.
Sail up the Bay with morning's beam,Or rocky Hellgate by,—Its columns rise, its cables gleam,Great tents athwart the sky!And lone it looms, august, supreme,When, with the splendor of a dream,Its blazing cressets gild the streamTill evening shadows fly.
By Nile stand proud the pyramids,But they were for the dead;The awful gloom that joy forbids,The mourners' silent tread,The crypt, the coffin's stony lids,—Sad as a soul the maze that thridsOf dark Amenti, ere it ridsIts way of judgment dread.
This glorious arch, these climbing towers,Are all for life and cheer!Part of the New World's nobler dowers;Hint of millennial yearThat comes apace, though evil lowers,—When loftier aims and larger powersWill mould and deck this earth of ours,And heaven at length bring near!
Unmoved its cliffs shall crown the shore;Its arch the chasm dare;Its network hang the blue before,As gossamer in air;While in and out, forevermore,The surging tides of ocean pour,And past its towers the white gulls soarAnd winds the sea-clouds bear!
Edna Dean Proctor.
BROOKLYN BRIDGE
No lifeless thing of iron and stone,But sentient, as her children are,Nature accepts you for her own,Kin to the cataract and the star.She marks your vast, sufficing plan,Cable and girder, bolt and rod,And takes you, from the hand of man,For some new handiwork of God.You thrill through all your chords of steelResponsive to the living sun;And quickening in your nerves you feelLife with its conscious currents run.Your anchorage upbears the marchOf time and the eternal powers.The sky admits your perfect arch,The rock respects your stable towers.Charles G. D. Roberts.
No lifeless thing of iron and stone,But sentient, as her children are,Nature accepts you for her own,Kin to the cataract and the star.She marks your vast, sufficing plan,Cable and girder, bolt and rod,And takes you, from the hand of man,For some new handiwork of God.You thrill through all your chords of steelResponsive to the living sun;And quickening in your nerves you feelLife with its conscious currents run.Your anchorage upbears the marchOf time and the eternal powers.The sky admits your perfect arch,The rock respects your stable towers.Charles G. D. Roberts.
No lifeless thing of iron and stone,But sentient, as her children are,Nature accepts you for her own,Kin to the cataract and the star.
She marks your vast, sufficing plan,Cable and girder, bolt and rod,And takes you, from the hand of man,For some new handiwork of God.
You thrill through all your chords of steelResponsive to the living sun;And quickening in your nerves you feelLife with its conscious currents run.
Your anchorage upbears the marchOf time and the eternal powers.The sky admits your perfect arch,The rock respects your stable towers.
Charles G. D. Roberts.
The first week in September, 1886, a destructive earthquake shook the eastern portion of the United States, Charleston, S. C., suffering a tremendous shock which snuffed out scores of lives and rendered seven eighths of the houses unfit for habitation.
The first week in September, 1886, a destructive earthquake shook the eastern portion of the United States, Charleston, S. C., suffering a tremendous shock which snuffed out scores of lives and rendered seven eighths of the houses unfit for habitation.
CHARLESTON
1886
Is this the price of beauty! Fairest, thou,Of all the cities of the sunrise sea,Yet thrice art stricken. First, war harried thee;Then the dread circling tempest drove its ploughRight through thy palaces; and now, O now!A sound of terror, and thy children fleeInto the night and death. O Deity!Thou God of war and whirlwind, whose dark brow,Frowning, makes tremble sea and solid land!These are thy creatures who to heaven cryWhile hell roars 'neath them, and its portals ope;To thee they call,—to thee who bidst them die,Who hast forgotten to withhold thy hand,—For thou, Destroyer, art man's only Hope!Richard Watson Gilder.
Is this the price of beauty! Fairest, thou,Of all the cities of the sunrise sea,Yet thrice art stricken. First, war harried thee;Then the dread circling tempest drove its ploughRight through thy palaces; and now, O now!A sound of terror, and thy children fleeInto the night and death. O Deity!Thou God of war and whirlwind, whose dark brow,Frowning, makes tremble sea and solid land!These are thy creatures who to heaven cryWhile hell roars 'neath them, and its portals ope;To thee they call,—to thee who bidst them die,Who hast forgotten to withhold thy hand,—For thou, Destroyer, art man's only Hope!Richard Watson Gilder.
Is this the price of beauty! Fairest, thou,Of all the cities of the sunrise sea,Yet thrice art stricken. First, war harried thee;Then the dread circling tempest drove its ploughRight through thy palaces; and now, O now!A sound of terror, and thy children fleeInto the night and death. O Deity!Thou God of war and whirlwind, whose dark brow,Frowning, makes tremble sea and solid land!These are thy creatures who to heaven cryWhile hell roars 'neath them, and its portals ope;To thee they call,—to thee who bidst them die,Who hast forgotten to withhold thy hand,—For thou, Destroyer, art man's only Hope!
Richard Watson Gilder.
On September 9 and 11, 1886, the American yacht Mayflower defeated the English yacht Galatea in the international races for the America's cup.
On September 9 and 11, 1886, the American yacht Mayflower defeated the English yacht Galatea in the international races for the America's cup.
MAYFLOWER
Thunder our thanks to her—guns, hearts, and lips!Cheer from the ranks to her,Shout from the banks to her,—Mayflower! Foremost and best of our ships.Mayflower! Twice in the national storyThy dear name in letters of gold—Woven in texture that never grows old—Winning a home and winning glory!Sailing the years to us, welcomed for aye;Cherished for centuries, dearest to-day.Every heart throbs for her, every flag dips—Mayflower! First and last—best of our ships!White as a seagull she swept the long passage.True as the homing-bird flies with its message.Love her? O, richer than silk every sail of her.Trust her? more precious than gold every nail of her.Write we down faithfully every man's part in her;Greet we all gratefully every true heart in her.More than a name to us, sailing the fleetest,Symbol of that which is purest and sweetest.More than a keel to us, steering the straightest:Emblem of that which is freest and greatest.More than a dove-bosomed sail to the windward:Flame passing on while the night-clouds fly hindward.Kiss every plank of her! None shall take rank of her;Frontward or weatherward, none can eclipse.Thunder our thanks to her! Cheer from the banks to her!Mayflower! Foremost and best of our ships!John Boyle O'Reilly.
Thunder our thanks to her—guns, hearts, and lips!Cheer from the ranks to her,Shout from the banks to her,—Mayflower! Foremost and best of our ships.Mayflower! Twice in the national storyThy dear name in letters of gold—Woven in texture that never grows old—Winning a home and winning glory!Sailing the years to us, welcomed for aye;Cherished for centuries, dearest to-day.Every heart throbs for her, every flag dips—Mayflower! First and last—best of our ships!White as a seagull she swept the long passage.True as the homing-bird flies with its message.Love her? O, richer than silk every sail of her.Trust her? more precious than gold every nail of her.Write we down faithfully every man's part in her;Greet we all gratefully every true heart in her.More than a name to us, sailing the fleetest,Symbol of that which is purest and sweetest.More than a keel to us, steering the straightest:Emblem of that which is freest and greatest.More than a dove-bosomed sail to the windward:Flame passing on while the night-clouds fly hindward.Kiss every plank of her! None shall take rank of her;Frontward or weatherward, none can eclipse.Thunder our thanks to her! Cheer from the banks to her!Mayflower! Foremost and best of our ships!John Boyle O'Reilly.
Thunder our thanks to her—guns, hearts, and lips!Cheer from the ranks to her,Shout from the banks to her,—Mayflower! Foremost and best of our ships.
Mayflower! Twice in the national storyThy dear name in letters of gold—Woven in texture that never grows old—Winning a home and winning glory!Sailing the years to us, welcomed for aye;Cherished for centuries, dearest to-day.Every heart throbs for her, every flag dips—Mayflower! First and last—best of our ships!
White as a seagull she swept the long passage.True as the homing-bird flies with its message.Love her? O, richer than silk every sail of her.Trust her? more precious than gold every nail of her.Write we down faithfully every man's part in her;Greet we all gratefully every true heart in her.More than a name to us, sailing the fleetest,Symbol of that which is purest and sweetest.More than a keel to us, steering the straightest:Emblem of that which is freest and greatest.More than a dove-bosomed sail to the windward:Flame passing on while the night-clouds fly hindward.Kiss every plank of her! None shall take rank of her;Frontward or weatherward, none can eclipse.Thunder our thanks to her! Cheer from the banks to her!Mayflower! Foremost and best of our ships!
John Boyle O'Reilly.
On October 28, 1886, Bartholdi's statue of Liberty Enlightening the World, a gift to America from the people of France, was unveiled on Bedloe's Island, in New York Harbor.
On October 28, 1886, Bartholdi's statue of Liberty Enlightening the World, a gift to America from the people of France, was unveiled on Bedloe's Island, in New York Harbor.
FAIREST OF FREEDOM'S DAUGHTERS
Read at the dedication of the Bartholdi Statue, New York Harbor, October 28, 1886
Night's diadem around thy head,The world upon thee gazing,Beneath the eye of heroes deadThy queenly form up-raising.Lift up, lift up thy torch on high,Fairest of Freedom's daughters!Flash it against thine own blue sky,Flash it across the waters!Stretch up to thine own woman's height,Thine eye lit with truth's lustre,As though from God, Himself a-light,Earth's hopes around thee cluster.The stars touch with thy forehead fair;At them thy torch was lighted.They grope to find where truth's ways are,The nations long benighted.Thou hast the van in earth's proud march,To thee all nations turning;Thy torch against thine own blue arch,In answer to their yearning!Show them the pathway thou hast trod,The chains which thou hast broken;Teach them thy trust in man and God,The watchwords thou hast spoken.Not here is heard the Alp-herd's horn,The mountain stillness breaking;Nor do we catch the roseate morn,The Alpine summits waking.Is Neckar's vale no longer fair,That German hearts are leaving?Ah! German hearts from hearthstones tear,In thy proud star believing.Has Rhineland lost her grape's perfume,Her waters green and golden?And do her castles no more bloomWith legends rare and olden?Why leave, strong men, the Fatherland?Why cross the cold blue ocean?Truth's torch in thine uplifted hand,Ha! kindles their devotion.God, home, and country be thy care,Thou queen of all the ages!Belting the earth is this one prayer:Unspotted be thy pages!Lift up, lift up thy torch on high,Fairest of Freedom's daughters!Flash it against thine own blue sky,Flash it across the waters!Jeremiah Eames Rankin.
Night's diadem around thy head,The world upon thee gazing,Beneath the eye of heroes deadThy queenly form up-raising.Lift up, lift up thy torch on high,Fairest of Freedom's daughters!Flash it against thine own blue sky,Flash it across the waters!Stretch up to thine own woman's height,Thine eye lit with truth's lustre,As though from God, Himself a-light,Earth's hopes around thee cluster.The stars touch with thy forehead fair;At them thy torch was lighted.They grope to find where truth's ways are,The nations long benighted.Thou hast the van in earth's proud march,To thee all nations turning;Thy torch against thine own blue arch,In answer to their yearning!Show them the pathway thou hast trod,The chains which thou hast broken;Teach them thy trust in man and God,The watchwords thou hast spoken.Not here is heard the Alp-herd's horn,The mountain stillness breaking;Nor do we catch the roseate morn,The Alpine summits waking.Is Neckar's vale no longer fair,That German hearts are leaving?Ah! German hearts from hearthstones tear,In thy proud star believing.Has Rhineland lost her grape's perfume,Her waters green and golden?And do her castles no more bloomWith legends rare and olden?Why leave, strong men, the Fatherland?Why cross the cold blue ocean?Truth's torch in thine uplifted hand,Ha! kindles their devotion.God, home, and country be thy care,Thou queen of all the ages!Belting the earth is this one prayer:Unspotted be thy pages!Lift up, lift up thy torch on high,Fairest of Freedom's daughters!Flash it against thine own blue sky,Flash it across the waters!Jeremiah Eames Rankin.
Night's diadem around thy head,The world upon thee gazing,Beneath the eye of heroes deadThy queenly form up-raising.Lift up, lift up thy torch on high,Fairest of Freedom's daughters!Flash it against thine own blue sky,Flash it across the waters!
Stretch up to thine own woman's height,Thine eye lit with truth's lustre,As though from God, Himself a-light,Earth's hopes around thee cluster.The stars touch with thy forehead fair;At them thy torch was lighted.They grope to find where truth's ways are,The nations long benighted.
Thou hast the van in earth's proud march,To thee all nations turning;Thy torch against thine own blue arch,In answer to their yearning!Show them the pathway thou hast trod,The chains which thou hast broken;Teach them thy trust in man and God,The watchwords thou hast spoken.
Not here is heard the Alp-herd's horn,The mountain stillness breaking;Nor do we catch the roseate morn,The Alpine summits waking.Is Neckar's vale no longer fair,That German hearts are leaving?Ah! German hearts from hearthstones tear,In thy proud star believing.
Has Rhineland lost her grape's perfume,Her waters green and golden?And do her castles no more bloomWith legends rare and olden?Why leave, strong men, the Fatherland?Why cross the cold blue ocean?Truth's torch in thine uplifted hand,Ha! kindles their devotion.
God, home, and country be thy care,Thou queen of all the ages!Belting the earth is this one prayer:Unspotted be thy pages!Lift up, lift up thy torch on high,Fairest of Freedom's daughters!Flash it against thine own blue sky,Flash it across the waters!
Jeremiah Eames Rankin.
LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD
Warden at ocean's gate,Thy feet on sea and shore,Like one the skies awaitWhen time shall be no more!What splendors crown thy brow?What bright dread angel Thou,Dazzling the waves beforeThy station great?"My name is Liberty!From out a mighty landI face the ancient sea,I lift to God my hand;By day in Heaven's light,A pillar of fire by night,At ocean's gate I standNor bend the knee."The dark Earth lay in sleep.Her children crouched forlorn,Ere on the western steepI sprang to height, reborn:Then what a joyous shoutThe quickened lands gave out,And all the choir of mornSang anthems deep."Beneath yon firmament.The New World to the OldMy sword and summons sent,My azure flag unrolled:The Old World's hands renewTheir strength; the form ye viewCame from a living mouldIn glory blent."O ye, whose broken sparsTell of the storms ye met,Enter! fear not the barsAcross your pathway set;Enter at Freedom's porch,For you I lift my torch,For you my coronetIs rayed with stars."But ye that hither drawTo desecrate my fee,Nor yet have held in aweThe justice that makes free,—Avaunt, ye darkling brood!By Right my house hath stood:My name is Liberty,My throne is Law."O wonderful and bright,Immortal Freedom, hail!Front, in thy fiery might,The midnight and the gale;Undaunted on this baseGuard well thy dwelling-place:Till the last sun grow paleLet there be Light!Edmund Clarence Stedman.
Warden at ocean's gate,Thy feet on sea and shore,Like one the skies awaitWhen time shall be no more!What splendors crown thy brow?What bright dread angel Thou,Dazzling the waves beforeThy station great?"My name is Liberty!From out a mighty landI face the ancient sea,I lift to God my hand;By day in Heaven's light,A pillar of fire by night,At ocean's gate I standNor bend the knee."The dark Earth lay in sleep.Her children crouched forlorn,Ere on the western steepI sprang to height, reborn:Then what a joyous shoutThe quickened lands gave out,And all the choir of mornSang anthems deep."Beneath yon firmament.The New World to the OldMy sword and summons sent,My azure flag unrolled:The Old World's hands renewTheir strength; the form ye viewCame from a living mouldIn glory blent."O ye, whose broken sparsTell of the storms ye met,Enter! fear not the barsAcross your pathway set;Enter at Freedom's porch,For you I lift my torch,For you my coronetIs rayed with stars."But ye that hither drawTo desecrate my fee,Nor yet have held in aweThe justice that makes free,—Avaunt, ye darkling brood!By Right my house hath stood:My name is Liberty,My throne is Law."O wonderful and bright,Immortal Freedom, hail!Front, in thy fiery might,The midnight and the gale;Undaunted on this baseGuard well thy dwelling-place:Till the last sun grow paleLet there be Light!Edmund Clarence Stedman.
Warden at ocean's gate,Thy feet on sea and shore,Like one the skies awaitWhen time shall be no more!What splendors crown thy brow?What bright dread angel Thou,Dazzling the waves beforeThy station great?
"My name is Liberty!From out a mighty landI face the ancient sea,I lift to God my hand;By day in Heaven's light,A pillar of fire by night,At ocean's gate I standNor bend the knee.
"The dark Earth lay in sleep.Her children crouched forlorn,Ere on the western steepI sprang to height, reborn:Then what a joyous shoutThe quickened lands gave out,And all the choir of mornSang anthems deep.
"Beneath yon firmament.The New World to the OldMy sword and summons sent,My azure flag unrolled:The Old World's hands renewTheir strength; the form ye viewCame from a living mouldIn glory blent.
"O ye, whose broken sparsTell of the storms ye met,Enter! fear not the barsAcross your pathway set;Enter at Freedom's porch,For you I lift my torch,For you my coronetIs rayed with stars.
"But ye that hither drawTo desecrate my fee,Nor yet have held in aweThe justice that makes free,—Avaunt, ye darkling brood!By Right my house hath stood:My name is Liberty,My throne is Law."
O wonderful and bright,Immortal Freedom, hail!Front, in thy fiery might,The midnight and the gale;Undaunted on this baseGuard well thy dwelling-place:Till the last sun grow paleLet there be Light!
Edmund Clarence Stedman.
THE BARTHOLDI STATUE
1886
The land, that, from the rule of kings,In freeing us, itself made free,Our Old World Sister, to us bringsHer sculptured Dream of Liberty:Unlike the shapes on Egypt's sandsUplifted by the toil-worn slave,On Freedom's soil with freemen's handsWe rear the symbol free hands gave.O France, the beautiful! to theeOnce more a debt of love we owe:In peace beneath thy Colors Three,We hail a later Rochambeau!Rise, stately Symbol! holding forthThy light and hope to all who sitIn chains and darkness! Belt the earthWith watch-fires from thy torch up-lit!Reveal the primal mandate stillWhich Chaos heard and ceased to be,Trace on mid-air th' Eternal WillIn signs of fire: "Let man be free!"Shine far, shine free, a guiding lightTo Reason's ways and Virtue's aim,A lightning-flash the wretch to smiteWho shields his license with thy name!John Greenleaf Whittier.
The land, that, from the rule of kings,In freeing us, itself made free,Our Old World Sister, to us bringsHer sculptured Dream of Liberty:Unlike the shapes on Egypt's sandsUplifted by the toil-worn slave,On Freedom's soil with freemen's handsWe rear the symbol free hands gave.O France, the beautiful! to theeOnce more a debt of love we owe:In peace beneath thy Colors Three,We hail a later Rochambeau!Rise, stately Symbol! holding forthThy light and hope to all who sitIn chains and darkness! Belt the earthWith watch-fires from thy torch up-lit!Reveal the primal mandate stillWhich Chaos heard and ceased to be,Trace on mid-air th' Eternal WillIn signs of fire: "Let man be free!"Shine far, shine free, a guiding lightTo Reason's ways and Virtue's aim,A lightning-flash the wretch to smiteWho shields his license with thy name!John Greenleaf Whittier.
The land, that, from the rule of kings,In freeing us, itself made free,Our Old World Sister, to us bringsHer sculptured Dream of Liberty:
Unlike the shapes on Egypt's sandsUplifted by the toil-worn slave,On Freedom's soil with freemen's handsWe rear the symbol free hands gave.
O France, the beautiful! to theeOnce more a debt of love we owe:In peace beneath thy Colors Three,We hail a later Rochambeau!
Rise, stately Symbol! holding forthThy light and hope to all who sitIn chains and darkness! Belt the earthWith watch-fires from thy torch up-lit!
Reveal the primal mandate stillWhich Chaos heard and ceased to be,Trace on mid-air th' Eternal WillIn signs of fire: "Let man be free!"
Shine far, shine free, a guiding lightTo Reason's ways and Virtue's aim,A lightning-flash the wretch to smiteWho shields his license with thy name!
John Greenleaf Whittier.
On September 18, 1887, the one hundredth anniversary of the adoption of the Constitution of the United States was suitably observed at Philadelphia. President Grover Cleveland, Justice Samuel Freeman Miller, and John Adams Kasson delivered addresses, and "The New Hail Columbia" was sung by a chorus of two thousand voices.
On September 18, 1887, the one hundredth anniversary of the adoption of the Constitution of the United States was suitably observed at Philadelphia. President Grover Cleveland, Justice Samuel Freeman Miller, and John Adams Kasson delivered addresses, and "The New Hail Columbia" was sung by a chorus of two thousand voices.
ADDITIONAL VERSES TO HAIL COLUMBIA
Written at the request of the committee for the Constitutional Centennial Celebration at Philadelphia, 1887.
Look our ransomed shores around,Peace and safety we have found!Welcome, friends who once were foes!Welcome, friends who once were foes,To all the conquering years have gained,—A nation's rights, a race unchained!Children of the day new-born!Mindful of its glorious morn,Let the pledge our fathers signedHeart to heart forever bind!While the stars of heaven shall burn,While the ocean tides return,Ever may the circling sunFind the Many still are One!Graven deep with edge of steel,Crowned with Victory's crimson seal,All the world their names shall read!All the world their names shall read,Enrolled with his, the Chief that ledThe hosts whose blood for us was shed.Pay our sires their children's debt,Love and honor, nor forgetOnly Union's golden keyGuards the Ark of Liberty!While the stars of heaven shall burn,While the ocean tides return,Ever may the circling sunFind the Many still are One!Hail, Columbia! strong and free,Throned in hearts from sea to sea!Thy march triumphant still pursueThy march triumphant still pursueWith peaceful stride from zone to zone,Till Freedom finds the world her own!Blest in Union's holy ties,Let our grateful song arise,Every voice its tribute lend,All in loving chorus blend!While the stars in heaven shall burn,While the ocean tides return,Ever shall the circling sunFind the Many still are One!Oliver Wendell Holmes.
Look our ransomed shores around,Peace and safety we have found!Welcome, friends who once were foes!Welcome, friends who once were foes,To all the conquering years have gained,—A nation's rights, a race unchained!Children of the day new-born!Mindful of its glorious morn,Let the pledge our fathers signedHeart to heart forever bind!While the stars of heaven shall burn,While the ocean tides return,Ever may the circling sunFind the Many still are One!Graven deep with edge of steel,Crowned with Victory's crimson seal,All the world their names shall read!All the world their names shall read,Enrolled with his, the Chief that ledThe hosts whose blood for us was shed.Pay our sires their children's debt,Love and honor, nor forgetOnly Union's golden keyGuards the Ark of Liberty!While the stars of heaven shall burn,While the ocean tides return,Ever may the circling sunFind the Many still are One!Hail, Columbia! strong and free,Throned in hearts from sea to sea!Thy march triumphant still pursueThy march triumphant still pursueWith peaceful stride from zone to zone,Till Freedom finds the world her own!Blest in Union's holy ties,Let our grateful song arise,Every voice its tribute lend,All in loving chorus blend!While the stars in heaven shall burn,While the ocean tides return,Ever shall the circling sunFind the Many still are One!Oliver Wendell Holmes.
Look our ransomed shores around,Peace and safety we have found!Welcome, friends who once were foes!Welcome, friends who once were foes,To all the conquering years have gained,—A nation's rights, a race unchained!Children of the day new-born!Mindful of its glorious morn,Let the pledge our fathers signedHeart to heart forever bind!
While the stars of heaven shall burn,While the ocean tides return,Ever may the circling sunFind the Many still are One!
Graven deep with edge of steel,Crowned with Victory's crimson seal,All the world their names shall read!All the world their names shall read,Enrolled with his, the Chief that ledThe hosts whose blood for us was shed.Pay our sires their children's debt,Love and honor, nor forgetOnly Union's golden keyGuards the Ark of Liberty!
While the stars of heaven shall burn,While the ocean tides return,Ever may the circling sunFind the Many still are One!
Hail, Columbia! strong and free,Throned in hearts from sea to sea!Thy march triumphant still pursueThy march triumphant still pursueWith peaceful stride from zone to zone,Till Freedom finds the world her own!Blest in Union's holy ties,Let our grateful song arise,Every voice its tribute lend,All in loving chorus blend!
While the stars in heaven shall burn,While the ocean tides return,Ever shall the circling sunFind the Many still are One!
Oliver Wendell Holmes.
Following this came the recital by James Edward Murdock of the "New National Hymn," the Marine Band leading the people and the singers in the chorus.
Following this came the recital by James Edward Murdock of the "New National Hymn," the Marine Band leading the people and the singers in the chorus.
NEW NATIONAL HYMN
Hail, Freedom! thy bright crestAnd gleaming shield, thrice blest,Mirror the glories of a world thine own.Hail, heaven-born Peace! our sight,Led by thy gentle light,Shows us the paths with deathless flowers strewn.Peace, daughter of a strife sublime,Abide with us till strife be lost in endless time.Chorus—Thy sun is risen, and shall not set,Upon thy day divine;Ages, of unborn ages, yet,America, are thine.Her one hand seals with goldThe portals of night's fold,Her other, the broad gates of dawn unbars;O'er silent wastes of snows,Crowning her lofty brows,Gleams high her diadem of northern stars;While, clothed in garlands of warm flowers,Round Freedom's feet the South her wealth of beauty showers.Sweet is the toil of peace,Sweet is the year's increase,To loyal men who live by Freedom's laws;And in war's fierce alarmsGod gives stout hearts and armsTo freemen sworn to save a rightful cause.Fear none, trust God, maintain the right,And triumph in unbroken Union's might.Welded in war's fierce flame,Forged on the hearth of fame,The sacred Constitution was ordained;Tried in the fire of time,Tempered in woes sublime,An age was passed and left it yet unstained.God grant its glories still may shine,While ages fade, forgotten, in time's slow decline!Honor the few who sharedFreedom's first fight, and daredTo face war's desperate tide at the full flood;Who fell on hard-won ground,And into Freedom's woundPoured the sweet balsam of their brave hearts' blood.They fell; but o'er that glorious graveFloats free the banner of the cause they died to save.In radiance heavenly fair,Floats on the peaceful airThat flag that never stooped from victory's pride;Those stars that softly gleam,Those stripes that o'er us stream,In war's grand agony were sanctified;A holy standard, pure and free,To light the home of peace, or blaze in victory.Father, whose mighty powerShields us through life's short hour,To Thee we pray,—Bless us and keep us free:All that is past forgive;Teach us, henceforth, to live,That, through our country, we may honor Thee;And, when this mortal life shall cease,Take Thou, at last, our souls to Thine eternal peace.Francis Marion Crawford.
Hail, Freedom! thy bright crestAnd gleaming shield, thrice blest,Mirror the glories of a world thine own.Hail, heaven-born Peace! our sight,Led by thy gentle light,Shows us the paths with deathless flowers strewn.Peace, daughter of a strife sublime,Abide with us till strife be lost in endless time.Chorus—Thy sun is risen, and shall not set,Upon thy day divine;Ages, of unborn ages, yet,America, are thine.Her one hand seals with goldThe portals of night's fold,Her other, the broad gates of dawn unbars;O'er silent wastes of snows,Crowning her lofty brows,Gleams high her diadem of northern stars;While, clothed in garlands of warm flowers,Round Freedom's feet the South her wealth of beauty showers.Sweet is the toil of peace,Sweet is the year's increase,To loyal men who live by Freedom's laws;And in war's fierce alarmsGod gives stout hearts and armsTo freemen sworn to save a rightful cause.Fear none, trust God, maintain the right,And triumph in unbroken Union's might.Welded in war's fierce flame,Forged on the hearth of fame,The sacred Constitution was ordained;Tried in the fire of time,Tempered in woes sublime,An age was passed and left it yet unstained.God grant its glories still may shine,While ages fade, forgotten, in time's slow decline!Honor the few who sharedFreedom's first fight, and daredTo face war's desperate tide at the full flood;Who fell on hard-won ground,And into Freedom's woundPoured the sweet balsam of their brave hearts' blood.They fell; but o'er that glorious graveFloats free the banner of the cause they died to save.In radiance heavenly fair,Floats on the peaceful airThat flag that never stooped from victory's pride;Those stars that softly gleam,Those stripes that o'er us stream,In war's grand agony were sanctified;A holy standard, pure and free,To light the home of peace, or blaze in victory.Father, whose mighty powerShields us through life's short hour,To Thee we pray,—Bless us and keep us free:All that is past forgive;Teach us, henceforth, to live,That, through our country, we may honor Thee;And, when this mortal life shall cease,Take Thou, at last, our souls to Thine eternal peace.Francis Marion Crawford.
Hail, Freedom! thy bright crestAnd gleaming shield, thrice blest,Mirror the glories of a world thine own.Hail, heaven-born Peace! our sight,Led by thy gentle light,Shows us the paths with deathless flowers strewn.Peace, daughter of a strife sublime,Abide with us till strife be lost in endless time.Chorus—Thy sun is risen, and shall not set,Upon thy day divine;Ages, of unborn ages, yet,America, are thine.
Her one hand seals with goldThe portals of night's fold,Her other, the broad gates of dawn unbars;O'er silent wastes of snows,Crowning her lofty brows,Gleams high her diadem of northern stars;While, clothed in garlands of warm flowers,Round Freedom's feet the South her wealth of beauty showers.
Sweet is the toil of peace,Sweet is the year's increase,To loyal men who live by Freedom's laws;And in war's fierce alarmsGod gives stout hearts and armsTo freemen sworn to save a rightful cause.Fear none, trust God, maintain the right,And triumph in unbroken Union's might.
Welded in war's fierce flame,Forged on the hearth of fame,The sacred Constitution was ordained;Tried in the fire of time,Tempered in woes sublime,An age was passed and left it yet unstained.God grant its glories still may shine,While ages fade, forgotten, in time's slow decline!
Honor the few who sharedFreedom's first fight, and daredTo face war's desperate tide at the full flood;Who fell on hard-won ground,And into Freedom's woundPoured the sweet balsam of their brave hearts' blood.They fell; but o'er that glorious graveFloats free the banner of the cause they died to save.
In radiance heavenly fair,Floats on the peaceful airThat flag that never stooped from victory's pride;Those stars that softly gleam,Those stripes that o'er us stream,In war's grand agony were sanctified;A holy standard, pure and free,To light the home of peace, or blaze in victory.
Father, whose mighty powerShields us through life's short hour,To Thee we pray,—Bless us and keep us free:All that is past forgive;Teach us, henceforth, to live,That, through our country, we may honor Thee;And, when this mortal life shall cease,Take Thou, at last, our souls to Thine eternal peace.
Francis Marion Crawford.
On March 15, 1889, a destructive hurricane visited the Samoan Islands. There were in the harbor of Apia, at the time one English, three German, and three American war-ships, sent there to safeguard the interests of their respective countries. The English ship, the Calliope, succeeded in steaming out of the harbor, the crew of the American flagship Trenton cheering her as she passed. The Trenton was wrecked a few minutes later, as were the five other ships in the harbor.
On March 15, 1889, a destructive hurricane visited the Samoan Islands. There were in the harbor of Apia, at the time one English, three German, and three American war-ships, sent there to safeguard the interests of their respective countries. The English ship, the Calliope, succeeded in steaming out of the harbor, the crew of the American flagship Trenton cheering her as she passed. The Trenton was wrecked a few minutes later, as were the five other ships in the harbor.
IN APIA BAY
(Morituri vos salutamus)
Ruin and death held swayThat night in Apia Bay,And smote amid the loud and dreadful gloom.But, Hearts, no longer weepThe salt unresting sleepOf the great dead, victorious in their doom.Vain, vain the strait retreatThat held the fated fleet,Trapped in the two-fold threat of sea and shore!Fell reefs on either hand,And the devouring strand!Above, below, the tempest's deafening roar!What mortal hand shall writeThe horror of that night,The desperate struggle in that deadly close,The yelling of the blast,The wild surf, white, aghast,The whelming seas, the thunder and the throes!How the great cables surged,The giant engines urged,As the brave ships the unequal strife waged on!Not hope, not courage flagged;But the vain anchors dragged,Down on the reefs they shattered, and were gone!And now were wrought the deedsWhereof each soul that readsGrows manlier, and burns with prouder breath,—Heroic brotherhood,The loving bonds of blood,Proclaimed from high hearts face to face with death.At length, the English shipHer cables had let slip,Crowded all steam, and steered for the open sea,Resolved to challenge Fate,To pass the perilous strait,And wrench from jaws of ruin Victory.With well-tried metals strained,In the storm's teeth she gained,Foot by slow foot made head, and crept toward life.Across her dubious wayThe good ship Trenton lay,Helpless, but thrilled to watch the splendid strife.Helmless she lay, her bulkA blind and wallowing hulk,By her strained hawsers only held from wreck,But dauntless each brave heartPlayed his immortal partIn strong endurance on the reeling deck.They fought Fate inch by inch,—Could die, but could not flinch;And, biding the inevitable doom,They marked the English ship,Baffling the tempest's grip,Forge hardly forth from the expected tomb.Then, with exultant breath,These heroes waiting death,Thundered across the storm a peal of cheers,—To the triumphant braveA greeting from the grave,Whose echo shall go ringing down the years."To you, who well have won,From us, whose course is run,Glad greeting, as we face the undreaded end!"The memory of those cheersShall thrill in English earsWhere'er this English blood and speech extend.No manlier deed comes down,Blazoned in broad renown,From men of old who lived to dare and die!The old fire yet survives,Here in our modern lives,Of splendid chivalry and valor high!Charles George Douglas Roberts.
Ruin and death held swayThat night in Apia Bay,And smote amid the loud and dreadful gloom.But, Hearts, no longer weepThe salt unresting sleepOf the great dead, victorious in their doom.Vain, vain the strait retreatThat held the fated fleet,Trapped in the two-fold threat of sea and shore!Fell reefs on either hand,And the devouring strand!Above, below, the tempest's deafening roar!What mortal hand shall writeThe horror of that night,The desperate struggle in that deadly close,The yelling of the blast,The wild surf, white, aghast,The whelming seas, the thunder and the throes!How the great cables surged,The giant engines urged,As the brave ships the unequal strife waged on!Not hope, not courage flagged;But the vain anchors dragged,Down on the reefs they shattered, and were gone!And now were wrought the deedsWhereof each soul that readsGrows manlier, and burns with prouder breath,—Heroic brotherhood,The loving bonds of blood,Proclaimed from high hearts face to face with death.At length, the English shipHer cables had let slip,Crowded all steam, and steered for the open sea,Resolved to challenge Fate,To pass the perilous strait,And wrench from jaws of ruin Victory.With well-tried metals strained,In the storm's teeth she gained,Foot by slow foot made head, and crept toward life.Across her dubious wayThe good ship Trenton lay,Helpless, but thrilled to watch the splendid strife.Helmless she lay, her bulkA blind and wallowing hulk,By her strained hawsers only held from wreck,But dauntless each brave heartPlayed his immortal partIn strong endurance on the reeling deck.They fought Fate inch by inch,—Could die, but could not flinch;And, biding the inevitable doom,They marked the English ship,Baffling the tempest's grip,Forge hardly forth from the expected tomb.Then, with exultant breath,These heroes waiting death,Thundered across the storm a peal of cheers,—To the triumphant braveA greeting from the grave,Whose echo shall go ringing down the years."To you, who well have won,From us, whose course is run,Glad greeting, as we face the undreaded end!"The memory of those cheersShall thrill in English earsWhere'er this English blood and speech extend.No manlier deed comes down,Blazoned in broad renown,From men of old who lived to dare and die!The old fire yet survives,Here in our modern lives,Of splendid chivalry and valor high!Charles George Douglas Roberts.
Ruin and death held swayThat night in Apia Bay,And smote amid the loud and dreadful gloom.But, Hearts, no longer weepThe salt unresting sleepOf the great dead, victorious in their doom.
Vain, vain the strait retreatThat held the fated fleet,Trapped in the two-fold threat of sea and shore!Fell reefs on either hand,And the devouring strand!Above, below, the tempest's deafening roar!
What mortal hand shall writeThe horror of that night,The desperate struggle in that deadly close,The yelling of the blast,The wild surf, white, aghast,The whelming seas, the thunder and the throes!
How the great cables surged,The giant engines urged,As the brave ships the unequal strife waged on!Not hope, not courage flagged;But the vain anchors dragged,Down on the reefs they shattered, and were gone!
And now were wrought the deedsWhereof each soul that readsGrows manlier, and burns with prouder breath,—Heroic brotherhood,The loving bonds of blood,Proclaimed from high hearts face to face with death.
At length, the English shipHer cables had let slip,Crowded all steam, and steered for the open sea,Resolved to challenge Fate,To pass the perilous strait,And wrench from jaws of ruin Victory.
With well-tried metals strained,In the storm's teeth she gained,Foot by slow foot made head, and crept toward life.Across her dubious wayThe good ship Trenton lay,Helpless, but thrilled to watch the splendid strife.
Helmless she lay, her bulkA blind and wallowing hulk,By her strained hawsers only held from wreck,But dauntless each brave heartPlayed his immortal partIn strong endurance on the reeling deck.
They fought Fate inch by inch,—Could die, but could not flinch;And, biding the inevitable doom,They marked the English ship,Baffling the tempest's grip,Forge hardly forth from the expected tomb.
Then, with exultant breath,These heroes waiting death,Thundered across the storm a peal of cheers,—To the triumphant braveA greeting from the grave,Whose echo shall go ringing down the years.
"To you, who well have won,From us, whose course is run,Glad greeting, as we face the undreaded end!"The memory of those cheersShall thrill in English earsWhere'er this English blood and speech extend.
No manlier deed comes down,Blazoned in broad renown,From men of old who lived to dare and die!The old fire yet survives,Here in our modern lives,Of splendid chivalry and valor high!
Charles George Douglas Roberts.
AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE
[March 15, 1889]
We were ordered to Samoa from the coast of Panama,And for two long months we sailed the unequal sea,Till we made the horseshoe harbor with its curving coral bar,Smelt the good green smell of grass and shrub and tree.We had barely room for swinging with the tide—There were many of us crowded in the bay:Three Germans, and the English ship, besideOur three—and from the Trenton, where she lay,Through the sunset calms and after,We could hear the shrill, sweet laughterOf the children's voices on the shore at play.We all knew a storm was coming, but, dear God! no man could dreamOf the furious hell-horrors of that day:Through the roar of winds and waters we could hear wild voices scream—See the rocking masts reel by us through the spray.In the gale we drove and drifted helplessly,With our rudder gone, our engine-fires drowned,And none might hope another hour to see;For all the air was desperate with the soundOf the brave ships rent asunder—Of the shrieking souls sucked under,'Neath the waves, where many a good man's grave was found.About noon, upon our quarter, from the deeper gloom afar,Came the English man-of-war Calliope:"We have lost our anchors, comrades, and, though small the chances are,We must steer for safety and the open sea."Then we climbed aloft to cheer her as she passedThrough the tempest and the blackness and the foam:"Now God speed you, though the shout should be our last,Through the channel where the maddened breakers comb,Through the wild sea's hill and hollow,On the path we cannot follow,To your women and your children and your home."Oh! remember it, good brothers. We two people speak one tongue,And your native land was mother to our land;But the head, perhaps, is hasty when the nation's heart is young,And we prate of things we do not understand.But the day when we stood face to face with death(Upon whose face few men may look and tell),As long as you could hear, or we had breath,Four hundred voices cheered you out of hell!By the will of that stern chorus,By the motherland which bore us,Judge if we do not love each other well.Caroline Duer.
We were ordered to Samoa from the coast of Panama,And for two long months we sailed the unequal sea,Till we made the horseshoe harbor with its curving coral bar,Smelt the good green smell of grass and shrub and tree.We had barely room for swinging with the tide—There were many of us crowded in the bay:Three Germans, and the English ship, besideOur three—and from the Trenton, where she lay,Through the sunset calms and after,We could hear the shrill, sweet laughterOf the children's voices on the shore at play.We all knew a storm was coming, but, dear God! no man could dreamOf the furious hell-horrors of that day:Through the roar of winds and waters we could hear wild voices scream—See the rocking masts reel by us through the spray.In the gale we drove and drifted helplessly,With our rudder gone, our engine-fires drowned,And none might hope another hour to see;For all the air was desperate with the soundOf the brave ships rent asunder—Of the shrieking souls sucked under,'Neath the waves, where many a good man's grave was found.About noon, upon our quarter, from the deeper gloom afar,Came the English man-of-war Calliope:"We have lost our anchors, comrades, and, though small the chances are,We must steer for safety and the open sea."Then we climbed aloft to cheer her as she passedThrough the tempest and the blackness and the foam:"Now God speed you, though the shout should be our last,Through the channel where the maddened breakers comb,Through the wild sea's hill and hollow,On the path we cannot follow,To your women and your children and your home."Oh! remember it, good brothers. We two people speak one tongue,And your native land was mother to our land;But the head, perhaps, is hasty when the nation's heart is young,And we prate of things we do not understand.But the day when we stood face to face with death(Upon whose face few men may look and tell),As long as you could hear, or we had breath,Four hundred voices cheered you out of hell!By the will of that stern chorus,By the motherland which bore us,Judge if we do not love each other well.Caroline Duer.
We were ordered to Samoa from the coast of Panama,And for two long months we sailed the unequal sea,Till we made the horseshoe harbor with its curving coral bar,Smelt the good green smell of grass and shrub and tree.We had barely room for swinging with the tide—There were many of us crowded in the bay:Three Germans, and the English ship, besideOur three—and from the Trenton, where she lay,Through the sunset calms and after,We could hear the shrill, sweet laughterOf the children's voices on the shore at play.
We all knew a storm was coming, but, dear God! no man could dreamOf the furious hell-horrors of that day:Through the roar of winds and waters we could hear wild voices scream—See the rocking masts reel by us through the spray.In the gale we drove and drifted helplessly,With our rudder gone, our engine-fires drowned,And none might hope another hour to see;For all the air was desperate with the soundOf the brave ships rent asunder—Of the shrieking souls sucked under,'Neath the waves, where many a good man's grave was found.
About noon, upon our quarter, from the deeper gloom afar,Came the English man-of-war Calliope:"We have lost our anchors, comrades, and, though small the chances are,We must steer for safety and the open sea."Then we climbed aloft to cheer her as she passedThrough the tempest and the blackness and the foam:"Now God speed you, though the shout should be our last,Through the channel where the maddened breakers comb,Through the wild sea's hill and hollow,On the path we cannot follow,To your women and your children and your home."
Oh! remember it, good brothers. We two people speak one tongue,And your native land was mother to our land;But the head, perhaps, is hasty when the nation's heart is young,And we prate of things we do not understand.But the day when we stood face to face with death(Upon whose face few men may look and tell),As long as you could hear, or we had breath,Four hundred voices cheered you out of hell!By the will of that stern chorus,By the motherland which bore us,Judge if we do not love each other well.
Caroline Duer.
On May 31, 1889, western Pennsylvania was visited by one of the worst catastrophes in the history of the country. A flood from a broken reservoir overwhelmed Johnstown, Conemaugh, and a number of smaller towns, destroying over two thousand lives and property to the value of ten million dollars.
On May 31, 1889, western Pennsylvania was visited by one of the worst catastrophes in the history of the country. A flood from a broken reservoir overwhelmed Johnstown, Conemaugh, and a number of smaller towns, destroying over two thousand lives and property to the value of ten million dollars.
BY THE CONEMAUGH
[May 31, 1889]
Foreboding sudden of untoward change,A tight'ning clasp on everything held dear,A moan of waters wild and strange,A whelming horror near;And, 'midst the thund'rous din a voice of doom,—"Make way for me, O Life, for Death make room!"I come like the whirlwind rude,'Gainst all thou hast cherished warring;I come like the flaming floodFrom a crater's mouth outpouring;I come like the avalanche gliding free—And the Power that sent thee forth, sends me!"Where thou hast builded with strength secure,My hand shall spread disaster;Where thou hast barr'd me, with forethought sure,Shall ruin flow the faster;I come to gather where thou hast sowed,—But I claim of thee nothing thou hast not owed!"On my mission of mercy forth I goWhere the Lord of Being sends me;His will is the only will I know,And my strength is the strength He lends me;Thy loved ones I hide 'neath my waters dim,But I cannot hide them away from Him!"Florence Earle Coates.
Foreboding sudden of untoward change,A tight'ning clasp on everything held dear,A moan of waters wild and strange,A whelming horror near;And, 'midst the thund'rous din a voice of doom,—"Make way for me, O Life, for Death make room!"I come like the whirlwind rude,'Gainst all thou hast cherished warring;I come like the flaming floodFrom a crater's mouth outpouring;I come like the avalanche gliding free—And the Power that sent thee forth, sends me!"Where thou hast builded with strength secure,My hand shall spread disaster;Where thou hast barr'd me, with forethought sure,Shall ruin flow the faster;I come to gather where thou hast sowed,—But I claim of thee nothing thou hast not owed!"On my mission of mercy forth I goWhere the Lord of Being sends me;His will is the only will I know,And my strength is the strength He lends me;Thy loved ones I hide 'neath my waters dim,But I cannot hide them away from Him!"Florence Earle Coates.
Foreboding sudden of untoward change,A tight'ning clasp on everything held dear,A moan of waters wild and strange,A whelming horror near;And, 'midst the thund'rous din a voice of doom,—"Make way for me, O Life, for Death make room!
"I come like the whirlwind rude,'Gainst all thou hast cherished warring;I come like the flaming floodFrom a crater's mouth outpouring;I come like the avalanche gliding free—And the Power that sent thee forth, sends me!
"Where thou hast builded with strength secure,My hand shall spread disaster;Where thou hast barr'd me, with forethought sure,Shall ruin flow the faster;I come to gather where thou hast sowed,—But I claim of thee nothing thou hast not owed!
"On my mission of mercy forth I goWhere the Lord of Being sends me;His will is the only will I know,And my strength is the strength He lends me;Thy loved ones I hide 'neath my waters dim,But I cannot hide them away from Him!"
Florence Earle Coates.
The reservoir was known to be weak, and the people below had been warned of the danger yet remained where they were. When, just before the break, Engineer John G. Parke galloped down the valley, shouting to all to run for their lives, it was too late.
The reservoir was known to be weak, and the people below had been warned of the danger yet remained where they were. When, just before the break, Engineer John G. Parke galloped down the valley, shouting to all to run for their lives, it was too late.
THE MAN WHO RODE TO CONEMAUGH
[May 31, 1889]
Into the town of Conemaugh,Striking the people's souls with awe,Dashed a rider, aflame and pale,Never alighting to tell his tale,Sitting his big bay horse astride."Run for your lives to the hills!" he cried;"Run to the hills!" was what he said,As he waved his hand and dashed ahead."Run for your lives to the hills!" he cried,Spurring his horse, whose reeking sideWas flecked with foam as red as flame.Whither he goes and whence he cameNobody knows. They see his horsePlunging on in his frantic course,Veins distended and nostrils wide,Fired and frenzied at such a ride.Nobody knows the rider's name—Dead forever to earthly fame."Run to the hills! to the hills!" he cried;"Run for your lives to the mountain side!""Stop him! he's mad! just look at him go!'Tain't safe," they said, "to let him ride so.""He thinks he can scare us," said one, with a laugh,"But Conemaugh folks don't swallow no chaff;'Tain't nothing, I'll bet, but the same old leakIn the dam above the South Fork Creek."Blind to their danger, callous of dread,They laughed as he left them and dashed ahead."Run for your lives to the hills!" he cried,Lashing his horse in his desperate ride.Down through the valley the rider passed,Shouting, and spurring his horse on fast;But not so fast did the rider goAs the raging, roaring, mighty flowOf the million feet and the millions moreOf water whose fury he fled before.On he went, and on it came,The flood itself a very flameOf surging, swirling, seething tide,Mountain high and torrents wide.God alone might measure the forceOf the Conemaugh flood in its V-shaped course.Behind him were buried under the floodConemaugh town and all who stoodJeering there at the man who cried,"Run for your lives to the mountain side!"On he sped in his fierce, wild ride."Run to the hills! to the hills!" he cried.Nearer, nearer raged the roarHorse and rider fled before.Dashing along the valley ridge,They came at last to the railroad bridge.The big horse stood, the rider cried,"Run for your lives to the mountain side!"Then plunged across, but not beforeThe mighty, merciless mountain roarStruck the bridge and swept it awayLike a bit of straw or a wisp of hay.But over and under and through that tideThe voice of the unknown rider cried,"Run to the hills! to the hills!" it cried,—"Run for your lives to the mountain side!"John Eliot Bowen.
Into the town of Conemaugh,Striking the people's souls with awe,Dashed a rider, aflame and pale,Never alighting to tell his tale,Sitting his big bay horse astride."Run for your lives to the hills!" he cried;"Run to the hills!" was what he said,As he waved his hand and dashed ahead."Run for your lives to the hills!" he cried,Spurring his horse, whose reeking sideWas flecked with foam as red as flame.Whither he goes and whence he cameNobody knows. They see his horsePlunging on in his frantic course,Veins distended and nostrils wide,Fired and frenzied at such a ride.Nobody knows the rider's name—Dead forever to earthly fame."Run to the hills! to the hills!" he cried;"Run for your lives to the mountain side!""Stop him! he's mad! just look at him go!'Tain't safe," they said, "to let him ride so.""He thinks he can scare us," said one, with a laugh,"But Conemaugh folks don't swallow no chaff;'Tain't nothing, I'll bet, but the same old leakIn the dam above the South Fork Creek."Blind to their danger, callous of dread,They laughed as he left them and dashed ahead."Run for your lives to the hills!" he cried,Lashing his horse in his desperate ride.Down through the valley the rider passed,Shouting, and spurring his horse on fast;But not so fast did the rider goAs the raging, roaring, mighty flowOf the million feet and the millions moreOf water whose fury he fled before.On he went, and on it came,The flood itself a very flameOf surging, swirling, seething tide,Mountain high and torrents wide.God alone might measure the forceOf the Conemaugh flood in its V-shaped course.Behind him were buried under the floodConemaugh town and all who stoodJeering there at the man who cried,"Run for your lives to the mountain side!"On he sped in his fierce, wild ride."Run to the hills! to the hills!" he cried.Nearer, nearer raged the roarHorse and rider fled before.Dashing along the valley ridge,They came at last to the railroad bridge.The big horse stood, the rider cried,"Run for your lives to the mountain side!"Then plunged across, but not beforeThe mighty, merciless mountain roarStruck the bridge and swept it awayLike a bit of straw or a wisp of hay.But over and under and through that tideThe voice of the unknown rider cried,"Run to the hills! to the hills!" it cried,—"Run for your lives to the mountain side!"John Eliot Bowen.
Into the town of Conemaugh,Striking the people's souls with awe,Dashed a rider, aflame and pale,Never alighting to tell his tale,Sitting his big bay horse astride."Run for your lives to the hills!" he cried;"Run to the hills!" was what he said,As he waved his hand and dashed ahead.
"Run for your lives to the hills!" he cried,Spurring his horse, whose reeking sideWas flecked with foam as red as flame.Whither he goes and whence he cameNobody knows. They see his horsePlunging on in his frantic course,Veins distended and nostrils wide,Fired and frenzied at such a ride.Nobody knows the rider's name—Dead forever to earthly fame."Run to the hills! to the hills!" he cried;"Run for your lives to the mountain side!"
"Stop him! he's mad! just look at him go!'Tain't safe," they said, "to let him ride so.""He thinks he can scare us," said one, with a laugh,"But Conemaugh folks don't swallow no chaff;'Tain't nothing, I'll bet, but the same old leakIn the dam above the South Fork Creek."Blind to their danger, callous of dread,They laughed as he left them and dashed ahead."Run for your lives to the hills!" he cried,Lashing his horse in his desperate ride.
Down through the valley the rider passed,Shouting, and spurring his horse on fast;But not so fast did the rider goAs the raging, roaring, mighty flowOf the million feet and the millions moreOf water whose fury he fled before.On he went, and on it came,The flood itself a very flameOf surging, swirling, seething tide,Mountain high and torrents wide.God alone might measure the forceOf the Conemaugh flood in its V-shaped course.Behind him were buried under the floodConemaugh town and all who stoodJeering there at the man who cried,"Run for your lives to the mountain side!"
On he sped in his fierce, wild ride."Run to the hills! to the hills!" he cried.Nearer, nearer raged the roarHorse and rider fled before.Dashing along the valley ridge,They came at last to the railroad bridge.The big horse stood, the rider cried,"Run for your lives to the mountain side!"Then plunged across, but not beforeThe mighty, merciless mountain roarStruck the bridge and swept it awayLike a bit of straw or a wisp of hay.But over and under and through that tideThe voice of the unknown rider cried,"Run to the hills! to the hills!" it cried,—"Run for your lives to the mountain side!"
John Eliot Bowen.
It is said that another hero named Daniel Periton rode in front of the flood giving warning, and was finally caught by it and drowned.
It is said that another hero named Daniel Periton rode in front of the flood giving warning, and was finally caught by it and drowned.
A BALLAD OF THE CONEMAUGH FLOOD
[May 31, 1889]