Golden Numbers Part 41

Where'er a single slave doth pine, Where'er one man may help another,-- Thank G.o.d for such a birthright, brother,-- That spot of earth is thine and mine!

There is the true man's birthplace grand, His is a world-wide fatherland!

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

INTERLEAVES

_New World and Old Glory_

The verse in this division gives a poetic picture of America, dear land of all our love, from the very beginning of her world-life. It sings her story from the time when Columbus,

_"Before him not the ghost of sh.o.r.es, Before him only sh.o.r.eless seas,"_

sailed toward the mysterious continent that lay hidden in the West; sings it from the thrilling moment when the weary sailors sighted the new land, up to the twentieth century, when Old Glory waves

_"Wherever the sails of peace are seen And wherever the war-wind blows."_

Heroic figures, familiar to us from childhood, appear in these metrical versions of episodes in our national history. Here is the red man whose hour, alas! was struck when first the pale-face looked upon his happy hunting-grounds; here are Pocahontas and her Captain; the Pilgrim Fathers; Was.h.i.+ngton, the soldier-statesman; the embattled farmers who fired at Concord the shot heard round the world; the Continentals in their ragged regimentals, and Old Ironsides with its memories of 1812.

Then, when "westward the Star of Empire takes its way," come the Argonauts of '49, crossing the plains in their white-sailed prairie schooners in search, like Jason, of the Golden Fleece.

The years move on, and Abraham Lincoln, the Great Commoner, dear benefactor of the race, appears, and, kneeling at his feet, the dusky slave whose bonds he loosened. Gallant Phil Sheridan and Barbara Frietchie are here too; indeed, you will find that the number of poems inspired by the Civil War is very great; but the patriot host, above, below, knows now no North nor South; and Lincoln's "dear majestic ghost"

looks down upon, as Old Glory floats over, a united commonwealth.

XI

NEW WORLD AND OLD GLORY

_Dear Land of All My Love_[18]

Long as thine art shall love true love, Long as thy science truth shall know, Long as thine eagle harms no dove, Long as thy law by law shall grow, Long as thy G.o.d is G.o.d above, Thy brother every man below, So long, dear land of all my love, Thy name shall s.h.i.+ne, thy fame shall glow.

SIDNEY LANIER.

_From "The Centennial Ode"_ (1876).

[Footnote 18: _From "Poems of Sidney Lanier," copyright 1891, and published by Charles Scribner's Sons._]

_Columbus_[19]

Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of sh.o.r.es, Before him only sh.o.r.eless seas.

The good mate said: "Now must we pray, For, lo! the very stars are gone.

Brave Adm'r'l, speak; what shall I say?"

"Why, say: 'Sail on, sail on! and on!'"

"My men grow mutinous day by day; My men grow ghastly wan and weak."

The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.

"What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say, If we sight not but seas at dawn?"

"Why, you shall say, at break of day: 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"

They sailed and sailed as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said: "Why, now not even G.o.d would know Should I and all my men fall dead.

These very winds forget the way, For G.o.d from these dread seas is gone.

Now speak, brave Adm'r'l, speak and say--"

He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: "This mad sea shows his teeth to-night; He curls his lip, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth, as if to bite: Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word; What shall we do when hope is gone?"

The words leapt as a leaping sword: "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck And peered through darkness. Ah, that night Of all dark nights! And then a speck-- A light! a light! a light! a light!

It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!

It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.

He gained a world; he gave that world Its greatest lesson: "On! sail on!"

JOAQUIN MILLER.

[Footnote 19: _From "The Complete Poetical Works of Joaquin Miller"

(copyrighted). By permission of the publishers, The Whitaker-Ray Company, San Francisco._]

_Pocahontas_

Wearied arm and broken sword Wage in vain the desperate fight; Round him press a countless horde, He is but a single knight.

Hark! a cry of triumph shrill Through the wilderness resounds, As, with twenty bleeding wounds, Sinks the warrior, fighting still.

Now they heap the funeral pyre, And the torch of death they light; Ah! 'tis hard to die by fire!

Who will s.h.i.+eld the captive knight?

Round the stake with fiendish cry Wheel and dance the savage crowd, Cold the victim's mien and proud, And his breast is bared to die.

Who will s.h.i.+eld the fearless heart?

Who avert the murderous blade?

From the throng with sudden start See, there springs an Indian maid.

Quick she stands before the knight: "Loose the chain, unbind the ring!

I am daughter of the king.

And I claim the Indian right!"

Dauntlessly aside she flings Lifted axe and thirsty knife, Fondly to his heart she clings, And her bosom guards his life!

In the woods of Powhattan, Still 'tis told by Indian fires How a daughter of their sires Saved a captive Englishman.

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.