The Poems of Sidney Lanier Part 19

But Morning's eye alone serene Can gaze across yon village-green To where the trooping British run Through Lexington.

Good men in fustian, stand ye still; The men in red come o'er the hill.

'Lay down your arms, d.a.m.ned Rebels!' cry The men in red full haughtily.

But never a grounding gun is heard; The men in fustian stand unstirred; Dead calm, save maybe a wise bluebird Puts in his little heavenly word.

O men in red! if ye but knew The half as much as bluebirds do, Now in this little tender calm Each hand would out, and every palm With patriot palm strike brotherhood's stroke Or ere these lines of battle broke.

O men in red! if ye but knew The least of the all that bluebirds do, Now in this little G.o.dly calm Yon voice might sing the Future's Psalm -- The Psalm of Love with the brotherly eyes Who pardons and is very wise -- Yon voice that shouts, high-hoa.r.s.e with ire, 'Fire!'

The red-coats fire, the homespuns fall: The homespuns' anxious voices call, 'Brother, art hurt?' and 'Where hit, John?'

And, 'Wipe this blood,' and 'Men, come on,'

And, 'Neighbor, do but lift my head,'

And 'Who is wounded? Who is dead?'

'Seven are killed.' 'My G.o.d! my G.o.d!'

'Seven lie dead on the village sod.

Two Harringtons, Parker, Hadley, Brown, Monroe and Porter, -- these are down.'

'Nay, look! Stout Harrington not yet dead!'

He crooks his elbow, lifts his head.

He lies at the step of his own house-door; He crawls and makes a path of gore.

The wife from the window hath seen, and rushed; He hath reached the step, but the blood hath gushed; He hath crawled to the step of his own house-door, But his head hath dropped: he will crawl no more.

Clasp, Wife, and kiss, and lift the head: Harrington lies at his doorstep dead.

But, O ye Six that round him lay And bloodied up that April day!

As Harrington fell, ye likewise fell -- At the door of the House wherein ye dwell; As Harrington came, ye likewise came And died at the door of your House of Fame.

Go by, old Field of Freedom's hopes and fears; Go by, old Field of Brothers' hate and tears: Behold! yon home of Brothers' Love appears Set in the burnished silver of July, On Schuylkill wrought as in old broidery Clasped hands upon a s.h.i.+ning baldric lie, New Hamps.h.i.+re, Georgia, and the mighty ten That lie between, have heard the huge-nibbed pen Of Jefferson tell the rights of man to men.

They sit in the reverend Hall: 'Shall we declare?'

Floats round about the anxious-quivering air 'Twixt narrow Schuylkill and broad Delaware.

Already, Land! thou HAST declared: 'tis done.

Ran ever clearer speech than that did run When the sweet Seven died at Lexington?

Canst legibler write than Concord's large-stroked Act, Or when at Bunker Hill the clubbed guns cracked?

Hast ink more true than blood, or pen than fact?

Nay, as the poet mad with heavenly fires Flings men his song white-hot, then back retires, Cools heart, broods o'er the song again, inquires, 'Why did I this, why that?' and slowly draws From Art's unconscious act Art's conscious laws; So, Freedom, writ, declares her writing's cause.

All question vain, all chill foreboding vain.

Adams, ablaze with faith, is hot and fain; And he, straight-fibred Soul of mighty grain, Deep-rooted Was.h.i.+ngton, afire, serene -- Tall Bush that burns, yet keeps its substance green -- Sends daily word, of import calm yet keen, Warm from the front of battle, till the fire Wraps opposition in and flames yet higher, And Doubt's thin tissues flash where Hope's aspire; And, 'Ay, declare,' and ever strenuous 'Ay'

Falls from the Twelve, and Time and Nature cry Consent with kindred burnings of July; And delegate Dead from each past age and race, Viewless to man, in large procession pace Downward athwart each set and steadfast face, Responding 'Ay' in many tongues; and lo!

Manhood and Faith and Self and Love and Woe And Art and Brotherhood and Learning go Rearward the files of dead, and softly say Their saintly 'Ay', and softly pa.s.s away By airy exits of that ample day.

Now fall the chill reactionary snows Of man's defect, and every wind that blows Keeps back the Spring of Freedom's perfect Rose.

Now naked feet with crimson fleck the ways, And Heaven is stained with flags that mutinies raise, And Arnold-spotted move the creeping days.

Long do the eyes that look from Heaven see Time smoke, as in the spring the mulberry tree, With buds of battles opening fitfully, Till Yorktown's winking vapors slowly fade, And Time's full top casts down a pleasant shade Where Freedom lies unarmed and unafraid.

Master, ever faster fly Now the vivid seasons by; Now the glittering Western land Twins the day-lit Eastern Strand; Now white Freedom's sea-bird wing Roams the Sea of Everything; Now the freemen to and fro Bind the tyrant sand and snow, s.n.a.t.c.hing Death's hot bolt ere hurled, Flash new Life about the world, Sun the secrets of the hills, Shame the G.o.ds' slow-grinding mills, Prison Yesterday in Print, Read To-morrow's weather-hint, Haste before the halting Time, Try new virtue and new crime, Mould new faiths, devise new creeds, Run each road that frontward leads, Driven by an Onward-ache, Scorning souls that circles make.

Now, O Sin! O Love's lost Shame!

Burns the land with redder flame: North in line and South in line Yell the charge and spring the mine.

Heartstrong South would have his way, Headstrong North hath said him nay: O strong Heart, strong Brain, beware!

Hear a Song from out the air:

I.

"Lists all white and blue in the skies; And the people hurried amain To the Tournament under the ladies' eyes Where jousted Heart and Brain.

II.

"'Blow, herald, blow!' There entered Heart, A youth in crimson and gold.

'Blow, herald, blow!' Brain stood apart, Steel-armored, glittering, cold.

III.

"Heart's palfrey caracoled gayly round, Heart tra-li-raed merrily; But Brain sat still, with never a sound -- Full cynical-calm was he.

IV.

"Heart's helmet-crest bore favors three From his lady's white hand caught; Brain's casque was bare as Fact -- not he Or favor gave or sought.

V.

"'Blow, herald, blow!' Heart shot a glance To catch his lady's eye; But Brain looked straight a-front, his lance To aim more faithfully.

VI.

"They charged, they struck; both fell, both bled; Brain rose again, ungloved; Heart fainting smiled, and softly said, 'My love to my Beloved.'"

Heart and Brain! no more be twain; Throb and think, one flesh again!

Lo! they weep, they turn, they run; Lo! they kiss: Love, thou art one!

Now the Land, with drying tears, Counts him up his flocks of years, "See," he says, "my substance grows; Hundred-flocked my Herdsman goes, Hundred-flocked my Herdsman stands On the Past's broad meadow-lands, Come from where ye mildly graze, Black herds, white herds, nights and days.

Drive them homeward, Herdsman Time, From the meadows of the Prime: I will feast my house, and rest.

Neighbor East, come over West; Pledge me in good wine and words While I count my hundred herds, Sum the substance of my Past From the first unto the last, Chanting o'er the generous brim Cloudy memories yet more dim, Ghostly rhymes of Nors.e.m.e.n pale Staring by old Bjoerne's sail, Strains more n.o.ble of that night Worn Columbus saw his Light, Psalms of still more heavenly tone, How the Mayflower tossed alone, Olden tale and later song Of the Patriot's love and wrong, Grandsire's ballad, nurse's hymn -- Chanting o'er the sparkling brim Till I shall from first to last Sum the substance of my Past."

Then called the Artist's G.o.d from in the sky: "This Time shall show by dream and mystery The heart of all his matter to thine eye.

Son, study stars by looking down in streams, Interpret that which is by that which seems, And tell thy dreams in words which are but dreams."

I.

The Master with His lucent hand Pinched up the atom hills and plains O'er all the moiety of land The ocean-bounded West contains: The dust lay dead upon the calm And mighty middle of His palm.

II.

And lo! He wrought full tenderly, And lo! He wrought with love and might, And lo! He wrought a thing to see Was marvel in His people's sight: He wrought His image dead and small, A nothing fas.h.i.+oned like an All.

III.

Then breathed He softly on the dead: "Live Self! -- thou part, yet none, of Me; Dust for humility," He said, "And my warm breath for Charity.