Not lured by any cheat of birth,

But by his clear-grained human worth,

And brave old wisdom of sincerity! They knew that outward grace is dust;

They could not choose but trust

In that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill,

And supple-tempered will That bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust.

His was no lonely mountain-peak of mind,

Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars,

A seamark now, now lost in vapors blind;

Broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined,

Fruitful and friendly for all human kind,

Yet also nigh to Heaven and loved of loftiest stars.

Nothing of Europe here, Or, then, of Europe fronting mornward still,

Ere any names of Serf and
Peer

Could Nature's equal scheme
deface;

Here was a type of the true elder

We sit here in the Promised Land

That flows with Freedom's honey and milk;

But 'twas they won it, sword in hand,

Making the nettle danger soft for us as silk.

We welcome back our bravest and our best;

Ah, me! not all! some come not with the rest,

Who went forth brave and bright as any here!

I strive to mix some gladness with my strain,

But the sad strings complain,
And will not please the ear;

I sweep them for a pæan, but they

Not in anger, not in pride,
Pure from passion's mixture
rude

Ever to base earth allied,
But with far-heard gratitude,
Still with heart and voice re-
newed,

To heroes living and dear martyrs dead,

The strain should close that consecrates our brave.

Lift the heart and lift the head!
Lofty be its mood and grave,
Not without a martial ring,
Not without a prouder tread
And a peal of exultation:
Little right has he to sing
Through whose heart in such an
hour

Beats no march of conscious

Feeling his soul spring up divinely tall,

Touched but in passing by her mantle-hem.

Come back, then, noble pride, for 'tis her dower!

How could poet ever tower,
If his passions, hopes, and fears,
If his triumphs and his tears,
Kept not measure with his peo-
ple?

Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves!

Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple!

Banners, adance with triumph, bend your staves!

And from every mountain-peak Let beacon-fire to answering beacon speak,

Katahdin tell Monadnock, Whiteface he,

And so leap on in light from sea to sea,

Till the glad news be sent Across a kindling continent, Making earth feel more firm and air breathe braver:

"Be proud! for she is saved, and all have helped to save her! She that lifts up the manhood of the poor,

She of the open soul and open door,

With room about her hearth for all mankind!

The fire is dreadful in her eyes

Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release! Thy God, in these distempered days,

Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of his ways,

And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace!

Bow down in prayer and praise! O Beautiful! my Country! ours once more!

Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled hair

O'er such sweet brows as never other wore,

And letting thy set lips, Freed from wrath's pale eclipse,

The rosy edges of their smile lay bare,

What words divine of lover or of poet

Could tell our love and make

CHICAGO.

ОСТ. 10, 1871,

BLACKENED and bleeding, helpless, panting, prone,

On the charred fragments of her shattered throne

Lies she who stood but yesterday alone.

Queen of the West! by some enchanter taught

To lift the glory of Aladdin's court, Then lose the spell that all that wonder wrought.

Like her own prairies by some chance seed sown,

Like her own prairies in one brief day grown,

Like her own prairies in one fierce night mown.

She lifts her voice, and in her pleading call

We hear the cry of Macedon to Paul,

The cry for help that makes her kin to all.

But haply with wan fingers may she feel

The silver cup hid in the proffered meal,

The gifts her kinship and our loves reveal.

BRET HARTE.