III. Fair-fair-but fallen Spain! 'tis with a swelling heart, That I think on all thou mightst have been, and look at what thou art; But the strife is over now, and all the good and brave, That would have raised thee up, are gone, to exile or the grave. Thy fleeces are for monks, thy grapes for the convent feast, And the wealth of all thy harvest-fields for the pampered lord and priest. IV. "But I shall see the day—it will come before I die— I shall see it in my silver hairs, and with an age-dimmed eye;When the spirit of the land to liberty shall bound, As yonder fountain leaps away from the darkness of the ground: And to my mountain cell, the voices of the free Shall rise, as from the beaten shore the thunders of the sea." A MEDITATION ON RHODE-ISLAND COAL. Decolor, obscuris, vilis, non ille repexam CLAUDIAN. I SAT beside the glowing grate, fresh heaped And last I thought of that fair isle which sent I saw it once, with heat and travel spent, And scratched by dwarf-oaks in the hollow way; Now dragged through sand, now jolted over stoneA rugged road through rugged Tiverton. And hotter grew the air, and hollower grew The deep-worn path, and horror-struck, I thought, Where will this dreary passage lead me to? This long dull road, so narrow, deep, and hot? I looked to see it dive in earth outright; I looked-but saw a far more welcome sight. Like a soft mist upon the evening shore, As if just risen from its calm inland bay; The barley was just reaped-its heavy sheaves Dark in its summer growth, and shook its leaves— The Briton hewed their ancient groves away. I saw where fountains freshened the green land, Went wandering all that fertile region o'er— Rogue's Island once-but when the rogues were dead, Rhode Island was the name it took instead. Beautiful island! then it only seemed A lovely stranger-it has grown a friend. I gazed on its smooth slopes, but never dreamed How soon that bright magnificent isle would send The treasures of its womb across the sea, To warm a poet's room and boil his tea. Dark anthracite ! that reddenest on my hearth, And put to shame the men that mean thee wrong. Yea, they did wrong thee foully-they who mocked And grew profane-and swore, in bitter scorn, Yet is thy greatness nigh. I pause to state, For which three cheers burst from the mob before him. And I have seen-not many months ago— An eastern Governor in chapeau bras And military coat, a glorious show! Ride forth to visit the reviews, and ah! How oft he smiled and bowed to Jonathan ! How many hands were shook and votes were won! 'Twas a great Governor-thou too shalt be Great in thy turn-and wide shall spread thy fame, And swiftly; farthest Maine shall hear of thee, And cold New Brunswick gladden at thy name, And, faintly through its sleets, the weeping isle That sends the Boston folks their cod shall smile. For thou shalt forge vast railways, and shalt heat Thou shalt make mighty engines swim the sea, Will take a man to Havre-and shalt be The moving soul of many a spinning-jenny, And ply thy shuttles, till a bard can wear As good a suit of broadcloth as the mayor. |