Thou art silent and sedate. Thou, in our astronomy An opaker star, Seen haply from afar, Above the horizon's hoop, A moment, by the railway troop, As o'er some bolder height they speed, By circumspect ambition, By errant gain, By feasters and the frivolous, Recallest us, And makest sane. Mute orator! well skilled to plead, And send conviction without phrase, And promise, on thy Founder's truth, FABLE. THE mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter Little Prig;' Bun replied, 'You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track; Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, ODE. INSCRIBED TO W. H. CHANNING. THOUGH loath to grieve The evil time's sole patriot, I cannot leave My honied thought For the priest's cant, Or statesman's rant. If I refuse My study for their politique, Puts confusion in my brain. But who is he that prates Behold the famous States Harrying Mexico With rifle and with knife! Or who, with accent bolder, Dare praise the freedom-loving mountaineer? I found by thee, O rushing Contoocook! And in thy valleys, Agiochook! The jackals of the negro-holder. The God who made New Hampshire Taunted the lofty land With little men; Small bat and wren House in the oak: If earth-fire cleave The upheaved land, and bury the folk, Virtue palters; Right is hence ; Freedom praised, but hid; Funeral eloquence Rattles the coffin-lid. What boots thy zeal, O glowing friend, That would indignant rend The northland from the south? The horseman serves the horse, "T is the day of the chattel, Web to weave, and corn to grind; Things are in the saddle, And ride mankind. Law for man, and law for thing; The last builds town and fleet, But it runs wild, And doth the man unking. "T is fit the forest fall, The steep be graded, The mountain tunnelled, The sand shaded, The glebe tilled, The prairie granted, The steamer built. Let man serve law for man; Yet do not I implore The wrinkled shopman to my sounding woods, Nor bid the unwilling senator Ask votes of thrushes in the solitudes. Every one to his chosen work; Foolish hands may mix and mar; Round they roll till dark is light, Who marries Right to Might, Who peoples, unpeoples,- Races by stronger races, The Cossack eats Poland, Like stolen fruit; Her last noble is ruined, Her last poet mute: Straight, into double band The victors divide; Half for freedom strike and stand;. The astonished Muse finds thousands at her side. |