Freedom, Truth And Beauty Part 4

A FOREST FOR THE KING'S HAWKS

Say, what is Ma-jest-y without externals?

Is Burke's a.n.a.lysis not right--"A Jest"?

Ah, but a jest, at which the poor, oft pressed To their last heart-drop, laugh not, like court journals.

The King needs coin, and, where he sowed no kernels, Wants the whole forest for his hawks to nest And breed in, and became an annual pest; In this the farmers show that they discern ills.

Hark! blares the tyrant's horn and, in a thrice, The Tories gather. Eagerly they band, For is the King not greater than the land?

And rows with royalty, a rabble's vice?

Besides, what creeping tribes at his command, And Spies and Hessians at a ferret's price!

TO ARMS SHOUTS FREEDOM

To Arms! shouts Freedom to her sons. Behold!

How, like Job's war-horse, they gulp down the ground To battle! What care they how foes surround?

Oh, joy to Celts, nigh half the true and bold!

There, with the roar of all their wrongs uprolled From ancient depths, they dash with billow-bound Up rock and summit, and through cave and mound, Spurning both Tyrants' steel and Treason's gold.

No tide are they to ebb in heart and spirit.

If dashed back, they return with all the force Of six dark sea's momentum on its course For vengeance on the vile, who disinherit The human-being--shut off every source Of happiness, or let but Serf's draw near it!

BRITISH SOLDIERY

The wounded Sidney, who despite his thirst, Gave water to his comrade, s.h.i.+nes, a lamp In the Cimerian dark of Britain's camp.

Even the Raleigh, who so finely versed, Preferred to such a light, the flame accursed Of sword and torch, to please a royal vamp.

Is British triumph in its world-wide tramp The h.e.l.l, still "lower than lowest"--Milton's worst?

Lord Christ! is British soldiery the swine, In whose gross forms the fiends, exercised, flew?

Oh! watch them through the ages, they pursue The n.o.ble and devour all things Divine.

Look! they ill.u.s.trate horrors, which prove true The h.e.l.l, which Milton's glimpse could not outline.

AMPHIBIOUS BARRY

Look! Freedom glares and pallid as a ghost, Except for gashes on her brow and breast, And faint from hunger, sits awhile to rest.

Amphibious Barry, bold on sea or coast, Mounts and spurs darkness to the Tory Host, And, like an Indian rider with head prest Down to his steed's hot neck in prowess test, Plucks from the ground, a prize he well may boast.

Oh, as the sun's smile pa.s.sing through the rain, s.h.i.+nes forth a double arch, so, Barry's deed, Refles.h.i.+ng Freedom's bones made gaunt by need, s.h.i.+nes through the Ages; aye, and s.h.i.+nes forth twain-- Both for America, from Britain Freed, And Erin, still choked black in Britain's chain!

FREEDOM'S TRIUMPH

With France and Erin heartening Was.h.i.+ngton, p.r.o.ne Freedom rose, with head above the cloud.

Beholding her transfigured, Thrall is cowed.

His minions are bewildered. How they run!

Some follow him against the rising sun; Others plod north. The Torries' vaster crowd Hide in dark places, and like Satan, proud, They hate the glory, that the true have won.

O Milton! Thou beheldest them. Thine ear Caught their defiance and thy lightening pen, In shattering the dark in evil's den, Caught hope amphibious from leer to leer Of those grim shadows, plotting to regain Lost Paradise, or bane its atmosphere.

WAs.h.i.+NGTON'S ARMY AND BARRY'S NAVY

Who loosed our land from Britain's numbing hold?

"They who had naught to loose," the Tories say; That is--not menials in the King's sure pay, Nor mongrels, chained to guard their master's gold.

They were True Men. Their spirit, young and bold, With dreams played follow-master, climbing day From deepest night, to catch the Sun and stay His glory for the World, then whiteing cold.

Though darkness be far vaster than the lamp, It is the beams that lead to progress, count.

"To manhood, with the virtues to surmount Such darknesses as Valley Forge's camp, And seas, deep h.e.l.l's sky-reaching, broadening fount, Honor!" The ages shout on Triumph's tramp.

THE SUNKEN CONTINENT

When hurled from heaven, 'tis thought, the fiends of pride Caught Earth to brake their fall. The regions gave And sank with all the hosts beneath the wave!

'Tis in those sunken regions which divide The new world of the resolute and brave, From the old world of king and abject slave, Where Torries, counterfeiting Satan, hide.

Clinging, like lava, to a lifeless limb, They think the phosph.o.r.escence of the bark Is morning, which the long-belated lark Is hastening to welcome with his hymn; Else, they form poisons and breathe from the dark, Miasma mist to make the sun-rise dim.

ELISHA BROWN

Old Guard of Boston! Halt; Right Face; Attention!

Order One: quell the weeds in rankest riot Where lies Elisha Brown, in conscience, quiet.

This Brown was John's precursor. Ye, on pension For ancient glory, now do duty. Mention Elisha's name for countersign--and why, it?

Because with him, wrong, seen, was to defy it, And act, else, was beyond his comprehension.