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 wane
Again and yet again

Into a dirge and die away in pain.

230

In these brave ranks I only see the gaps,

235

Thinking of dear ones whom the dumb turf wraps,

Dark to the triumph which they died to gain:

Fitlier may others greet the living,

For me the past is unforgiving;

I with uncovered head
Salute the sacred dead,

Who went, and who return not.-Say not so!
"T is not the grapes of Canaan that repay,
But the high faith that failed not by the way;
Virtue treads paths that end not in the grave;
No ban of endless night exiles the brave;

And to the saner mind

We rather seem the dead that stayed behind.
Blow, trumpets, all your exultations blow!
For never shall their aureoled presence lack:
I see them muster in a gleaming row,
With ever-youthful brows that nobler show;
We find in our dull road their shining track;

240

245

250

Secure from change in their high-hearted ways,
Beautiful evermore, and with the rays

260

Of morn on their white Shields of Expectation!

IX

Who now shall sneer?

Who dare again to say we trace

Our lines to a plebeian race?

Roundhead and Cavalier!

Dreams are those names erewhile in battle loud;

265

Forceless as is the shadow of a cloud,

They live but in the ear:

That is best blood that hath most iron in 't
To edge resolve with, pouring without stint
For what makes manhood dear.
Tell us not of Plantagenets,

Hapsburgs, and Guelfs, whose thin bloods crawl
Down from some victor in a border-brawl!
How poor their outworn coronets,

Matched with one leaf of that plain civic wreath
Our brave for honor's blazon shall bequeath,

Through whose desert a rescued Nation sets

270

275

Feeling his soul spring up divinely tall,

Touched but in passing by her mantle-hem.

Come back, then, noble pride, for 't is her dower!
How could poet ever tower,

If his passions, hopes, and fears,

If his triumphs and his tears,

Kept not measure with his people?

310

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

Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple!

Banners, advance with triumph, bend your staves!

315

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 helm from her bold front she doth unbind,
Sends all her handmaid armies back to spin,
And bids her navies hold their thunders in.
No challenge sends she to the elder world,
That looked askance and hated; a light scorn
Plays on her mouth, as round her mighty knees
She calls her children back, and waits the morn
Of nobler day, enthroned between her subject seas."

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330

XI

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

335

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,

340

1865.

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 thee know it,

Among the Nations bright beyond compare?
What were our lives without thee?
What all our lives to save thee?
We reck not what we gave thee;

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350

5

ΙΟ

Under his thick, misted eyebrows
Twinkled his eye like a star,
And fiercer he sang as the sea-winds
Drove cold on the Paso del Mar.

Now Bernal, the herdsman of Chino,
Had travelled the shore since dawn,

Leaving the ranches behind him

Good reason had he to be gone! The blood was still red on his dagger,

The fury was hot in his brain,

And the chill, driving scud of the breakers
Beat thick on his forehead in vain.

With his poncho wrapped gloomily round him,
He mounted the dizzying road,

And the chasms and steeps of the headland

Were slippery and wet as he trod:

Wild swept the wind of the ocean,

Rolling the fog from afar,

When near him a mule-bell came tinkling,
Midway on the Paso del Mar.

"Back!" shouted Bernal, full fiercely;

And "Back!" shouted Pablo, in wrath,