To the billows that flow through the AT THE BANQUET TO THE CHINESE gateway of gold. The snow-crested mountains are calling aloud; Nevada to Ural speaks out of the cloud, And Shasta shouts forth, from his throne in the sky, EMBASSY. AUGUST 21, 1868. BROTHERS, whom we may not reach To the storm-splintered summits, the Words that hearts can understand, peaks of Altai ! Brothers from the Flowery Land! You must leave him, they say, till the We, the evening's latest born, summer is green! Both shores are his home, though the We, the new creation's birth, waves roll between ; Greet the lords of ancient earth, And then we 'll return him, with thanks From their storied walls and towers for the same, As fresh and as smiling and tall as he came. But ours is the region of Arctic delight; stars by night; Wandering to these tents of ours! J Land of wonders, fair Cathay, There's a Muscovy sting in the ice-tem- Teach us as thou didst of old. pered air, And our firesides are warm and our Knowledge dwells with length of days; maidens are fair. Wisdom walks in ancient ways; The flowers are full-blown in the gar- A nation o'er the stormy tide, landed hall, Scourged by passions, doubts, and fears, They will bloom round his footsteps Safe through thrice a thousand years! wherever they fall; shine they bring For the splendors of youth and the sun- Looking from thy turrets gray mons of Spring. Athens rent by robbers' hands, One word of our language he needs must Like a storm-cloud swept away : know well, But another remains that is harder to Looking from thy turrets gray spell; Still we see thee. Where are they? We shall speak it so ill, if he wishes to And lo! a new-born nation waits, learn Sitting at the golden gates How we utter Farewell, he will have to That glitter by the sunset sea, return ! We welcome you, Lords of the Land of Where white Fusiyama lifts proudly its But the dog-star is here, and the song- But ours the wide temple where worship birds have flown. And what shall I sing that can cheat you of smiles, Ye heralds of peace from the Orient isles? If only the Jubilee - Why did you wait? You are welcome, but oh! you're a lit- One dome overarches the star-bannered tle too late! We have greeted our brothers of Ireland and France, Round the fiddle of Strauss we have joined in the dance, We have lagered Herr Saro, that fine looking man, shore; You may enter the Pope's or the Puritan's door, Or pass with the Buddhist his gateway of bronze, For a priest is but Man, be he bishop or bonze. And glorified Godfrey, whose name it is And the lesson we teach with the sword Dan. and the pen Is to all of God's children, "We also are The Eagle was always the friend of the Sun; men ! If you wrong us we smart, if you prick You are welcome!- The song of the us we bleed, If you love us, no quarrel with color or creed ! " You'll find us a well-meaning, free spoken crowd, cage-bird is done. BRYANT'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY. NOVEMBER 3, 1864. Good-natured enough, but a little too O EVEN-HANDED Nature ! we confess You'll take it all calmly, we want We count the precious seasons that reyou to see main ; What a peaceable fight such a contest Strike not the level of the golden grain, can be, And of one thing be certain, however it ends, But heap it high with years, that earth may gain You will find that our voters have chosen What heaven can lose, - for heaven is your friends. rich in song: Do not all poets, dying, still prolong If the horse that stands saddled is first Their broken chants amid the seraph But as his boyhood was of manliest hue, From earliest dawn their ordered bloom So to his youth his manly years were true, display Till evening's planet with her guiding All dyed in royal purple through and ray Leads in the blind old mother of the day, through! He for whose touch the lyre of Heaven is strung We reckon by his songs, each song a Needs not the flattering toil of mortal flower, tongue : The long, long daylight, numbering Let not the singer grieve to die unsung! hour by hour, Each breathing sweetness like a bridal Marbles forget their message to man bower. His morning glory shall we e'er forget? kind : Nay, even if creeping Time should hide As the fair cedar, fallen before the the skies breeze, In midnight from his century-laden Lies self-embalmed amidst the moulder - How can we praise the verse whose Till at the last they track with even feet music flows With solemn cadence and majestic close, Pure as the dew that filters through the rose? Her rhythmic footsteps, and their pulses beat Twinned with her pulses, and their lips repeat How shall we thank him that in evil The secrets she has told them, as their Thus is the inmost soul of Nature known, | The milky way of peace all freshly And the rapt minstrel shares her awful throne! O lover of her mountains and her woods, Her snows fall harmless on thy sacred fire: Far be the day that claims thy sounding lyre To join the music of the angel choir! strowed, And every white-throned star fixed in its lost abode ! AT A DINNER TO GENERAL GRANT. JULY 31, 1865. WHEN treason first began the strife Yet, since life's amplest measure must The sheaves of ripening manhood pressed be filled, Since throbbing hearts must be forever stilled, And all must fade that evening sunsets gild, Thick as the bearded grain. Rich was the harvest; souls as true As ever battle tried; But fiercer still the conflict grew, Grant, Father, ere he close the mortal Ah, who forgets that dreadful day eyes Whose blot of grief and shame Four bitter years scarce wash away In seas of blood and flame? Vain, vain the Nation's lofty boasts, "Give me a man to lead my hosts, Bravely they fought who failed to win, The Southern cross without its bleeding Through paths that martyr feet have trod load, The conqueror's steps he leads. |