Imperial Press
CLEVELAND
_To my sister_
_LACIBEL AINSWORTH WOOD_
_this volume is lovingly and gratefully
dedicated by the author_
[Illustration: CONTENTS]
_Page_
_The American Flag 17
Joseph Rodman Drake_
_Adams and Liberty 27
Robert Treat Paine_
_Yankee Doodle 41
Unknown_
_The Star-Spangled Banner 53
Francis Scott Key_
_Hail Columbia 67
Joseph Hopkinson_
_Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean 77
Thomas à Becket_
_The Flag of our Union 87
George P. Morris_
_John Brown's Body 97
Charles S. Hall_
_Dixie 109
Dan Emmett_
_The Battle Cry of Freedom 125
George F. Root_
_Song of a Thousand Years 137
Henry Clay Work_
_Tenting on the Old Camp Ground 149
Walter Kittredge_
_The Battle Hymn of the Republic 159
Julia Ward Howe_
_Just Before the Battle, Mother 171
George F. Root_
_When this Cruel War is Over 181
Charles Carroll Sawyer_
_Marching through Georgia 193
Henry Clay Work_
_My Maryland 205
James Ryder Randall_
_All Quiet Along the Potomac 217
Ethel Lynn Beers_
_The Old Folks at Home 227
Stephen Collins Foster_
_The Blue and the Gray 237
Francis Miles Finch_
_Rule, Britannia 249
James Thomson_
_The Watch on the Rhine 259
Max Schneckenburger_
_The Marseillaise 269
Claude Joseph Rouget de Lisle_
_The Blue Bells of Scotland 279
Annie McVicar Grant_
_Recessional 291
Rudyard Kipling_
[Illustration]
[Illustration: PORTRAITS]
_Page_
_Thomas à Becket 76_
_Otto Eduard Leopold von Bismarck-Schönhausen 258_
_John Brown 96_
_Joseph Rodman Drake 16_
_Daniel Decatur Emmett 108_
_Francis Miles Finch 236_
_Stephen Collins Foster 226_
_Ulysses Simpson Grant 216_
_Joseph Hopkinson 66_
_Julia Ward Howe 158_
_John Wallace Hutchinson 148_
_Francis Scott Key 52_
_Rudyard Kipling 290_
_La Fayette 268_
_Robert Edward Lee 204_
_Abraham Lincoln 124_
_George Pope Morris 86_
_Robert Treat Paine 26_
_Albert Pike 118_
_George Frederick Root 170_
_Charles Carroll Sawyer 180_
_William Tecumseh Sherman 192_
_Charles Edward Stuart, the Pretender 278_
_James Thomson 248_
_George Washington 40_
_Henry Clay Work 136_
[Illustration: _Bunker Hill Monument_]
[Illustration: ILLUSTRATIONS]
_Page_
_Battle of Bunker Hill Frontispiece_
_Bunker Hill Monument xii_
_Washington Monument xiv_
_Mount Hood 22_
_Statue of the Minuteman at Concord, Massachusetts 32_
_Liberty Bell 37_
_Boston Common 46_
_Fort McHenry 58_
_The Capitol 72_
_Statue of Liberty 80_
_West Point Military Academy 90_
_Harper's Ferry 102_
_Picking Cotton 112_
_Fort Sumter 130_
_The White House 142_
_Moccasin Bend 152_
_Faneuil Hall 164_
_Fortress Monroe 176_
_U. S. Battle-Ship "Maine" 186_
_Sherman burns Atlanta and marches toward the sea 198_
_Plymouth Rock 202_
_The Invasion of Maryland 210_
_Mount Vernon 222_
_"Still longin' for de old plantation,
And for de old folks at home" 232_
_Grant's Monument 242_
_The Tower of London 254_
_National Monument, Niederwald 264_
_Vieux Port, Marseilles 274_
_Stirling Castle 284_
_Houses of Parliament 296_
[Illustration: _Washington Monument_]
[Illustration: JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE]
_THE AMERICAN FLAG._
When Freedom, from her mountain height,
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there!
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure celestial white
With streakings of the morning light;
Then, from his mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land!
Majestic monarch of the cloud!
Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest trumpings loud,
And see the lightning-lances driven,
When stride the warriors of the storm
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven!
Child of the sun! To thee 'tis given
To guard the banner of the free,
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbingers of Victory.
Flag of the brave! Thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high!
When speaks the signal trumpet tone
And the long line comes gleaming on
(Ere yet the life-blood warm and wet
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet),
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn
To where thy sky-born glories burn,
And, as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And when the cannon mouthing cloud
Heaves in wild wreaths the battle shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall,
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall;
There shall thy meteor-glances glow,
And cowering foes shall shrink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death.
Flag of the seas! On ocean wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave;
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's reeling rack,
Each dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendors fly
In triumph o'er his closing eye.
Flag of the free heart's hope and home,
By angel hands to valor given;
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome
And all thy hues were born in heaven!
As fixed as yonder orb divine,
That saw thy bannered blaze unfurled,
Shall thy proud stars resplendent shine,
The guard and glory of the world.
--_Joseph Rodman Drake._
The author of _The American Flag_ was born to poverty, but by hard work
he obtained a good education, and studied medicine under Dr. Nicholas
Romayne, by whom he was greatly beloved. He obtained his degree and
shortly afterward, in October, 1816, he was married to Sarah Eckford,
who brought him a good deal of wealth. Two years later, his health
failing, he visited New Orleans for the winter, hoping for its recovery.
He returned to New York in the spring, only to die in the following
autumn, September, 1820, at the age of twenty-five. He is buried at
Hunt's Point, in Westchester County, New York, where he spent some of
the years of his boyhood. On his monument are these lines, written by
his friend, Fitz-Green Halleck,--
"None knew him but to love him,
Nor named him but to praise."
Drake was a poet from his childhood. The anecdotes preserved of his
early youth show the fertility of his imagination. His first rhymes were
a conundrum which he perpetrated when he was but five years old. He was
one day, for some childish offense, punished by imprisonment in a
portion of the garret shut off by some wooden bars. His sisters stole up
to witness his suffering condition, and found him pacing the room, with
something like a sword on his shoulder, watching an incongruous heap on
the floor, in the character of Don Quixote at his vigils over the armor
in the church. He called a boy of his acquaintance, named Oscar, "Little
Fingal;" his ideas from books thus early seeking embodiment in living
shapes. In the same spirit the child listened with great delight to the
stories of an old neighbor lady about the Revolution. He would identify
himself with the scene, and once, when he had given her a very energetic
account of a ballad which he had read, upon her remarking that it was a
tough story, he quickly replied, with a deep sigh: "Ah! we had it tough
enough that day, ma'am."
Drake wrote _The Mocking-Bird_, one of his poems which has lived and
will live, when a mere boy. It shows not only a happy facility but an
unusual knowledge of the imitative faculty in the young poets of his
time.
[Illustration: _MOUNT HOOD_]
_The American Flag_ was written in May, 1819, when the author was not
quite twenty-four. It has remained unchanged except the last four
lines. It originally concluded:--
"As fixed as yonder orb divine,
That saw thy bannered blaze unfurled,
Shall thy proud stars resplendent shine,
The guard and glory of the world."
These lines were very unsatisfactory to Drake, and he said to Fitz-Green
Halleck, "Fitz, can't you suggest a better stanza?" Whereupon the
brilliant author of _Marco Bozzaris_ sat down and wrote in a glowing
burst of inspiration the four concluding lines:--
"Forever float that standard sheet!
Where breathes the foe but falls before us?
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us?"
Drake immediately agreed that these were a splendid improvement on the
former ending, and incorporated them into his one poem that is certain
of immortality. It was first published in the New York _Evening Post_,
in a series known as the _Croaker Pieces_, _The American Flag_ being the
last one of the series.
The young poet was entirely free from vanity and affectation, and had no
morbid seeking for popular applause. When he was on his deathbed, at his
wife's request, Doctor DeKay collected and copied all his poems which
could be found and took them to him. "See, Joe," said he to him, "what I
have done." "Burn them," he replied; "they are valueless."
Drake's impulsive nature, as well as the spirit and force, yet
simplicity, of expression, with his artless manner, gained him many
friends. He had that native politeness which springs from
benevolence--that would stop to pick up the hat or the crutch of an old
servant, or fly to the relief of a child. His acquaintance with
Fitz-Green Halleck arose in a romantic incident on the Battery one day
when, in a retiring shower, the heavens were spanned by a rainbow. DeKay
and Drake were together, and Halleck, a new acquaintance, was talking
with them; the conversation taking the turn of some passing expression
of the wishes of the moment, Halleck whimsically remarked that it would
be heaven for him, just then, to ride on that rainbow and read Campbell.
The idea was very pleasing to Drake. He seized Halleck by the hand and
from that moment until his untimely death they were bosom friends.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _ROBERT TREAT PAINE_]
_ADAMS AND LIBERTY._
Ye sons of Columbia, who bravely have fought
For those rights which unstain'd from your sires had descended,
May you long taste the blessings your valor has bought,
And your sons reap the soil which your fathers defended!
'Mid the reign of mild peace,
May your nation increase,
With the glory of Rome, and the wisdom of Greece.
And ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
In a clime whose rich vales feed the marts of the world,
Whose shores are unshaken by Europe's commotion,
The trident of Commerce should never be hurl'd
To increase the legitimate powers of the ocean.
But should pirates invade,
Though in thunder array'd,
Let your cannon declare the free charter of trade;
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
The fame of our arms, of our laws the mild sway,
Had justly ennobled our nation in story,
Till the dark clouds of faction obscured our young day,
And enveloped the sun of American glory.
But let traitors be told,
Who their country have sold,
And bartered their God for his image in gold,
That ne'er will the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
While France her huge limbs bathes recumbent in blood,
And society's base threats with wide dissolution;
May peace, like the dove who return'd from the flood,
Find an ark of abode in our mild constitution.
But, though peace is our aim,
Yet the boon we disclaim,
If bought by our sovereignty, justice, or fame;
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
'Tis the fire of the flint each American warms:
Let Rome's haughty victors beware of collision;
Let them bring all the vassals of Europe in arms,
We're a world by ourselves, and disdain a provision.
While with patriot pride
To our laws we're allied,
No foe can subdue us, no faction divide;
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
Our mountains are crown'd with imperial oak,
Whose roots, like our liberties, ages have nourish'd;
But long ere our nation submits to the yoke,
Not a tree shall be left on the field where it flourish'd.
Should invasion impend,
Every grove would descend
From the hilltops they shaded our shores to defend;
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
Let our patriots destroy Anarch's pestilent worm,
Lest our liberty's growth should be check'd by corrosion;
Then let clouds thicken round us: we heed not the storm;
Our realm fears no shock, but the earth's own explosion.
Foes assail us in vain,
Though their fleets bridge the main,
For our altars and laws with our lives we'll maintain;
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
Should the tempest of war overshadow our land,
Its bolts could ne'er rend Freedom's temple asunder;
For, unmov'd, at its portal would Washington stand,
And repulse with his breast the assaults of the thunder!
His sword from the sleep
Of its scabbard would leap,
And conduct, with its point, every flash to the deep;
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
Let Fame to the world sound America's voice;
No intrigues can her sons from their government sever:
Her pride is her Adams, their laws are his choice,
And shall flourish till Liberty slumbers forever.
Then unite heart and hand,
Like Leonidas' band,
And swear to the God of the ocean and land,
That ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
--_Robert Treat Paine._
[Illustration: _STATUE OF THE MINUTEMAN AT CONCORD, MASSACHUSETTS_]
The father of the author of _Adams and Liberty_, or as it has been more
usually entitled in later days, _Ye Sons of Columbia_, was the Robert
Treat Paine who was one of the immortal signers of the Declaration of
Independence. The author of this hymn was given by his parents the
name of Thomas, but on account of that being the name of a notorious
infidel of his time, he appealed to the legislature of Massachusetts to
give him a _Christian_ name; thereafter he took the name of his father,
Robert Treat Paine.
He was a very precocious and brilliant youth. When he was seven years of
age his family removed from Taunton, where he was born, to Boston, and
there he prepared for Harvard College at one of the public schools,
entering the freshman class in his fifteenth year. One of his classmates
wrote a squib on him in verse on the college wall, and Paine, on
consultation with his friends, being advised to retaliate in kind, did
so, and thus became aware of the poetic faculty of which he afterward
made such liberal use. He wrote nearly all his college compositions in
verse, with such success that he was assigned the post of poet at the
College Exhibition in the autumn of 1791, and at the Commencement in the
following year. After receiving his diploma, he entered the
counting-room of Mr. James Tisdale, but soon proved that his tastes did
not lie in that direction. He would often be carried away by day-dreams
and make entries in his day-book in poetry. On one occasion when he was
sent to the bank with a check for five hundred dollars, he met some
literary acquaintances on the way and went off with them to Cambridge,
and spent a week in the enjoyment of "the feast of reason and the flow
of soul," returning to his duties with the cash at the end of that
period.
In 1792 young Paine fell deeply in love with an actress, a Miss Baker,
aged sixteen, who was one of the first players to appear in Boston.
Their performances were at first called dramatic recitations to avoid a
collision with a law forbidding "stage plays." He married Miss Baker in
1794, and was promptly turned out of doors by his father.
The next year, on taking his degree of A.M. at Cambridge, he delivered a
poem entitled _The Invention of Letters_. There was a great deal of
excitement over this poem at the time, as it contained some lines
referring to Jacobinism, which the college authorities crossed out, but
which he delivered as written. The poem was greatly admired, and
Washington wrote him a letter in appreciation of its merits. It was
immediately published and large editions sold, the author receiving
fifteen hundred dollars as his share of the profits, which was no doubt
a very grateful return to a poet with a young wife and an obdurate
father. The breach with his family, however, was afterward healed.
Mr. Paine was also the author of a poem entitled _The Ruling Passion_,
for which he received twelve hundred dollars. Still another famous poem
of his was called _The Steeds of Apollo_.
In 1794 he produced his earliest ode, _Rise, Columbia_, which,
perhaps, was the seed thought from which later sprang the more extended
hymn,--
"When first the sun o'er ocean glow'd
And earth unveil'd her virgin breast,
Supreme 'mid Nature's vast abode
Was heard th' Almighty's dread behest:
'Rise, Columbia, brave and free,
Poise the globe, and bound the sea.'"
His most famous song, _Adams and Liberty_,--which is sung to the same
tune as Key's _Star-Spangled Banner_, or _Anacreon in Heaven_,--was
written four years later at the request of the Massachusetts Charitable
Fire Society. Its sale yielded him a profit of more than seven hundred
and fifty dollars. These receipts show an immediate popularity which has
seldom been achieved by patriotic songs. In 1799 he delivered an oration
on the first anniversary of the dissolution of the alliance with France
which was a great oratorical triumph. The author sent a copy, after its
publication, to Washington, and received a reply in which the General
says: "You will be assured that I am never more gratified than when I
see the effusions of genius from some of the rising generation, which
promises to secure our national rank in the literary world; as I trust
their firm, manly, and patriotic conduct will ever maintain it with
dignity in the political."
The next to the last stanza of _Adams and Liberty_ was not in the song
as originally written. Paine was dining with Major Benjamin Russell,
when he was reminded that his song had made no mention of Washington.
The host said he could not fill his glass until the error had been
corrected, whereupon the author, after a moment's thinking, scratched
off the lines which pay such a graceful tribute to the First American:--
"Should the tempest of war overshadow our land,
Its bolts could ne'er rend Freedom's temple asunder;
For, unmov'd, at its portal would Washington stand,
And repulse with his breast the assaults of the thunder!
His sword from the sleep
Of its scabbard would leap,
And conduct, with its point, every flash to the deep;
For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves."
Instead of being added to the hymn it was inserted as it here appears.
The second, fourth, and fifth stanzas have been usually omitted in
recent publications of the hymn.
The brilliant genius of Paine was sadly eclipsed by strong drink, that
dire foe of many men of bright literary promise. His sun, which had
risen so proudly, found an untimely setting about the beginning of the
war of 1812.
[Illustration: _Liberty Bell_]
[Illustration: _GEORGE WASHINGTON_]
_YANKEE DOODLE._
Father and I went down to camp
Along with Captain Gooding,
And there we saw the men and boys,
As thick as hasty pudding.
Yankee Doodle, keep it up,
Yankee Doodle Dandy!
Mind the music and the step,
And with the gals be handy!
And there we see a thousand men
As rich as Squire David,
And what they wasted every day,--
I wish it had been savèd.
The 'lasses they eat up every day
Would keep our house all winter,--
They have so much that I'll be bound
They eat whene'er they've a mind to.
And there we see a whopping gun,
As big as a log of maple,
Mounted on a little cart,--
A load for father's cattle.
And every time they fired it off
It took a horn of powder,
And made a noise like father's gun,
Only a nation louder.
I went as near to it
As 'Siah's underpinning;
Father went as nigh agin,--
I thought the devil was in him.
Cousin Simon grew so bold,
I thought he meant to cock it;
He scared me so, I streaked it off,
And hung to father's pocket.
And Captain Davis had a gun
He kind o' clapped his hand on,
And stuck a crooked stabbing-iron
Upon the little end on 't.
And there I saw a pumpkin shell
As big as mother's basin;
And every time they sent one off,
They scampered like tarnation.
I saw a little bar'el, too,
Its heads were made of leather;
They knocked on it with little plugs,
To call the folks together.
And there was Captain Washington,
With grand folks all about him;
They says he's grown so tarnal proud,
He cannot ride without them.
He had on his meeting-clothes,
And rode a slapping stallion,
And gave his orders to the men,--
I guess there was a million.
And then the feathers in his hat,
They were so tarnal fine-ah,
I wanted peskily to get
To hand to my Jemima.
And then they'd fife away like fun
And play on cornstalk fiddles;
And some had ribbons red as blood
All wound about their middles.
The troopers, too, would gallop up,
And fire right in our faces;
It scared me a'most to death
To see them run such races.
And then I saw a snarl of men
A-digging graves, they told me,
So tarnal long, so tarnal deep,--
They allowed they were to hold me.
It scared me so I hooked it off,
Nor stopped as I remember,
Nor turned about, till I got home,
Locked up in mother's chamber.
It is certainly the tune of _Yankee Doodle_, and not the words of this
old song, which captured the fancy of the country and held its sway in
America for nearly a hundred and fifty years.
The tune, however, is much older than that. It has been claimed in many
lands. When Kossuth was in this country making his plea for liberty for
Hungary, he informed a writer of the Boston _Post_ that, when the
Hungarians that accompanied him first heard _Yankee Doodle_ on a
Mississippi River steamer, they immediately recognized it as one of the
old national airs of their native land, one played in the dances of that
country, and they began to caper and dance as they had been accustomed
to do in Hungary.
It has been claimed also in Holland as an old harvest song. It is said
that when the laborers received for wages "as much buttermilk as they
could drink, and a tenth of the grain," they used to sing as they
reaped, to the tune of _Yankee Doodle_, the words,--
"Yanker, didel, doodle down,
Diddle, dudel, lanther,
Yanke viver, voover vown,
Botermilk und tanther."
[Illustration: _BOSTON COMMON
(Beacon Street Mall)_]
From Spain, also, comes a claim. The American Secretary of Legation, Mr.
Buckingham Smith, wrote from Madrid under date of June 3, 1858: "The
tune of _Yankee Doodle_, from the first of my showing it here, has been
acknowledged, by persons acquainted with music, to bear a strong
resemblance to the popular airs of Biscay; and yesterday, a
professor from the north recognized it as being much like the ancient
sword-dance played on solemn occasions by the people of San Sebastian.
He says the tune varies in those provinces. The first strains are
identically those of the heroic Danza Esparta of brave old Biscay."
France puts in a claim, and declares that _Yankee Doodle_ is an old
vintage song from the southern part of that land of grapes; while Italy,
too, claims _Yankee Doodle_ for her own.
The probabilities are that it was introduced into England from Holland.
_Yankee Doodle_ became an American institution in June, 1755. General
Braddock, of melancholy fate, was gathering the colonists to an
encampment near Albany for an attack on the French and Indians at
Niagara. The countrymen came into camp in a medley of costumes, from the
buckskins and furs of the American Indian to some quaint old-fashioned
military heirloom of a century past. The British soldiers made great
sport of their ragged clothes and the quaint music to which they
marched. There was among these regular troops from England a certain Dr.
Richard Shuckburg, who could not only patch up human bodies, but had a
great facility in patching up tunes as well. As these grotesque
countrymen marched into camp, this quick-witted doctor recalled the old
air which was sung by the cavaliers in ridicule of Cromwell, who was
said to have ridden into Oxford on a small horse with his single plume
fastened into a sort of knot which was derisively called a "macaroni."
The words were,--
"Yankee Doodle came to town,
Upon a Kentish pony;
He stuck a feather in his cap,
Upon a macaroni."
Doctor Shuckburg at once began to plan a joke upon the uncouth
newcomers. He set down the notes of _Yankee Doodle_, wrote along with
them the lively travesty upon Cromwell, and gave them to the militia
musicians as the latest martial music of England. The band quickly
caught the simple and contagious air which would play itself, and in a
few hours it was sounding through the camp amid the laughter of the
British soldiers. It was a very prophetic piece of fun, however, which
became significant a few years later. When the battles of Concord and
Lexington began the Revolutionary War, the English, when proudly
advancing, played along the road _God save the King_; but after they had
been routed, and were making their disastrous retreat, the Americans
followed them with the taunting _Yankee Doodle_.
It was only twenty-five years after Doctor Shuckburg's joke when Lord
Cornwallis marched into the lines of these same old ragged Continentals
to surrender his army and his sword to the tune of _Yankee Doodle_.
Francis Hopkinson, of Philadelphia, one of the signers of the
Declaration of Independence, and the father of Joseph Hopkinson, the
author of _Hail Columbia_, adapted the words of his famous song _The
Battle of the Kegs_, to the tune of _Yankee Doodle_. David Bushnell, the
inventor of the torpedo, in December, 1777, had set adrift at night a
large number of kegs charged with gunpowder, which were designed to
explode on coming in contact with the British vessels in the Delaware.
They failed in their object, but, exploding in the vicinity, created
intense alarm in the fleet, which kept up for hours a continuous
discharge of cannon and small arms at every object in the river. This
was "the battle of the kegs."
Verses without number have been sung to the tune of _Yankee Doodle_, but
the ballad given here is the one that was best known and most frequently
sung during the war for independence. They are said to have been written
by a gentleman of Connecticut whose name has not survived. The exact
date of their first publication is not known, but as these verses were
sung at the Battle of Bunker Hill it must have been as early as 1775.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _FRANCIS SCOTT KEY_]
_THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER._
O say, can you see by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming!
And the rocket's red glare,
The bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On that shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows now conceals, now discloses?
Now it catches the gleam
Of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh, long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save
The hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blessed with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must,
When our cause it is just,
And this be our motto--"In God is our trust:"
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
--_Francis Scott Key._
No song could have had a more inspiring source of creation than did
this. Its author, Mr. Francis Scott Key, was a young lawyer who left
Baltimore in September, 1814, while the war of 1812 was yet going on,
and under a flag of truce visited the British fleet for the purpose of
obtaining the release of a friend of his, a certain Doctor Beanes, who
had been captured at Marlborough. After his arrival at the fleet he was
compelled to remain with it during the bombardment of Fort McHenry, as
the officers were afraid to permit him to land lest he should disclose
the purposes of the British. Mr. Key remained on deck all night,
watching every shell from the moment it was fired until it fell, and
listening with breathless interest to hear if an explosion followed. The
firing suddenly ceased before day, but from the position of the ship he
could not discover whether the fort had surrendered or the attack had
been abandoned. He paced the deck for the remainder of the night in
painful suspense, watching with intense anxiety for the return of day,
and looking every few minutes at his watch to see how long he must wait
for it; and as soon as it dawned, and before it was light enough to see
objects at a distance, his glass was turned to the fort, uncertain
whether he should see there the Stars and Stripes or the flag of the
enemy. At length the light came, and he saw that "our flag was still
there;" and as the day advanced he discovered from the movement of the
boats between the shore and the fleet that the English troops had been
defeated, and that many wounded men were being carried to the ships. At
length Mr. Key was informed that the attack on Baltimore had failed, and
he with his friend was permitted to return home, while the hostile
fleet sailed away, leaving the Star-Spangled Banner still waving from
Fort McHenry.
During the intense anxiety of waiting for dawn, Mr. Key had conceived
the idea of the song and had written some lines, or brief notes that
would aid him in calling them to mind, upon the back of a letter which
he happened to have in his pocket. He finished the poem in the boat on
his way to the shore, and finally corrected it, leaving it as it now
stands, at the hotel, on the night he reached Baltimore, and immediately
after he arrived. The next morning he took it to Judge Nicholson, the
chief justice of Maryland, to ask him what he thought of it; and he was
so pleased with it that he immediately sent it to the printer, Benjamin
Edes, and directed copies to be struck off in handbill form. In less
than an hour after it was placed in the hands of the printer it was all
over the town, and hailed with enthusiasm, and at once took its place in
the national songs. The first newspaper that printed it was the
_American_, of Baltimore.
[Illustration: _FORT McHENRY_]
The tune, which has helped so much to make it famous, also had an
interesting selection. Two brothers, Charles and Ferdinand Durang, were
actors at the Holliday Street Theater in Baltimore, but were also
soldiers. A copy of Francis Key's poem came to them in camp; it was read
aloud to a company of the soldiers, among whom were the Durang
brothers. All were inspired by the pathetic eloquence of the song and
Ferdinand Durang at once put his wits to work to find a tune for it.
Hunting up a volume of flute music which was in one of the tents, he
impatiently whistled snatches of tune after tune, just as they caught
his quick eye. One, called _Anacreon in Heaven_, struck his fancy and
riveted his attention. Note after note fell from his puckered lips
until, with a leap and shout, he exclaimed, "Boys, I've hit it!" And
fitting the tune to the words, there rang out for the first time the
song of _The Star-Spangled Banner_. How the men shouted and clapped; for
there never was a wedding of poetry to music made under more inspiring
influences! Getting a brief furlough, the Durang brothers sang it in
public soon after. It was caught up in the camps, and sung around the
bivouac fires, and whistled in the streets, and when peace was declared,
and the soldiers went back to their homes, they carried this song in
their hearts as the most precious souvenir of the war of 1812.
The song bears evidence of the special incident to which it owes its
creation, and is not suited to all times and occasions on that account.
To supply this want, additional stanzas have, from time to time, been
written. Perhaps the most notable of all these is the following stanza,
which was written by Oliver Wendell Holmes, at the request of a lady,
during our civil war, there being no verse alluding to treasonable
attempts against the flag. It was originally printed in the Boston
_Evening Transcript_.
"When our land is illumined with liberty's smile,
If a foe from within strike a blow at her glory,
Down, down with the traitor who dares to defile
The flag of her stars and the page of her story!
By the millions unchained
Who their birthright have gained
We will keep her bright blazon forever unstained;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
While the land of the free is the home of the brave."
The air selected under such interesting circumstances as we have
described--_Anacreon in Heaven_,--is that of an old English song. In the
second half of the eighteenth century a jovial society, called the
"Anacreontic," held its festive and musical meetings at the "Crown and
Anchor" in the Strand. It is now the "Whittington Club;" but in the last
century it was frequented by Doctor Johnson, Boswell, Sir Joshua
Reynolds and others. One Ralph Tomlinson, Esq., was at that time
president of the Anacreontic Society, and wrote the words of the song
adopted by the club, and John Stafford Smith set them to music, it is
claimed to an old French air. The song was published by the composer,
and was sold at his house, 7 Warwick Street, Spring Garden, London,
between the years 1770-75. Thus the source of the music so long
identified with this inspiring song is swallowed up in the mystery of
the name of Smith.
The flag of Fort McHenry, which inspired the song, still exists in a
fair state of preservation. It is at this time thirty-two feet long and
of twenty-nine feet hoist. In its original dimensions it was probably
forty feet long; the shells of the enemy, and the work of curiosity
hunters, have combined to decrease its length. Its great width is due to
its having fifteen instead of thirteen stripes, each nearly two feet
wide. It has, or rather had, fifteen five-pointed stars, each two feet
from point to point, and arranged in five indented parallel lines, three
stars in each horizontal line. The Union rests in the ninth, which is a
red stripe, instead of the eighth, a white stripe, as in our present
flag. There can be no doubt as to the authenticity of this flag. It was
preserved by Colonel Armstead, and bears upon its stripes, in his
autograph, his name and the date of the bombardment. It has always
remained in his family and in 1861 his widow bequeathed it to their
youngest daughter, Mrs. William Stuart Appleton, who, some time after
the bombardment, was born in Fort McHenry under its folds. She was named
Georgians Armstead for her father, and the precious flag was hoisted on
its staff in honor of her birth. Mrs. Appleton died in New York, July
25, 1878, and bequeathed the flag to her son, Mr. Eben Appleton, of
Yonkers, New York, who now holds it.
_The Star-Spangled Banner_ has come out of the Spanish War baptized with
imperishable glory. Throughout the war it has been above all others, in
camp or on the battlefield, the song that has aroused the highest
enthusiasm. During the bombardment of Manila the band on a British
cruiser, lying near the American fleet, played _The Star-Spangled
Banner_, thus showing in an unmistakable way their sympathy with the
American cause. In the trenches before Santiago it was sung again and
again by our soldiers and helped, more than anything else, to inspire
them to deeds of heroic valor. Once when the army moved forward in the
charge, the man who played the E-flat horn in the band left his place
and rushed forward with the soldiers in the attacking column. Of course
the band's place is in the rear. But this man, unmindful of everything,
broke away and went far up the hill with the charge, carrying his horn
over his shoulder, slung with a strap. For a time he went along
unobserved, until one of the officers happened to see him. And he said
to him, "What are you doing here? You can't do anything; you can't
fight; you haven't any gun or sword. This is no place for you. Get down
behind that rock." The soldier fell back for a minute, half dazed, and
feeling the pull of the strap on his shoulder cried out in agony: "I
can't do anything, I can't fight." And so he got down behind the rock.
But almost instantly he raised his horn and began to play _The
Star-Spangled Banner_. They heard him down in the valley, and
immediately the band took it up, and in the midst of those inspiring
strains the army charged to victory.
[Illustration: _JOSEPH HOPKINSON_]
_HAIL COLUMBIA._
Hail, Columbia! happy land!
Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band!
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
And when the storm of war was gone,
Enjoy'd the peace your valor won.
Let independence be our boast,
Ever mindful what it cost;
Ever grateful for the prize,
Let its altars reach the skies.
Firm, united, let us be,
Rallying round our Liberty;
As a band of brothers join'd,
Peace and safety we shall find.
Immortal patriots! rise once more:
Defend your rights, defend your shore:
Let no rude foe, with impious hand,
Let no rude foe, with impious hand,
Invade the shrine where sacred lies
Of toil and blood the well-earn'd prize.
While offering peace sincere and just,
In Heaven we place a manly trust,
That truth and justice will prevail,
And every scheme of bondage fail.
Sound, sound, the trump of Fame!
Let WASHINGTON'S great name
Ring through the world with loud applause,
Ring through the world with loud applause;
Let every clime to Freedom dear,
Listen with a joyful ear.
With equal skill, and Godlike power,
He govern'd in the fearful hour
Of horrid war; or guides with ease,
The happier times of honest peace.
Behold the chief who now commands,
Once more to serve his country stands,
The rock on which the storm will beat;
The rock on which the storm will beat.
But, arm'd in virtue firm and true,
His hopes are fix'd on Heaven and you.
When hope was sinking in dismay,
And glooms obscured Columbia's day,
His steady mind, from changes free,
Resolved on death or liberty.
--_Joseph Hopkinson._
Joseph Hopkinson, like Francis Scott Key, the author of _The
Star-Spangled Banner_, was also a lawyer. He commenced the practice of
law in Easton, Pennsylvania, but soon removed to Philadelphia, where he
acquired high distinction at the bar. He was four years a member of
Congress, and was afterward appointed judge of the United States
District Court, an office held by his grandfather under the British
Crown before the Revolutionary War, and to which his father had been
chosen on the organization of the United States Judiciary in 1789. He
retained this office until his death in 1842.
Mr. Hopkinson was still a young man, only twenty-eight years of age,
when he wrote the song which will make his name honored as long as
American liberty is remembered. It was in the summer of 1798, when a war
with France was thought to be inevitable. Congress was in session in
Philadelphia, discussing the advisability of a declaration of war, and
many acts of hostility had actually occurred. England and France were at
war already, and the people of the United States were divided into
factions for the one side or the other. One party argued that policy and
duty required Americans to take part with republican France; the other
section urged the wisdom of connecting ourselves with England, under the
belief that she was the great conservator of modern civilization, and
that her triumph meant the rule of good principles and safe government.
Both belligerents had been careless of our rights, and seemed to be
forcing us from the just and wise policy of Washington, which was to
maintain a strict and impartial neutrality between them. The prospect of
a rupture with France was exceedingly offensive to that portion of the
people who hoped for her success, and the violence of party spirit ran
to the highest extreme.
Just at this time a young singer who was very popular in Philadelphia
was to be given a benefit at one of the theaters. This young man was a
school friend of Joseph Hopkinson. They had kept up their acquaintance
after their school-days had passed, and one Saturday afternoon he called
on Hopkinson to talk over with him his benefit which was announced for
the following Monday. He said he had every prospect of suffering a loss
instead of receiving a benefit from the performance; but that if he
could get a patriotic song adapted to the tune of the _President's
March_, then the popular air, he would no doubt have a full house. The
poor fellow was almost in despair about it, as the poets of the
theatrical corps had been trying to accomplish it, and had come to the
conclusion that no words could be composed to suit the music of that
march. The young lawyer told his friend that he would try what he could
do for him. He came the next afternoon, and the song, _Hail Columbia_,
was ready for him. It was announced on Monday morning, and the theater
was crowded to overflowing, and so continued, night after night, for the
rest of the season. The excitement about it grew so great that the song
was not only encored but had to be repeated many times each night, the
audience joining in the chorus. It was also sung at night in the
streets by large crowds of citizens, which often included members of
Congress and other distinguished public officials. The enthusiasm spread
to other cities and the song was caught up and reëchoed at all kinds of
public gatherings throughout the United States.
[Illustration: _THE CAPITOL_]
The object of Mr. Hopkinson in writing the song, in addition to doing a
kind deed for his friend and schoolmate, was to arouse an American
spirit which should be independent of and above the interests, passions,
and policy of both belligerents, and look and feel exclusively for our
own honor and rights. For this reason no allusion was made to France or
England, or to the war which was raging between them, or to our
indignation as to their treatment of us. It was this prudence which gave
the song its universal popularity. It found equal favor with both
parties, for neither could disown the loyal sentiments it inculcated. It
was so purely American, and nothing else, that the patriotic feelings of
every American heart responded to it.
The _President's March_, for which the poem was specially written and to
which it was easily adapted, was composed in honor of President
Washington, who then resided at 190 High Street, Philadelphia. The
composer of the popular air was Philip Roth, a teacher of music. Not a
great deal is left on record about him, but it is declared that he was a
very eccentric character, familiarly known as "Old Roat." It is also
said that he took snuff immoderately. A claim has been set up for
Professor Phyla, of Philadelphia, but the evidence favors Roth.
During the centennial year an autograph copy of _Hail Columbia_ was
displayed in the museum at Independence Hall, Philadelphia. This copy
was written from memory, February 22, 1828, and presented to George M.
Kein, Esq., of Reading, in compliance with a request made by him. This
interesting manuscript has marginal notes, one of which informs us that
the lines:--
"Behold the chief who now commands,
Once more to serve his country stands,
The rock on which the storm will beat;
The rock on which the storm will beat.
But, arm'd in virtue firm and true,
His hopes are fix'd on Heaven and you.
When hope was sinking in dismay,
And glooms obscured Columbia's day,
His steady mind, from changes free,
Resolved on death or liberty,"
refer to John Adams, who was President of the United States at the time
_Hail Columbia_ was written. Mr. Hopkinson also presented General
Washington with an autograph copy of his poem, and received from him a
complimentary letter of thanks, which is now in possession of his
descendants.
[Illustration: _THOMAS À BECKET_]
_COLUMBIA, THE GEM OF THE OCEAN._
O Columbia! the gem of the ocean,
The home of the brave and the free;
The shrine of each patriot's devotion,
A world offers homage to thee.
Thy mandates make heroes assemble
When Liberty's form stands in view,
Thy banners make tyranny tremble
When borne by the red, white, and blue,
When borne by the red, white, and blue,
When borne by the red, white, and blue,
Thy banners make tyranny tremble
When borne by the red, white, and blue.
When war winged its wide desolation,
And threaten'd the land to deform;
The ark then of Freedom's foundation,
Columbia, rode safe through the storm:
With her garlands of vict'ry around her,
When so proudly she bore her brave crew,
With her flag proudly floating before her,
The boast of the red, white, and blue,
The boast of the red, white, and blue,
The boast of the red, white, and blue,
With her flag proudly floating before her,
The boast of the red, white, and blue.
The winecup, the winecup bring hither,
And fill you it true to the brim;
May the wreaths they have won never wither
Nor the star of their glory grow dim.
May the service united ne'er sever,
But they to their colors prove true,
The Army and Navy forever,
Three cheers for the red, white, and blue,
Three cheers for the red, white, and blue,
Three cheers for the red, white, and blue,
The Army and Navy forever,
Three cheers for the red, white, and blue.
--_Thomas à Becket._
This splendid song, as popular, perhaps, as any of America's patriotic
hymns, was written in 1843 by a young actor named Thomas à Becket. He
was engaged at that time at the Chestnut Street Theater, in
Philadelphia. He was waited upon by a Mr. D. T. Shaw, an acquaintance,
who was also an actor, with the request that he would write him a song
for his benefit night. Mr. Shaw had been trying to write one for
himself, but had made a sad failure of it. He produced some patriotic
lines, and asked Mr. À Becket's opinion on them; he found them
ungrammatical and so deficient in measure as to be totally unfit to be
set to music. They went to the house of a mutual friend, and there À
Becket wrote the two first verses in pencil, and sitting down at a
piano in the room of the friend's house, he composed the melody. On
reaching home that evening he added the third verse, wrote the
symphonies and arrangements, made a fair copy in ink, and gave it to Mr.
Shaw, requesting him not to give or sell a copy to any one.
[Illustration: _STATUE OF LIBERTY_]
A few weeks afterward Mr. À Becket left for New Orleans, and a little
while later was greatly astonished to see a published copy of his song
entitled, "_Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean_, written, composed, and sung
by David T. Shaw, and arranged by T. à Becket, Esq." On his return to
Philadelphia he sought out Mr. Willig, the publisher, who told him he
had purchased the song from Mr. Shaw. Mr. À Becket produced the original
copy in pencil, and claimed the copyright, which Mr. Willig admitted,
making some severe remarks upon Shaw's conduct in the affair. A week
later it appeared under its proper title, "_Columbia, the Gem of the
Ocean_, written and composed by T. à Becket, and sung by D. T. Shaw."
The song has been often printed under the title _The Red, White, and
Blue_, and is very familiarly known as "The Army and Navy Song," from
being peculiarly adapted to reunions of the two wings of the military
department of the government.
Mr. E. L. Davenport, an eminent actor, sung the song nightly in London
for many weeks, where it became very popular. It was printed there
under the title _Britannia, the Pride of the Ocean_. On this account
some people have supposed the English version to be the original, and
ours merely an adaptation of it. That part of its title, "The Gem of the
Ocean," belongs to the Emerald Isle, rather than to Columbia, and seems
more appropriate to designate an island power like Great Britain than a
continental power like the United States. However, it is beginning to
look as though we might have islands of our own in abundance.
While red, white, and blue have for a long time been the ranking order
of the colors of British national ensigns, with us _blue_--the blue of
the union, the firmament of our constellation of stars--claims the first
place on our colors, red the second, and white the third; so that for us
the song should read,--
"When borne by the blue, red, and white,"
instead of,--
"When borne by the red, white, and blue."
These lapses are explained by the fact that the author was an Englishman
by birth, and it was very natural that he should make them. Though
written by a native-born Englishman, the song was thoroughly American in
its inception and origin. In the English version, already referred to,
the first line is altered to read,--
"Britannia, the pride of the ocean."
In these days of kindly fellowship with England, Americans are perfectly
willing to share their song of "red, white, and blue" with their cousins
across the water.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _GEORGE POPE MORRIS_]
_THE FLAG OF OUR UNION._
A song for our banner, the watchword recall
Which gave the Republic her station:
"United we stand--divided we fall!"
It made and preserves us a nation.
The union of lakes, the union of lands,
The union of States none can sever!
The union of hearts, the union of hands,
And the Flag of our Union forever and ever,
The Flag of our Union forever!
What God in his infinite wisdom designed,
And armed with republican thunder,
Not all the earth's despots and factions combined
Have the power to conquer or sunder.
The union of lakes, the union of lands,
The union of States none can sever!
The union of hearts, the union of hands,
And the Flag of our Union forever and ever,
The Flag of our Union forever!
Oh, keep that flag flying! The pride of the van!
To all other nations display it!
The ladies for union are to a--man!
And not to the man who'd betray it.
Then the union of lakes, the union of lands,
The union of States none can sever!
The union of hearts, the union of hands,
And the Flag of the Union forever!
--_George P. Morris._
The author of _The Flag of our Union_ was one of the most distinguished
journalists of the early half of the nineteenth century in America. He
was for many years the editor of the _Mirror_, which was in its time the
best literary magazine in the country. Such men as William Cullen
Bryant, Fitz-Green Halleck, Nathaniel P. Willis, Theodore S. Fay, and
Epes Sargent found in its pages a chance to express the poetry, romance,
and philosophy which flowed from their brilliant and graceful pens.
Morris was the author of many songs and poems that have become household
words throughout the land. Who does not recall,--
"Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot:
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy ax shall harm it not!"
And these other lines from _My Mother's Bible_, equally well
known,--
[Illustration: _WEST POINT MILITARY ACADEMY_
(_N. E. corner of cadets' barracks_)]
"This book is all that's left me now:--
Tears will unbidden start--
With faltering lip and throbbing brow,
I press it to my heart.
For many generations past
Here is our family tree:
My mother's hand this Bible clasped;
She, dying, gave it me."
And what schoolboy of twenty-five years ago does not remember the song
of _The Whip-poor-will_, the first verses of which always aroused his
sympathetic interest?--
"Why dost thou come at set of sun,
Those pensive words to say?
Why whip poor Will?--what has he done--
And who is Will, I pray?
"Why come from yon leaf-shaded hill
A suppliant at my door?--
Why ask of me to whip poor Will?
And is Will really poor?"
Morris had traveled abroad rather widely for that day, but instead of
its weaning him from his native land, it made it all the more dear to
him. He set this forth in a well-known song entitled, _I'm with You once
Again_, which so accurately voices the feelings of thousands of loyal
American travelers that it is worth repeating here:--
"I'm with you once again, my friends,
No more my footsteps roam;
Where it began my journey ends,
Amid the scenes of home.
No other clime has skies so blue,
Or streams so broad and clear,
And where are hearts so warm and true
As those that meet me here?
"Since last, with spirits wild and free,
I pressed my native strand,
I've wandered many miles at sea,
And many miles on land;
I've seen fair realms of the earth,
By rude commotion torn,
Which taught me how to prize the worth
Of that where I was born.
"In other countries when I heard
The language of my own,
How fondly each familiar word
Awoke an answering tone!
But when our woodland songs were sung
Upon a foreign mart,
The vows that faltered on the tongue
With rapture thrilled the heart.
"My native land! I turn to you
With blessing and with prayer,
Where man is brave, and woman true
And free as mountain air.
Long may our flag in triumph wave,
Against the world combined,
And friends a welcome--foes a grave,
Within our borders find."
In this song we see the spirit in which was written _The Flag of our
Union_. Ten years before the War of the Rebellion, when the mutterings
of the coming storm were already in the air, this poet and traveler, who
had found his country's flag such an inspiration when roving in foreign
lands, poured out his heart in this hymn to the Flag. It was set to
music by William Vincent Wallace, and was very popular in war times. It
is worthy of popularity so long as the Flag of the Union shall wave.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _JOHN BROWN_]
_JOHN BROWN'S BODY._
John Brown's body lies mouldering in the grave!
John Brown's body lies mouldering in the grave!
John Brown's body lies mouldering in the grave!
His soul is marching on.
Glory, glory hallelujah!
Glory, glory hallelujah!
Glory, glory hallelujah!
His soul is marching on.
The stars of heaven are looking kindly down!
The stars of heaven are looking kindly down!
The stars of heaven are looking kindly down!
On the grave of old John Brown!
He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord!
He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord!
He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord!
His soul is marching on.
John Brown's knapsack is strapped upon his back!
John Brown's knapsack is strapped upon his back!
John Brown's knapsack is strapped upon his back!
His soul is marching on.
--_Charles S. Hall._
No prophet is ever able to foretell what will catch the popular ear. The
original John Brown song, written by Miss Edna Dean Proctor, is
certainly far more coherent and intelligible than the lines which have
formed the marching song for over a million men, and have held their own
through a generation. It is well worth repeating here:--
"John Brown died on the scaffold for the slave;
Dark was the hour when we dug his hallowed grave;
Now God avenges the life he gladly gave,
Freedom reigns to-day!
Glory, glory hallelujah,
Glory, glory hallelujah,
Glory, glory hallelujah.
Freedom reigns to-day!
"John Brown sowed and the harvesters are we;
Honor to him who has made the bondsman free;
Loved evermore shall our noble ruler be,
Freedom reigns to-day!
"John Brown's body lies mouldering in the grave;
Bright o'er the sod let the starry banner wave;
Lo! for the million he periled all to save,
Freedom reigns to-day!
"John Brown's soul through the world is marching on;
Hail to the hour when oppression shall be gone;
All men will sing in the better day's dawn,
Freedom reigns to-day!
"John Brown dwells where the battle's strife is o'er;
Hate cannot harm him, nor sorrow stir him more;
Earth will remember the martyrdom he bore,
Freedom reigns to-day!
"John Brown's body lies mouldering in the grave;
John Brown lives in the triumph of the brave;
John Brown's soul not a higher joy can crave,
Freedom reigns to-day!"
The more popular, if not more worthy, song of John Brown's Body seems to
have been of Massachusetts origin at the commencement of the Civil War.
It was first sung in 1861. When the Massachusetts Volunteers, commanded
by Colonel Fletcher Webster, a son of the famous Daniel Webster, were
camped on one of the islands in Boston Harbor, some of the soldiers
amused themselves by adapting the words,--
"John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave,
His soul is marching on.
Glory, glory hallelujah,
His soul is marching on,"
to a certain air. Mr. Charles Sprague Hall, who is the author of the
lines as finally sung, says that when the soldiers first began to sing
it the first verse was the only one known. He wrote the other verses,
but did not know where the first one came from.
The way was opened for this song through a campaign song heard from the
lips of the Douglas, and the Bell, and the Everett Campaign Clubs, who,
in order to spite Governor John A. Andrew, the famous war governor of
Massachusetts, sang the following lines as they were marching through
the streets of Boston, with their torches in hand,--
"Tell John Andrew,
Tell John Andrew,
Tell John Andrew
John Brown's dead.
Salt won't save him,
John Brown's dead."