At that feast of things eternal—
Long dead the laymen, the deacons,
The lawyer, the doctor, the colonel;
Long dead the youths and the maidens,
And long on the graves of all
Have the summers and the winters
Their leaves and their snows let fall.
But whenever I come to the churchyard,
Where, by the side of the pastor,
They afterwards laid the colonel,
His friend in success and disaster,
I see again on the Common
The minute-men all in array,
And again I behold the departure,
The pastor leading the way.
And I think of the scene when his comrades
Brought back the young pastor, dying,
To his home in the house of the colonel;
And how, on his death-bed lying,
He took the hand that was offered,
And, gazing far into the night,
Whispered, “I die for my country—
I have fought—I have fought the good fight.”
THE SARATOGA LESSON
(From an Address delivered October 17, 1877.)
BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS
The drama of the Revolution opened in New England, culminated in New
York, and closed in Virginia. It was a happy fortune that the three
colonies which represented the various territorial sections of the
settled continent were each, in turn, the chief seat of war. The common
sacrifice, the common struggle, the common triumph, tended to weld
them locally, politically, and morally together. Doubtless there were
conflicts of provincial pride and jealousy and suspicion. In every great
crisis of war, however, there was a common impulse and devotion, and the
welfare of the continent obliterated provincial lines.
It is by the few heaven-piercing peaks, not by the confused mass of
upland, that we measure the height of the Andes, of the Alps, of the
Himalaya. It is by Joseph Warren not by Benjamin Church, by John Jay
not by Sir John Johnson, by George Washington not by Benedict Arnold,
that we test the quality of the Revolutionary character. The voice of
Patrick Henry from the mountains answered that of James Otis by the sea.
Paul Revere’s lantern shone along through the valley of the Hudson,
and flashed along the cliffs of the Blue Ridge. The scattering volley
of Lexington green swelled to the triumphant thunder of Saratoga, and
the reverberation of Burgoyne’s falling arms in New York shook those of
Cornwallis in Virginia from his hands. Doubts, jealousies, prejudices,
were merged in one common devotion. The union of the colonies to secure
liberty, foretold the union of the States to maintain it, and wherever we
stand on Revolutionary fields, or inhale the sweetness of Revolutionary
memories, we tread the ground and breathe the air of invincible national
union.
So, upon this famous and decisive field, let every unworthy feeling
perish! Here, to the England that we fought let us now, grown great and
strong with a hundred years, hold out the hand of fellowship and peace!
Here, where the English Burgoyne, in the very moment of his bitter
humiliation generously pledged George Washington, let us, in our high
hour of triumph, of power, and of hope, pledge the queen! Here, in the
grave of brave and unknown foemen, may mutual jealousies and doubts
and animosities lie buried forever! Henceforth, revering their common
glorious traditions, may England, and America press forward side by side,
in noble and inspiring rivalry to promote the welfare of man!
Fellow-citizens, with the story of Burgoyne’s surrender, the
Revolutionary glory of the State of New York, still fresh in our
memories, I am glad that the hallowed spot on which we stand compels us
to remember not only the imperial State, but the national Commonwealth,
whose young hands here together struck the blow, and on whose older
head descends the ample benediction of the victory. On yonder height,
a hundred years ago, Virginia and Pennsylvania lay encamped. Beyond,
and further to the north, watched New Hampshire and Vermont. Here, in
the wooded uplands at the south, stood New Jersey and New York, while
across the river to the east, Connecticut and Massachusetts closed the
triumphant line. Here was the symbol of the Revolution, a common cause, a
common strife, a common triumph; the cause, not of a class, but of human
nature; the triumph, not of a colony, but of united America.
And we who stand here proudly remembering, we who have seen Virginia and
New York, the North and the South, more bitterly hostile than the armies
whose battles shook this ground, we who mutually proved in deadlier
conflict the constancy and courage of all the States, which, proud to be
peers, yet own no master but their united selves, we renew our heart’s
imperishable devotion to the common American faith, the common American
pride, the common American glory! Here America stood and triumphed. Here
Americans stand and bless their memory. And here, for a thousand years,
many grateful generations of Americans come to rehearse the glorious
story, and to rejoice in a supreme and benignant American nationality!
THE SURRENDER OF BURGOYNE
BY JAMES WATTS DE PEYSTER
(Extract from Centennial Poem, read October 17, 1877.)
Brothers, this spot is holy! Look around!
Before us flows our memory’s sacred river,
Whose banks are Freedom’s shrines. This grassy mound,
The altar, on whose height the Mighty Giver
Gave Independence to our country; when,
Thanks to its brave, enduring, patient men,
The invading host was brought to bay, and laid
Beneath “Old Glory’s” new-born folds, the blade,
The brazen thunder-throats, the pomp of War,
And England’s yoke, broken forevermore.
...
Yes, on this spot,—thanks to our gracious God,—
Where last in conscious arrogance it trod,
Defiled, as captives, Burgoyne’s conquered horde;
Below, their general yielded up his sword;
There, to our flag bowed England’s, battle-torn;
Where now we stand, the United States was born.
THE SARATOGA MONUMENT BEGUN
BY HORATIO SEYMOUR
(From Address delivered October 17, 1877.)
One hundred years ago, on this spot, American independence was made
a great fact in the history of nations. Until the surrender of the
British army under Burgoyne, the Declaration of Independence was but
a declaration. It was a patriotic purpose asserted in bold words by
brave men, who pledged for its maintenance their lives, their fortunes,
and their sacred honor. But here it was made a fact by virtue of armed
force. It had been regarded by the world merely as an act of defiance,
but it was now seen that it contained the germs of a government which the
event we celebrate made one of the powers of the earth. Here rebellion
was made revolution. Upon this ground, that which had in the eye of the
law been treason, became triumphant patriotism. At the break of day, in
the judgment of the world, our fathers were rebels. When the echoes of
the evening gun died away along this valley, they were patriots who had
rescued their country from wrong and outrage. We had passed through the
baptism of blood, and gained a name among the nations of the earth.
Before the Revolution the people of the several colonies held but
little intercourse. They were estranged from each other by distance, by
sectional prejudices, by differences of lineage and religious creeds. But
when the men of Virginia went to Massachusetts to rescue Boston, when
the men of the East and South battled side by side with those from the
Middle States, when Greene and Lincoln went to the relief of the Southern
colonies, all prejudices not only died away, but more than fraternal love
animated every patriotic heart from the bleak forests of New England to
the milder airs of Georgia. And now that a hundred years have passed, and
our country has become great beyond the wildest dreams of our fathers,
will not the story of their sufferings revive in the breast of all the
love of our country, of our common country, and all who live within its
boundaries?
It was the most remarkable fact of the Revolutionary War and of
the formation of state and national governments, that although the
colonists were of different lineages and languages, living under
different climates, with varied pursuits and forms of labor, cut off
from intercourse by distance, yet, in spite of all these obstacles to
accord, they were from the outset animated by common views, feelings, and
purposes. When the independence was gained, they were able, after a few
weeks spent in consultation, to form the constitution under which we have
lived for nearly one hundred years. There can be no stronger proof that
American institutions were born and shaped by American necessities. This
fact should give us new faith in the lasting nature of our government.
Monuments make as well as mark the civilization of a people. The
surrender of Burgoyne marks the dividing line between two conditions of
our country: the one the colonial period of dependence, and the other the
day from which it stood full-armed and victorious here, endowed with a
boldness to assert its independence, and endowed with a wisdom to frame
its own system of government. We are told that during more than twenty
centuries of war and bloodshed, only fifteen battles have been decisive
of lasting results. The contest of Saratoga is one of them. Shall not
some suitable structure recall this fact to the public mind? Neither
France, nor Britain, nor Germany could spare the statues or works of art
which keep alive the memory of patriotic services or of personal virtues.
Such silent teachers of all that ennobles men, have taught their lessons
through the darkest ages, and have done much to save society from sinking
into utter decay and degradation. If Greece or Rome had left no memorials
of private virtues or public greatness, the progress of civilization
would have been slow and feeble. If their crumbling remains should be
swept away, the world would mourn the loss, not only to learning and the
arts, but to virtue and patriotism. It concerns the honor and welfare of
the American people that this spot should be marked by some structure
which should recall its history and animate all, who look upon it, by its
grand teachings. No people ever held lasting power or greatness who did
not reverence the virtues of their fathers, or who did not show forth
this reverence by material and striking testimonials.
Let us, then, build here, a lasting monument, which shall tell of our
gratitude to those who, through suffering and sacrifice, wrought out the
independence of our country.
MOLLY MAGUIRE AT MONMOUTH
(June 28, 1778.)
BY WILLIAMS COLLINS
On the bloody field of Monmouth
Flashed the guns of Greene and Wayne,
Fiercely roared the tide of battle,
Thick the sward was heaped with slain.
Foremost, facing death and danger,
Hessian, horse, and grenadier,
In the vanguard, fiercely fighting,
Stood an Irish Cannonier.
Loudly roared his iron cannon,
Mingling ever in the strife,
And beside him, firm and daring,
Stood his faithful Irish wife.
Of her bold contempt of danger
Greene and Lee’s brigades could tell,
Every one knew “Captain Molly,”
And the army loved her well.
Surged the roar of battle round them,
Swiftly flew the iron hail,
Forward dashed a thousand bayonets,
That lone battery to assail.
From the foeman’s foremost columns
Swept a furious fusillade,
Mowing down the massed battalions
In the ranks of Greene’s Brigade.
Fast and faster worked the gunner,
Soiled with powder, blood and dust,
English bayonets shone before him,
Shot and shell around him burst;
Still he fought with reckless daring,
Stood and manned her long and well,
Till at last the gallant fellow
Dead—beside his cannon fell.
With a bitter cry of sorrow,
And a dark and angry frown,
Looked that band of gallant patriots
At their gunner stricken down.
“Fall back, comrades, it is folly
Thus to strive against the foe.”
“No! not so,” cried Irish Molly;
“We can strike another blow.”
Quickly leaped she to the cannon,
In her fallen husband’s place,
Sponged and rammed it fast and steady,
Fired it in the foeman’s face.
Flashed another ringing volley,
Roared another from the gun;
“Boys, hurrah!” cried gallant Molly,
“For the flag of Washington.”
Greene’s Brigade, though shorn and shattered,
Slain and bleeding half their men,
When they heard that Irish slogan,
Turned and charged the foe again.
Knox and Wayne and Morgan rally,
To the front they forward wheel,
And before their rushing onset
Clinton’s English columns reel.
Still the cannon’s voice in anger
Rolled and rattled o’er the plain,
Till there lay in swarms around it
Mangled heaps of Hessian slain.
“Forward! charge them with the bayonet!”
’Twas the voice of Washington,
And there burst a fiery greeting
From the Irish woman’s gun.
Monckton falls; against his columns
Leap the troops of Wayne and Lee,
And before their reeking bayonets
Clinton’s red battalions flee.
Morgan’s rifles, fiercely flashing,
Thin the foe’s retreating ranks,
And behind them onward dashing
Ogden hovers on their flanks.
Fast they fly, these boasting Britons,
Who in all their glory came,
With their brutal Hessian hirelings
To wipe out our country’s name.
Proudly floats the starry banner,
Monmouth’s glorious field is won,
And in triumph Irish Molly,
Stands beside her smoking gun.
THE SOUTH IN THE REVOLUTION
BY ROBERT YOUNG HAYNE
If there be one State in the Union, and I say it not in a boasting
spirit, that may challenge comparison with any other, for an uniform,
zealous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion to the Union, that State is
South Carolina.
From the very commencement of the Revolution, up to this hour, there is
no sacrifice, however great, she has not cheerfully made, no service
she has even hesitated to perform. She has adhered to you, in your
prosperity; but in your adversity she has clung to you with more than
filial affection. No matter what was the condition of her domestic
affairs, though deprived of her resources, divided by parties, or
surrounded by difficulties, the call of the country has been to her as
the voice of God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound; every man became
at once reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina were all
seen crowding together to the temple, bringing their gifts to the altar
of their common country.
What was the conduct of the South during the Revolution? I honor New
England for her conduct in that glorious struggle. But, great as is the
praise which belongs to her, I think at least equal honor is due to the
South. They espoused the quarrel of their brethren with a generous zeal
which did not suffer them to stop to calculate their interest in the
dispute. Favorites of the mother-country, possessed of neither ships nor
seamen to create a commercial rivalship, they might have found, in their
situation, a guarantee that their trade would be forever fostered and
protected by Great Britain. But, trampling on all considerations, either
of interest or of safety, they rushed into the conflict; and, fighting
for principle, periled all in the sacred cause of freedom. Never was
there exhibited in the history of the world higher examples of noble
daring, dreadful suffering, and heroic endurance than by the Whigs of
Carolina during the Revolution! The whole state, from the mountains to
the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the enemy. The fruits of
industry perished on the spot where they were produced, or were consumed
by the foe. The “Plains of Carolina” drank up the most precious blood
of her citizens. Black and smoking ruins marked the places which had
been the habitations of her children. Driven from their homes, into the
gloomy and almost impenetrable swamps, even there the spirit of liberty
survived, and South Carolina, sustained by the example of her Sumters
and her Marions, proved, by her conduct, that, though her soil might be
overrun, the spirit of her people was invincible.
THE SONG OF MARION’S MEN
(1780-1781.)
BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
_While the British Army held South Carolina, Marion and Sumter gathered
bands of partisans and waged a vigorous guerilla warfare most harassing
and destructive to the invader._
Our band is few, but true and tried,
Our leader frank and bold;
The British soldier trembles
When Marion’s name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood
Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us,
As seamen know the sea.
We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,
Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.
Wo to the English soldiery,
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear:
When, waking to their tents on fire
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again.
And they who fly in terror deem
A mighty host behind,
And hear the tramp of thousands
Upon the hollow wind.
Then sweet the hour that brings release
From danger and from toil;
We talk the battle over,
And share the battle’s spoil.
The woodland rings with laugh and shout,
As if a hunt were up,
And woodland flowers are gathered
To crown the soldier’s cup.
With merry songs we mock the wind
That in the pine-top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly
On beds of oaken leaves.
Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leads—
The glitter of their rifles,
The scampering of their steeds.
’Tis life to guide the fiery barb
Across the moonlight plain;
’Tis life to feel the night-wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp—
A moment—and away
Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.
Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs;
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band
With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven down the Briton,
Forever, from our shore.
OUR COUNTRY SAVED
BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
(Extract from Ode recited at the Harvard Commemoration, July 21, 1865.)
Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves!
Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple!
Banners, advance with triumph, bend your staves!
And from every mountain-peak
Let beacon-fire to answering beacon speak,
Katahdin tell Monadnock, Whiteface he,
And so leap on in light from sea to sea,
Till the glad news be sent
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 fire is dreadful in her eyes no more;
From her bold front the helm she doth unbind,
Sends all her handmaid armies back to spin,
And bids her navies, that so lately hurled
Their crashing battle, to hold their thunders in,
Swimming like birds of calm along the unharmful shore.
No challenge sends she to the older world,
That looked askance and hatred; a light scorn
Plays o’er her mouth, as round her mighty knees
She calls her children back, and waits the morn
Of nobler days, enthroned between her subject seas.
Bow down, dear land, for thou hast found release!
Thy God, in these distempered days,
Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways,
And through thine enemies hath wrought thee peace!
Bow down in prayer and praise!
No poorest in thy borders but may now
Lift to the juster skies a man’s enfranchised brow.
O Beautiful! my Country! ours once more!
Smoothing thy gold of war-disheveled hair
O’er such sweet brows as never other wore,
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;
We will not dare to doubt thee,
But ask whatever else, and we will dare!
NEW ENGLAND AND VIRGINIA
BY ROBERT CHARLES WINTHROP
There are circumstances of peculiar and beautiful correspondence in the
careers of Virginia and New England which must ever constitute a bond
of sympathy, affection, and pride between their children. Not only did
they form respectively the great northern and southern rallying points
of civilization on this continent; not only was the most friendly
competition or the most cordial coöperation, as circumstances allowed,
kept up between them during their early colonial existence—but who
forgets the generous emulation, the noble rivalry, with which they
continually challenged and seconded each other in resisting the first
beginnings of British aggression, in the persons of their James Otises
and Patrick Henrys?
Who forgets that while that resistance was first brought to a practical
test in New England, at Lexington and Concord and Bunker Hill,
Fortune reserved for Yorktown of Virginia the last crowning battle of
Independence? Who forgets that while the hand by which the original
Declaration of Independence was drafted, was furnished by Virginia, the
tongue by which the adoption of that instrument was defended and secured,
was furnished by New England,—a bond of common glory, upon which not
Death alone seemed to set his seal, but Deity, I had almost said, to
affix an immortal sanction, when the spirits by which that hand and voice
were moved, were caught up together to the clouds on the same great Day
of the Nation’s Jubilee.
VI
SWEET LAND OF LIBERTY
AMERICA[11]
BY S. F. SMITH
My country, ’tis of Thee,
Sweet Land of Liberty
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims’ pride,
From every mountain side
Let Freedom ring.
My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills,
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above.
Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees
Sweet Freedom’s song;
Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break,
The sound prolong.
Our fathers’ God to Thee,
Author of Liberty,
To thee we sing,
Long may our land be bright
With Freedom’s holy light,
Protect us by thy might
Great God, our King.
Our glorious Land to-day,
’Neath Education’s sway,
Soars upward still.
Its halls of learning fair,
Whose bounties all may share,
Behold them everywhere
On vale and hill!
Thy safeguard, Liberty,
The school shall ever be,—
Our Nation’s pride!
No tyrant hand shall smite,
While with encircling might
All here are taught the Right
With Truth allied.
Beneath Heaven’s gracious will
The stars of progress still
Our course do sway;
In unity sublime
To broader heights we climb,
Triumphant over Time,
God speeds our way!
Grand birthright of our sires,
Our altars and our fires
Keep we still pure!
Our starry flag unfurled,
The hope of all the world,
In Peace and Light impearled,
God hold secure!
THE REPUBLIC
(From “The Building of the Ship.”)
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!
Sail on, O UNION, strong and great!
Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
We know what Master laid thy keel,
What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge and what a heat
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
Fear not each sudden sound and shock,
’Tis of the wave and not the rock;
’Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale!
In spite of rock and tempest’s roar,
In spite of false lights on the shore,
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith triumphant o’er our fears,
Are all with thee,—are all with thee!
THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM
BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
Here are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled pines,
That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground
Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up
Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet
To linger here, among the flitting birds
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds
That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass,
A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set
With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades—
Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old—
My thoughts go up the long dim path of years,
Back to the earliest days of liberty.