The Dead Statesman.
I see his Shape who should have led these ranks--
GARFIELD I see whose presence had evoked
The stormy rapture of a Nation's thanks--
His chariot stands unyoked!
Unyoked and empty, and the Charioteer
To Fame's expanded arms has headlong rushed
Ending the glories of a grand career,
While all the world stood hushed.
The thunder of his wheels is done, but he
Sustained by patience, fortitude, and grace--
A Christian Hero--from the struggle free--
Has won the Christian's race!
His wheel-tracks stop not in the Valley cold
But upward lead, and on, and up, and higher,
Till Hope can realize and Faith behold
His chariot mount in fire!
Therefore, my Countrymen, lift up your hearts!
Therefore, my Countrymen, be not cast down!
He lives with those who well have done their parts,
And God bestowed his crown!
And yet another form to-day I miss;--
Grigsby the scholar, good, and pure, and wise,
Who now, perchance, from scenes of perfect bliss
Looks down with tender eyes.
Where his great friend, through life great Winthrop stands,
Winthrop, whose gift, in life's departing hours,
Went to the dying Old Virginian's hands
Who died amid those flowers.
Prayers change to blooms, the ancient Rabbins taught;
So his, then, seemed to blossom forth and glow,
As if his supplicating soul had brought
Sandalphon down below.
But, happily, that Winthrop stood to-day,
The patriot, scholar, orator, and sage,
To tell the meaning of this grand array
And vindicate an Age.
That Era's life and meaning his to teach,
To him the parchments, but the shell to me,
His voice the voice of billows on the beach
Wherein we heard the sea.
My voice the voice of some sequestered stream
Which only boasts, as on its waters glide,
That, here and there, it shows a broken gleam
Of pictures on its tide.
II.
THE COLONIES.
The fountain of our story spreads no clouds
Of mist above it rich in varied glows,
None paint us Gods and Goddesses in crowds
Where some Scamander flows.
The tale of Jamestown, which I need not gild,
With that of Plymouth, by the World is seen,
But none, in visions, fancifully build
Olympus in between.
At Jamestown stood the Saxon's home and graves,
There Britain's spray broke on the native rock,
There rose the English tide with crested waves
And overwhelming shock.
Virginia thence, stirred by a grand unrest,
Swept o'er the waters, scaled the mountain's crag,
Hewed out a more than Roman roadway West,
And planted there her flag.
Her fortune was forewritten even then--
That fortune in the coming years to be
"Mother of States and unpolluted men,"
And nurse of Liberty.
Then 'twas our coast all bore Virginia's name;
Next North Virginia took its separate place,
And grew by slow degrees in wealth and fame
And Freedom's special grace.
GARFIELD I see whose presence had evoked
The stormy rapture of a Nation's thanks--
His chariot stands unyoked!
Unyoked and empty, and the Charioteer
To Fame's expanded arms has headlong rushed
Ending the glories of a grand career,
While all the world stood hushed.
The thunder of his wheels is done, but he
Sustained by patience, fortitude, and grace--
A Christian Hero--from the struggle free--
Has won the Christian's race!
His wheel-tracks stop not in the Valley cold
But upward lead, and on, and up, and higher,
Till Hope can realize and Faith behold
His chariot mount in fire!
Therefore, my Countrymen, lift up your hearts!
Therefore, my Countrymen, be not cast down!
He lives with those who well have done their parts,
And God bestowed his crown!
And yet another form to-day I miss;--
Grigsby the scholar, good, and pure, and wise,
Who now, perchance, from scenes of perfect bliss
Looks down with tender eyes.
Where his great friend, through life great Winthrop stands,
Winthrop, whose gift, in life's departing hours,
Went to the dying Old Virginian's hands
Who died amid those flowers.
Prayers change to blooms, the ancient Rabbins taught;
So his, then, seemed to blossom forth and glow,
As if his supplicating soul had brought
Sandalphon down below.
But, happily, that Winthrop stood to-day,
The patriot, scholar, orator, and sage,
To tell the meaning of this grand array
And vindicate an Age.
That Era's life and meaning his to teach,
To him the parchments, but the shell to me,
His voice the voice of billows on the beach
Wherein we heard the sea.
My voice the voice of some sequestered stream
Which only boasts, as on its waters glide,
That, here and there, it shows a broken gleam
Of pictures on its tide.
II.
THE COLONIES.
The fountain of our story spreads no clouds
Of mist above it rich in varied glows,
None paint us Gods and Goddesses in crowds
Where some Scamander flows.
The tale of Jamestown, which I need not gild,
With that of Plymouth, by the World is seen,
But none, in visions, fancifully build
Olympus in between.
At Jamestown stood the Saxon's home and graves,
There Britain's spray broke on the native rock,
There rose the English tide with crested waves
And overwhelming shock.
Virginia thence, stirred by a grand unrest,
Swept o'er the waters, scaled the mountain's crag,
Hewed out a more than Roman roadway West,
And planted there her flag.
Her fortune was forewritten even then--
That fortune in the coming years to be
"Mother of States and unpolluted men,"
And nurse of Liberty.
Then 'twas our coast all bore Virginia's name;
Next North Virginia took its separate place,
And grew by slow degrees in wealth and fame
And Freedom's special grace.
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