"Poem (Given at San Francisco)" by John Rollin Ridge
With heaving hearts, and tongues attuned to praise.
Behold, what thousands at thy coming throng,
With bannered pomp, with eloquence and song.
Upon her path impulsive bounds the earth,
As conscious of her deed of grandest birth;
And Time's Recorder, standing in the sun,
To count the orbic periods as they run,
Re-notes the chiefest hour of all the age,
And finds new glory on his blazing page.
Oh, well this day may throbbing bosoms beat,
And fervent spirits feel divinest heat,
And young and old, with willing steps and free,
And voices glad as waves of summery sea,
Come forth from cottage and from hall, to fling
On Freedom's shrine the tributes that they bring!
Well might the theme the meanest muse inspire,
For, burning in the firmament of fame,
Each name renowned pours down its flood of flame,
And deeds come crowding in the path of years,
Till all the Past in one grand scene appears;
And standing midst the wondrous days of old,
What Kings with trembling and with awe surveyed,
The deep foundations of an empire laid.
With Adams and with Washington we see
The growing of the shadowed prophecy,
And watch, elate, the pillared structure rise,
Till, crowned with stars, and domed amid the skies,
It fronts the Nations in its strength: and, lo!
Amidst the rapture of the hour aglow,
From yonder far-seen Heaven's supremest heights
Descendeth IMMORTALITY, and writes
Her name upon its contellated brow!
Long years, or bright or dark that tower has stood—
Full many a siege has braved of fire and flood;
Contending factions sweeping at its base at will,
The storms have cleared and left it glorious still.
Through night and darkness has its beacon light
Still shone upon the nation's wondering sight;
And when they looked to see its proud dome bend,
And midst the blackening gloom and wreck descend,
It rose, emerging from the tempest's shock,
Like Chimborazo's condor-nesting rock!
But in our dome the eagle builds its nest,
And with our banner flies with armored breast;
Yet, crawling round those pillars white, we've seen
Beneath his perch, those meaner things unclean;
That hissing wind demigods have trod!
They've slimed Mount Vernon's consecrated sod.
In all the nation's highways still we meet
Their coiling shapes, and in the august seat,
Where sat a Washinagton, but late we found
The meanest reptile of them all in wound.
But now slimier things their tasks have done,
And in their stead comes forth the monster one,
Their many-headed sire! Yea, Treason rears
Aloft his snaky front, and impious, dares
The high and holy place, where sits enthroned
Our country's Genius, with her armies zoned.
Black rolls the cloud o'er friend and foe alike—
But whom, whom shall the bolts of vengeance strike?
Methinks the starry banner that had braved
The regal mistress of the deep, has waved
Where Cortez banners soared; with victory blest,
Has rippled in the breezes of the west;
In northern hurricane has tost, and known
But triumph in its march from zone to zone,
Shall never sink before you rebel crew—
Shall never bow, vile traitors, unto you!
Ah, would those tongues could speak which now are dumb!
For lo! the evil days have on us come,
And heroes, patriots stand appalled to see
In hands untried the nation's destiny.
Good men and true there are—strong men and bold;
But not, oh, not the mighty men of old!
'Twas not till Jackson's heart was dust; till Day
To Night had given the electric brain of Clay;
Till God-like Webster's all imperial mind,
From its vast sphere of living light declined,
That Treason, scourged into his did dare
That Treason, scourged into his den, did dare
Again come forth to foul the shrinking air,
And blot the face of Freedom's soil with births
That Hell shall own too monstrous for the earth's.
And he who stood those men of strength beside,
In heart and brain and breadth of soul allied,
The statesman of a younger time, but tried
In days his elders might have shrunk to see
The gallant, glorious Douglas, where is he ?
The hosts that rallied to his battle cry,
And deemed such power was never made to die,
Now weep above the spot whose sods enfold
The man of might this orb shall seldom mould.
He died too soon, but other souls sublime
Shall spring perchance, from out this troublous time,
And, seizing from each silent chieftain's grave
The drooping, mourning standards of the brave,
Their folds unfurl and bear them to the field
Where free-born patriots die but never yield.
God our fathers, grant such there be!
And round them pour the millions of the free.
Let voice to voice, and hand to hand, and soul
To soul, give answer, and combine, as roll
The waves unto the marching winds that sweep
Cloud-bannered, thunder-armed, upon the deep.
In peace or war still let our Nation stand—
Fair Liberty still haunt her native land,
And long, long after we have sunk to dust,
And crowns and kingdoms failed, as fail they must,
And Treason, spreading wide serpent toils
Has died, self-stung in its own coils—
This frame gigantic of our Nation's might,
Shall loom upon the world's enraptured sight,
Still bearing on its broad, majestic brow,
ESTO PERPETUA! –Eternal be, as now.
* Delivered at San Francisco, July 4th, 1861.