Expugnable but by a nation's rue

And bowing down before that equal shrine
By all men held divine,

Whereof his band and he were the most holy sign.

O bitter, bitter shade!

VII

Wilt thou not put the scorn

And instant tragic question from thine eyes?

Do thy dark brows yet crave

That swift and angry stave—

Unmeet for this desirous morn

That I have striven, striven to evade?
Gazing on him, must I not deem they err
Whose careless lips in street and shop aver
As common tidings, deeds to make his cheek
Flush from the bronze, and his dead throat to speak?

Surely some elder singer would arise,

Whose harp hath leave to threaten and to mourn

Above this people when they go astray.

Is Whitman, the strong spirit, overworn?

Has Whittier put his yearning wrath away?

I will not and I dare not yet believe!

Though furtively the sunlight seems to grieve,
And the spring-laden breeze

Out of the gladdening west is sinister

With sounds of nameless battle overseas;
Though when we turn and question in suspense
If these things be indeed after these ways,
And what things are to follow after these,
Our fluent men of place and consequence
Fumble and fill their mouths with hollow phrase,
Or for the end-all of deep arguments
Intone their dull commercial liturgies—
I dare not yet believe! My ears are shut!
I will not hear the thin satiric praise
And muffled laughter of our enemies,
Bidding us never sheathe our valiant sword
Till we have changed our birthright for a gourd
Of wild pulse stolen from a barbarian's hut;

Showing how wise it is to cast away
The symbols of our spiritual sway,
That so our hands with better ease

May wield the driver's whip and grasp the jailer's keys.

VIII

Was it for this our fathers kept the law?

This crown shall crown their struggle and their ruth?

Are we the eagle nation Milton saw

Mewing its mighty youth,

Soon to possess the mountain winds of truth,

And be a swift familiar of the sun

Where aye before God's face His trumpets run?
Or have we but the talons and the maw,
And for the abject likeness of our heart

Shall some less lordly bird be set apart?—

Some gross-billed wader where the swamps are fat? Some gorger in the sun? Some prowler with the bat?

Ah no!

We have not fallen so.

IX

We are our fathers' sons: let those who lead us know!

'Twas only yesterday sick Cuba's cry

Came up the tropic wind, "Now help us, for we die!" Then Alabama heard,

And rising, pale, to Maine and Idaho

Shouted a burning word.

Proud state with proud impassioned state conferred, And at the lifting of a hand sprang forth,

East, west, and south, and north,

Beautiful armies. Oh, by the sweet blood and young

Shed on the awful hill slope of San Juan,

By the unforgotten names of eager boys

Who might have tasted girls' love and been stung
With the old mystic joys

And starry griefs, now the spring nights come on,
But that the heart of youth is generous,-

We charge you, ye who lead us,

Breathe on their chivalry no hint of stain!

Turn not their new-world victories to gain!

One least leaf plucked for chaffer from the bays

Of their dear praise,

One jot of their pure conquest put to hire,
The implacable republic will require;
With clamor, in the glare and gaze of noon,
Or subtly, coming as a thief at night,
But surely, very surely, slow or soon
That insult deep we deeply will requite.
Tempt not our weakness, our cupidity!
For save we let the island men go free,
Those baffled and dislaureled ghosts
Will curse us from the lamentable coasts
Where walk the frustrate dead.

The cup of trembling shall be drainèd quite,
Eaten the sour bread of astonishment,

With ashes of the hearth shall be made white
Our hair, and wailing shall be in the tent;
Then on your guiltier head

Shall our intolerable self-disdain

Wreak suddenly its anger and its pain;

For manifest in the disastrous light

We shall discern the right

And do it, tardily.-O ye who lead,

Take heed!

Blindness we may forgive, but baseness we will smite.

William Vaughn Moody [1869-1910]

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS

UNTRAMMELLED Giant of the West,
With all of Nature's gifts endowed,
With all of Heaven's mercies blessed,
Nor of thy power unduly proud-
Peerless in courage, force, and skill,
And godlike in thy strength of will,-

Before thy feet the ways divide:

One path leads up to heights sublime;
Downward the other slopes, where bide
The refuse and the wrecks of Time.

Choose then, nor falter at the start,
O choose the nobler path and part!

Be thou the guardian of the weak,
Of the unfriended, thou the friend;
No guerdon for thy valor seek,

No end beyond the avowèd end.
Wouldst thou thy godlike power preserve,

Be godlike in the will to serve!

Joseph B. Gilder [1858

DIXIE

(THE ORIGINAL VERSION]

I WISH I was in de land ob cotton,
Old times dar am not forgotten;

Look

away, look away, look away,

In Dixie land whar I was born in,

Early on one frosty mornin',

Dixie land!

Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land!

Chorus-Den I wish I was in Dixie! Hooray! Hooray! In Dixie's land we'll took our stand, to lib an' die in Dixie,

Away, away, away down south in Dixie!
Away, away, away down south in Dixie!

Old missus marry Will de weaber,
William was a gay deceaber,

When he put his arm around 'er,
He looked as fierce as a forty-pounder.

His face was sharp as a butcher cleaber,
But dat did not seem to greab 'er;
Will run away, missus took a decline, O,
Her face was the color of bacon rhine, O.

While missus libbed, she libbed in clover,
When she died, she died all over;
How could she act de foolish part,
An' marry a man to break her heart?

Buckwheat cakes an' stony batter
Makes you fat or a little fatter;
Here's a health to de next old missus,
An' all de gals dat want to kiss us.

Now if you want to drive 'way sorrow,
Come an' hear dis song to-morrow;

Den hoe it down an' scratch your grabble,
To Dixie's land I'm bound to trabble.

Daniel Decatur Emmett [1815-1904]

DIXIE

SOUTHRONS, hear your country call you!
Up, lest worse than death befall you! .
To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted,—
Let all hearts be now united!

To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
Advance the flag of Dixie!

Hurrah! hurrah!

For Dixie's land we take our stand,

And live or die for Dixie!

Hear the Northern thunders mutter!
Northern flags in South winds flutter!
Send them back your fierce defiance!
Stamp upon the accursed alliance!

Fear no danger! Shun no labor!
Lift up rifle, pike, and saber!
Shoulder pressing close to shoulder,
Let the odds make each heart bolder!

How the South's great heart rejoices
At your cannons' ringing voices!