CHARLES WELDON.
18- 1856?

THE POEM OF THE UNIVERSE.

The Poem of the Universe

Nor rhythm has nor rhyme;

Some God recites the wondrous song
A stanza at a time.

Great deeds is he foredoom'd to do-
With Freedom's flag unfurl'd—
Who hears the echo of that song
As it goes down the world.

Great words he is compell'd to speak
Who understands the song:

He rises up like fifty men,

Fifty good men and strong.

A stanza for each century :—
Now heed it, all who can!
Who hears it, he, and only he,
Is the elected man.

ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.
1819-1861.

PESCHIERA.

What voice did on my spirit fall, Peschiera! when thy bridge I cross'd?

"'Tis better to have fought and lost
Than never to have fought at all!"

The tricolour-a trampled rag
Lies, dirt and dust; the lines I track
By sentry boxes, yellow-black,
Lead up to no Italian flag.

I see the Croat soldier stand

Upon the grass of your redoubts;
The eagle with his black wings flouts
The breadth and beauty of your land.

Yet not in vain, although in vain,
O men of Brescia! on the day
Of loss past hope I heard you say
Your welcome to the noble pain.

You said "Since so it is, good-bye,
Sweet life! high hope! but whatsoe'er
May be, or must, no tongue shall dare
To tell-the Lombard fear'd to die."

You said (there shall be answer fit!)— "And if our children must obey,

They must; but thinking on this day 'Twill less debase them to submit."

You said (O not in vain you said)—
"Haste, brothers! haste, while yet we may,
The hours ebb fast of this one day
When blood may yet be nobly shed."

Ah! not for idle hatred, not
For honour, fame, nor self-applause,
But for the glory of the Cause
You did what will not be forgot.

And though the stranger stand, 'tis true,—
By force and fortune's right he stands :
By fortune, which is in God's hands;
And strength, which yet shall spring in you.

This voice did on my spirit fall,
Peschiera! when thy bridge I cross'd :
'Tis better to have fought and lost

Than never to have fought at all.

NOT UNAVAILING.

Say not, the struggle nought availeth,
The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,

And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke conceal'd,
Your comrades chase even now the fliers
And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by Eastern windows only,

When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!
But Westward, look! the land is bright.

JULIA WARD HOWE.

1819

BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord :
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are

stored;

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword; His truth is marching on.

Glory! glory hallelujah! his truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watchfires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and

damps;

I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps; His day is marching on.

Glory! glory! hallelujah! his day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnish'd rows of steel: As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal:

Let the hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel! Since God is marching on.

Glory! glory hallelujah! since God is marching on.

He hath sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call re

treat;

He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat : O, be swift, my soul! to answer Him; be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on.

Glory! glory hallelujah! our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born, across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me:
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free!
While God is marching on.

Glory! glory hallelujah! while God is marching on.

WALT WHITMAN.

1819

PIONEERS.

Come, my tan-faced children!
Follow well in order, get your weapons ready!

Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes?
Pioneers! O pioneers!

For we can not tarry here;

We must march, my darlings! we must bear the brunt of

danger :

We, the youthful sinewy races,-all the rest on us depend,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you youths, Western youths !

So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship: Plain I see you, Western youths! see you tramping with the

foremost,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Have the elder races halted?

Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied, over there beyond the seas ;

We take up the task eternal, and the burden, and the lesson, Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the past we leave behind :

We debouch upon a newer, mightier world, varied world: Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labour and the march,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

We detachments steady throwing,

Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep, Conquering, holding, daring, venturing, as we go the unknown

ways,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

We primeval forests felling,

We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines within,

We the surface broad surveying, and the virgin soil upheaving, Pioneers! O pioneers!

Colorado men are we :

From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high plateaus,