TO AMERICA. I. COLUMBIA, child of Britain,-noblest child! Yes, we are one; the glorious days of yore And thou hast rights in Milton, ev'n as we, Thou too canst claim "sweet Shakspeare's wood-notes wild," And chiefest, brother, we are both made free Of one Religion, pure and undefiled! II. I blame thee not, as other some have blamed,— That diadems thy head !—go on, go on, TO AMERICA. Young Hercules, thus travelling in might, Thou new Themistocles for enterprise 227 And, precious child, dear Ephraim, turn those eyes,For thee thy Mother's yearning heart doth wait. III. Let aged Britain claim the classic Past, A shining track of bright and mighty deeds, For thee I prophecy the Future vast Whereof the Present sows its giant seeds: O'er poor old England; yet a few dark years, Thy patriots, sages, warriors, saints, and seers- The mother in the child; to all the West Through Thee shall We earth's choicest blessings give, Ev'n as our Orient world in Us is blest. IV. Thou noble scion of an ancient root, Born of the forest-king! spread forth, spread forth,— High to the stars thy tender leaflets shoot, Deep dig thy fibres round the ribs of earth: It must ere long be thine, through good or ill, To stretch thy sinewy boughs: Go,-wondrous child! Stand thou with us when all the nations rage And, through all time, the calm historic page Shall tell of Britain blest in thee her son! TO BROTHER JONATHAN. (IN 1850.) Ho! Brother, I'm a Britisher, A chip of heart of oak, That wouldn't warp or swerve or stir I tell you, Brother Jonathan, I know your heart, an open heart, To run for honour still; And shrewd to scheme a likely plan, And stout to see it done, I tell you, Brother Jonathan, That you and I are one. TO BROTHER JONATHAN. There may be jealousies and strife, Decide it, testy Jonathan, That brothers always fight. Two fledgling sparrows in one nest The children of the storm! No! while their rustled pinions fan "GOD save the Queen" delights you still, And "British Grenadiers," The good old strains your heartstrings thrill, And we,-Oh hate us if you can, you, We like you, Brother Jonathan, And "Yankee Doodle" too! There's nothing foreign in your face, Nor strange upon your tongue, You come not of another race From baser lineage sprung; 229 No, brother! though away you ran, Still true it is, young Jonathan, Time was,-it wasn't long ago, Your grandsire went with mine To battle traitors, blow for blow, For England's royal line; Or tripp'd to court to kiss Queen Anne, Or worship mighty Bess, And you and I, good Jonathan, Went with them then, I guess. Together both-'twas long ago- Together pray'd or swore,- Was only John of yore! There lived a man, a man of men, The globe is all his own; For Shakspeare, happy Jonathan, |