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قراءة كتاب An Ode Pronounced Before the Inhabitants of Boston, September the Seventeenth, 1830, at the Centennial Celebration of the Settlement of the City
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اللغة: English
An Ode Pronounced Before the Inhabitants of Boston, September the Seventeenth, 1830, at the Centennial Celebration of the Settlement of the City
الصفحة رقم: 2
class="i4">Unshaken through the strife of storms;
Heaven’s winter cloud hangs coldly down,
And earth puts on its rudest frown;
But colder, ruder was the hand,
That drove them from their own fair land,
Their own fair land—refinement’s chosen seat,
Art’s trophied dwelling, learning’s green retreat;
By valour guarded, and by victory crowned,
For all, but gentle charity, renowned.
With streaming eye, yet steadfast heart,
Even from that land they dared to part,
And burst each tender tie;
Haunts, where their sunny youth was passed,
Homes, where they fondly hoped at last
In peaceful age to die;
Friends, kindred, comfort, all they spurned—
Their fathers’ hallowed graves;
And to a world of darkness turned,
Beyond a world of waves.
IV.
When Israel’s race from bondage fled,
Signs from on high the wanderers led;
But here—Heaven hung no symbol here,
Their steps to guide, their souls to cheer;
They saw, thro’ sorrow’s lengthening night,
Nought but the fagot’s guilty light;
That round their murdered brethren broke.
Nor power above, nor power below,
Sustained them in their hour of wo;
A fearful path they trod,
And dared a fearful doom;
To build an altar to their God,
And find a quiet tomb.
V.
But not alone, not all unblessed,
The exile sought a place of rest;
One dared with him to burst the knot,
That bound her to her native spot;
Her low sweet voice in comfort spoke,
As round their bark the billows broke;
She through the midnight watch was there;
With him to bend her knees in prayer;
She trod the shore with girded heart,
Through good and ill to claim her part;
In life, in death, with him to seal
Her kindred love, her kindred zeal.
VI.
They come—that coming who shall tell?
The eye may weep, the heart may swell,
But the poor tongue in vain essays
A fitting note for them to raise.
We hear the after-shout that rings
The swelling triumph all would share,
But who the dark defeat would dare,
And boldly meet the wrath and wo,
That wait the unsuccessful blow?
It were an envied fate, we deem,
To live a land’s recorded theme,
When we are in the tomb;
We, too, might yield the joys of home,
And waves of winter darkness roam,
And tread a shore of gloom—
Knew we those waves, through coming time,
Should roll our names to every clime;