Songs of Many Seasons (1862-74) | Page 5

will come to reason."
On--on to where the tea-ships ride!
And now their ranks are

forming,--
A rush, and up the Dartmouth's side
The Mohawk band
is swarming!
See the fierce natives! What a glimpse
Of paint and
fur and feather,
As all at once the full-grown imps
Light on the
deck together!
A scarf the pigtail's secret keeps,
A blanket hides the
breeches,--
And out the cursed cargo leaps,
And overboard it
pitches!
O woman, at the evening board
So gracious, sweet, and purring,
So
happy while the tea is poured,
So blest while spoons are stirring,

What martyr can compare with thee,
The mother, wife, or daughter,

That night, instead of best Bohea,
Condemned to milk and water!
Ah, little dreams the quiet dame
Who plies with' rock and spindle

The patient flax, how great a flame
Yon little spark shall kindle!

The lurid morning shall reveal
A fire no king can smother
Where
British flint and Boston steel
Have clashed against each other!
Old
charters shrivel in its track,
His Worship's bench has crumbled,
It climbs and clasps the union-jack,
Its blazoned pomp is humbled,

The flags go down on land and sea
Like corn before the reapers;
So
burned the fire that brewed the tea
That Boston served her keepers!
The waves that wrought a century's wreck
Have rolled o'er whig and
tory;
The Mohawks on the Dartmouth's deck
Still live in song and
story;
The waters in the rebel bay
Have kept the tea-leaf savor;

Our old North-Enders in their spray
Still taste a Hyson flavor;
And
Freedom's teacup still o'erflows
With ever fresh libations,
To cheat
of slumber all her foes

And cheer the wakening nations
1874.
NEARING THE SNOW-LINE
SLOW toiling upward from' the misty vale,
I leave the bright
enamelled zones below;
No more for me their beauteous bloom shall

glow,
Their lingering sweetness load the morning gale;
Few are the
slender flowerets, scentless, pale,
That on their ice-clad stems all
trembling blow
Along the margin of unmelting snow;
Yet with
unsaddened voice thy verge I hail,
White realm of peace above the
flowering line;
Welcome thy frozen domes, thy rocky spires!
O'er
thee undimmed the moon-girt planets shine,
On thy majestic altars
fade the fires
That filled the air with smoke of vain desires,
And all
the unclouded blue of heaven is thine!
1870.
IN WARTIME
TO CANAAN
A PURITAN WAR SONG
This poem, published anonymously in the Boston Evening Transcript,
was claimed by several persons, three, if I remember correctly, whose
names I have or have had, but never thought it worth while to publish.
WHERE are you going, soldiers,
With banner, gun, and sword?
We
're marching South to Canaan
To battle for the Lord
What Captain
leads your armies
Along the rebel coasts?
The Mighty One of Israel,

His name is Lord of Hosts!
To Canaan, to Canaan
The Lord has
led us forth,
To blow before the heathen walls
The trumpets of the
North!
What flag is this you carry
Along the sea and shore?
The same our
grandsires lifted up,--
The same our fathers bore
In many a battle's
tempest
It shed the crimson rain,--
What God has woven in his
loom
Let no man rend in twain!
To Canaan, to Canaan
The Lord
has led us forth,
To plant upon the rebel towers
The banners of the
North!
What troop is this that follows,
All armed with picks and spades?


These are the swarthy bondsmen,--
The iron-skin brigades!
They'll
pile up Freedom's breastwork,
They 'LL scoop out rebels' graves;

Who then will be their owner
And march them off for slaves?
To
Canaan, to Canaan
The Lord has led us forth,
To strike upon the
captive's chain
The hammers of the North!
What song is this you're singing?
The same that Israel sung
When
Moses led the mighty choir,
And Miriam's timbrel rung!
To Canaan!
To Canaan!
The priests and maidens cried:
To Canaan! To Canaan!

The people's voice replied.
To Canaan, to Canaan
The Lord has
led us forth,
To thunder through its adder dens
The anthems of the
North
When Canaan's hosts are scattered,
And all her walls lie flat,
What
follows next in order?
The Lord will see to that
We'll break the
tyrant's sceptre,--
We 'll build the people's throne,--
When half the
world is Freedom's,
Then all the world's our own
To Canaan, to
Canaan
The Lord has led us forth,
To sweep the rebel
threshing-floors,
A whirlwind from the North
August 12, 1862.
"THUS SAITH THE LORD, I OFFER THEE THREE THINGS."
IN poisonous dens, where traitors hide
Like bats that fear the day,

While all the land our charters claim
Is sweating blood and breathing
flame,
Dead to their country's woe and shame,
The recreants
whisper STAY!
In peaceful homes, where patriot fires
On Love's own altars glow,

The mother hides her trembling fear,
The wife, the sister, checks a
tear,

To breathe the parting word of cheer,
Soldier of Freedom, Go!
In halls where Luxury lies at ease,
And Mammon keeps his state,

Where flatterers fawn and menials crouch,
The dreamer, startled from

his couch,
Wrings a few counters from his pouch,
And murmurs
faintly WAIT!
In weary camps, on trampled plains
That ring with fife and drum,

The battling host, whose harness gleams
Along the crimson-flowing
streams,
Calls, like a warning voice in dreams,
We want you,
Brother! COME!
Choose ye whose bidding ye will do,--
To go, to wait, to stay!
Sons
of the Freedom-loving town,
Heirs of the Fathers' old renown,
The
servile yoke, the civic crown,
Await your choice To-DAY!
The stake