* * * * * HEARKEN, ye bards who err by rigid rules, | |
| And wear the tawdry livery of the schools; | |
| Who strive to shine as other lights have shone, | |
| And envying others, forfeit what’s your own! | |
| Write, as he wrote, with honest, simple pains, | 5 |
| Out of the seeds God planted in your brains, | |
| Out of the fullness of your nation’s heart, | |
| Nor vex the dead with imitative art; | |
| Nor cross the natural limit of the seas, | |
| To seek a strength that fills our stronger breeze. | 10 |
| For were the copy as the first mould cast,— | |
| Out on the thing! a copy ’tis at last! | |
| By mere descent no poet shall be known; | |
| Each royal minstrel holds his separate throne, | |
| And o’er his state a seraph’s brand is whirled: | 15 |
| One Milton is enough for any world. | |
| Poet revered, you taught this lesson first, | |
| As from the bondage of the schools you burst, | |
| And filled our startled but delighted sense | |
| With our wide land’s discovered affluence; | 20 |
| Gave the scorned legends of our narrow past | |
| Another color and more graceful cast; | |
| Touched the wild flowers beneath our lucid skies, | |
| And shook their glimmer in the dreamer’s eyes; | |
| Made history light upon unstoried hills, | 25 |
| And breathed a voice along our savage rills; | |
| Spread over all the haze of fresh romance, | |
| Till Europe wondered through her doubting glance; | |
| But wondered more that every tone rang out | |
| The clarion challenge of a freeman’s shout; | 30 |
| Sounding defiance to their castes and kings, | |
| Their courtly follies over empty things; | |
| But, O my Bryant, tempered sweet and low, | |
| To tenderest pity, was your music’s flow | |
| Over the trampled serfs that raised their groans | 35 |
| Beneath the shadows of resplendent thrones. | |
| Warm was the welcome of the hand you gave | |
| Across our threshold to the fleeing slave; | |
| And stern the courage of your angry frown, | |
| When tyrants raged for what they called their own. | 40 |
| You were the first who made us clearly see, | |
| In rhythmic words, how grand ’tis to be free; | |
| Sang to the world the spirit of our land, | |
| And waved her standard from your spotless hand; | |
| Taught every child the glory of his birth, | 45 |
| And spread his heritage around the earth; | |
| Made youth feel stronger, that his life began | |
| Here in the front of freedom’s hardy van; | |
| Consoled the sage against foreboding fears, | |
| And starred with hopes the shadows of his years. * * * * * | 50 |
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