SONGS IN MANY KEYS

THE piping of our slender, peaceful reeds

Whispers uncared for while the trumpets bray;

Song is thin air; our hearts’ exulting play

Beats time but to the tread of marching deeds,

Following the mighty van that Freedom leads,

Her glorious standard flaming to the day!

The crimsoned pavement where a hero bleeds

Breathes nobler lessons than the poet's lay.

Strong arms, broad breasts, brave hearts, are better worth

Than strains that sing the ravished echoes dumb.

Hark!‘ t is the loud reverberating drum

Rolls o'er the prairied West, the rock-bound North

The myriad-handed Future stretches forth

Its shadowy palms. Behold, we come,— we come!

Turn o'er these idle leaves. Such toys as these

Were not unsought for, as, in languid dreams,

We lay beside our lotus-feeding streams,

And nursed our fancies in forgetful ease.

It matters little if they pall or please,

Dropping untimely, while the sudden gleams

Glare from the mustering clouds whose blackness seems

Too swollen to hold its lightning from the trees.

Yet, in some lull of passion, when at last

These calm revolving moons that come and go —

Turning our months to years, they creep so slow —

Have brought us rest, the not unwelcome past

May flutter to thee through these leaflets, cast

On the wild winds that all around us blow.