CANTO V.
“What constitutes a State?
Men, high-minded men.”—Jones.
Ehret die Frauen! sie flechten und weben
Himmlische Rosen in’s irdische Leben.—Schiller.
Dame Nature has to all mankind
Been purely just and wisely kind;
For labor all her children made,
Each in his calling, art, or trade;
And each is blest as he pursues
The course which for him she doth choose.
Who would be useful and alone
In this, in that is but a drone;
And none in any can succeed,
To which not nature points, but need;
And every honest work well done,
Where mind and muscle join in one,
Will give the worker wealth and fame,
While that neglected leads to shame.
But these by men have been so jumbled,
That few on their own work have stumbled.[u]
But lo! while wafted off my course,
I’ve lost the thread of my discourse!
It seems to me, I’m off the track,
And wonder how I shall get back;
Where did I stop? what was my theme?
’Twas haply but an idle dream.
Just here I, making full confession,
Plead guilty of a long digression;
But claim your pardon, on the plea
Of absolute necessity.
Could I, no prophet, undertake
To tell what course my snake would take?
What tortuous windings he’d pursue,
In trying to elude my view?
But now, unless his tail should writhe,
(The only part still left alive,)
I promise to keep straight along
The theme and burden of my song.
“The Fathers,” yes! I sang of them,
(And let the copperhead condemn!)
How simply grand, sublimely great,
They labored for the growing State!
The history of the past they read,
And o’er it modern science shed.
The golden age of Greece and Rome
Should be eclipsed by that to come;
When sovereign man should walk abroad,
And own no king but God, the Lord.[v]
The freeman’s right to vote his choice,
Though vindicated by their voice,
Was yet so guarded by their care,
That no unworthy wretch should dare
To desecrate that gift of Heaven,
If he had hopes to be forgiven;
And wisely, therefore, they ordained
That youth should be severely trained
In principles of right and truth,
And every art that graces youth,
And patiently await the hour
When they could wisely wield that power.
They deemed that one and twenty years,
With careful study, prayers and tears,
Might with our virtuous youth suffice,
To make them worthy that great prize.
And that these ends might be attained,
Free schools were founded and maintained;
And no one’s child, or rich or poor,
Was spurned ignobly from the door;
And colleges were spread abroad,
And temples consecrate to God,
Whence learning and religion spread
O’er all the land, their radiance shed;
So that who chose might feel and see
The glorious sun of Liberty![w]
Thus for the children of the land;
For strangers from a foreign strand
A long probation they prepare,
Ere they the freeman’s honors share;
They must renounce the despot’s chain,
And Liberty henceforth maintain;
Their minds of prejudice divest,
Our customs and our laws digest,
Our principles of freedom scan,
And learn the dignity of man.
And thus when five long years had flown,
And they had made our aims their own,
The Fathers thought, the time had come,
To take the faithful strangers home,
Adopt them in the family,
Henceforth true loyal sons to be,
Admitted freely and at once,
To share this great inheritance!
Thus with the native-born and those
Who from the tyrant sought repose
Beneath our glorious flag, the aim
Of our great Fathers was the same,
By all true freedom unalloyed
Might be, without reserve, enjoyed,
On one condition, that they prove
Sons worthy of a parent’s love,
That each should cherish in his soul
Fair Freedom’s essence, self-control,
A conscience void of all offense,
Religion based on common sense,
Which gives to all th’ inherent right
To worship God in reason’s light,
Nor leaves to bigots to dictate
A marriage of the Church and State,
And forces none—the meanest, least,
To pay another’s bloated priest.[x]
That each remember, from one blood
All men are sprung—one brotherhood,
Equal before th’ Almighty’s throne,
Flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone;
With rights prescriptive, boundless, free
To happiness, life, liberty!
That none, save those inspired by hell,
Their brother, man, can bind or sell.
On such conditions equal, fair,
All can the freeman’s honors share,
And who the compact sets aside,
Through ignorance, ambition, pride,
The sheepfold enters o’er the wall,
And is no citizen at all;
But an intruder, vile and base,
The scorn and refuse of the race;
A wolf in clothing of the sheep,
Who enters while the shepherds sleep;
Who gloats on blood throughout the night;
But when the morning’s rosy light
Appears, the dogs and men pursue
The blood-stained thief in open view,
When, gorged with blood, his flesh and paws
Appease the hounds’ more hungry maws.
Torn thus may traitors find such room,
When light dispels our Country’s gloom.
Have we the Fathers’ precepts kept?
Alas! too soundly we have slept,
And let the precious moments fly,
Regardless how! no watchful eye
To note the wanderers from the fold,
To guide the young and guard the old;
To point the way of truth and right,
And flood them with celestial light!
The home is freedom’s nursing place,
Its subjects are the infant race;[y]
For as we bend his tender mind,
So is the full-grown man inclined.
Our discipline too lax and mild
Still spares the rod and spoils the child;
And, as is natural, the rule
Ascends from nursery to school,
Where “moral suasion” must preside,
And “no coercion” is the guide;
What wonder, that the infant mind,
By appetite and passion blind,
Ere yet to reason it attain,
Or conscience can assume the rein;
Should show its grit in look and tone,
And cry or act “Let me alone!”
Your son like mine has but one road
To freedom’s temple,—through the rod.
One only sense will bear appeal,
To make him heed, first make him feel;
No good by man was ever gained,
Save that through toil and pain attained.
You lose your labor if you plead
To empty benches in the head,
Or to the still more vacant heart:
At this all Mann’s disciples start;
My friends, the golden age is o’er,
Mann and his Mann-ers are no more!
What wonder, youth grow on our hands
Habitual breakers of commands;
Depraved in habits, morals, taste,
With every talent run to waste?
Since wholesome discipline withdrawn
Makes room for crimes of every spawn;
And leaves the wanderer free to roam,
Sans chart or compass far from home?
Instead of duties fixed by rule,
We give full scope to every fool,
As fancy or caprice dictate,
And find our error when too late!
We find the flowery path of lust
Leads but to error and disgust;
And then this other truth succeeds,
“No royal road to virtue leads.”
Sum up the sad result, you’ll find
A pampered body, vacant mind,
Whose helpless imbecility
Becomes of every quack the prey,
A weather-cock that’s whirled about
By every gust of creed or doubt;
The slave of lawyer, leech and priest,
Who use him worse than grov’ling beast,
And make him swallow lies or pills,
Just as the mocking demon wills!
Yet, thick as insects on the wing
Must Solons from such seedlings spring!
Or, should we spend some thought and care,
Our sons for uses to prepare;
What lesson do we teach them first?
The love of mammon, the accurst!
What lesson do we teach them last?
“Get gold, my son, and hold it fast;
Be grov’ling, never lift the eye
Towards orb of day or starry sky:
All learning, science, treat with scorn,
To grub and scrape you have been born;
And, right or wrong, accumulate,
Gold be your god—and wealth your fate!”
These seeds we’ve sown in genial soil,
And reap rebellion for our toil;
And wonder still, that o’er the ground
The reptile copperheads abound;
Some, satisfied to vegetate,
Like tares, ignobly in the State;
While some, whose venom waxen strong
Distorts the right, inflicts the wrong,
Crawl forth on missions in the cause
Of slave-lords and their brutal laws;
And care not for their country’s loss,
If they can only clutch the “dross!”
Whilst these disgrace the freeman’s name,
And bring the land to scorn and shame,
By singing pæans to the god
Who wields the despot’s chain and rod,
Th’ awakened youth of Europe sing
Hosannas to great freedom’s king,
And weary him with earnest prayer,
That she at length find refuge there!
Thus, while those “to the manor born,”
Whose infancy and rosy morn
Were fed and shaded by that tree
So grateful to the brave and free,
As copperheads assail it now,
And register a monstrous vow,
Upon its beauty still to frown,
And ply the axe to cut it down;
The children of a foreign land
In its defense most nobly stand,
Protect it from the murderous horde,
By word and deed, by gun and sword;
With wondrous unanimity
Cry, “wretches, monsters, spare that tree!
Touch not a bough! it nurtured you
With kindly fruit,—refreshed with dew,
Protected by its grateful shade,
And dare you now its life invade?”
Amongst this brave, devoted band,
Thy sons, Germania, proudly stand;
To none inferior in the fight,
In love of freedom and the right:
And while this earth endures, bright fame
Shall gild thy Siegel’s honored name;
And those who for the right have stood,
Or born of thee, or of thy blood,
From him who nameless wields the lance,
To Heintzleman and Rosecrans.
Yes! many a field and many a flood
Has reddened with Germania’s blood;
Her heroes’ hearts have never quailed,
Though oft by thrice their force assailed!
Let Pea Ridge, Carthage, Wilson’s Creek
And other scenes their praises speak;
Let Murfreesboro with the rest
Their splendid leadership attest;
Where Bragg and all his rebel mass,
Through it received their “coup de grace!”