But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
And dies among his worshippers.
His patriotic poems are few in number, but Bryant’s reticence must be taken into account. Coming from him, the verses mean more than if they came from another. Two of the best are ‘Oh Mother of a mighty Race’ and ‘Not Yet.’ The second of these, written in July, 1861, has a finely imaginative stanza in which are pictured the dead monarchies of the past eager to welcome another broken and ruined land among their number:—
Not yet the hour is nigh when they
Who deep in Eld’s dim twilight sit,
Earth’s ancient kings, shall rise and say,
“Proud country, welcome to the pit!
So soon art thou like us brought low!”
No, sullen group of shadows, No!
To the same year belong the spirited verses ‘Our Country’s Call:’—