# Littell's Living Age/Volume 132/Issue 1701/At Sea in 1876

From The Philadelphia Press.
AT SEA IN 1876.
BY S. H. M. BYERS.
* 1.
* Ten days and nights our gallant ship
* Sped o'er a lone and trackless way,
* And we had watched the seagulls skip
* Like arrows o'er the wave, and dip
* Their wings into its foam, for they
* Were children of the sea, at play.
* 2.
* We were a hundred there, and more,
* From many lands, yet loved but one;
* And we had longed to see the shore,
* The far-off mists from Labrador,
* To hear some distant evening gun
* Proclaim the day, the voyage, done.
* 3.
* It was so quiet there — at last
* One, bolder than the others, led,
* Why is this silence? let the past
* Be of things that cannot last;
* We are the living, not the dead.
* "Give us a song," the captain said.
* 4.
* "Is there among us, none, not one,
* With the divine Promethean fire,
* Can sing of deeds most nobly done —
* Of sieges lost, of battles won,
* Of knightly sons of knightlier sire,
* And wake to life the sleeping lyre?
* 5.
* I do bethink me now, there stood
* Amid the forward decks to-day,
* A harpist, old, of silent mood;
* I did not think there ever could,
* Be human form so weird, so gray."
* "Bring him," the others said, "to play."
* 6.
* And soon an old man tottered in
* To where the lamps were all aglow:
* The boatswain bore his harp for him —
* For he had thought it well a sin
* That one so old should helpless go.
* 'Tis good we treat our aged so.
* 7.
* "Good friends," the boatswain said, "I bring
* The poet of the ship to you.
* Well he can play, and sweetly sing
* To this his harp, whose every string,
* Though tuned oft, yet, tuned' anew,
* May cheer you for an hour or two."
* The Harpist.
* 1.
* "Give me the harp," the singer said,
* And touched his weird hand to the lyre;
* And, lo! the eye that seemed so dead,
* The form, whence life had almost fled,
* Brightened anew with living fire.
* Forgot was age, forgot was pain;
* The old man lived the boy again.
* 2.
* He swept the cords through many a strain,
* And sung of youth and love, till we,
* Like followers in his knightly train,
* Wept o'er his touching minstrelsy.
* Is it not true that man may be
* Made angels by some melody?
* 3.
* Have we not lived at times above
* The sorrowing earth, and its complaints,
* On hearing some sweet tale of love,
* Some seraph song of dying saints?
* Has not some poet said that we
* Are chords in God's great harmony?
* 1.
* "Enough — enough" — the harpist said.
* I sing no more of love's young dream,
* Of knightly deeds, of lovers wed,
* Of hours, of days, too quickly sped,
* Mine is another, nobler theme, —
* My Country, born midst blood and tears,
* Grown sacred by its hundred years.
* 'Tis not so long ago that men —
* Brave men, who feared not storm nor sea,
* Crossed to the new-born land of Penn,
* Without one thought but to be free:
* Brave men, good men, as well, were they
* Who fearless sought the dang'rous way
* To Plymouth Rock, to Florida;
* Men who could fight, as well as pray
* Nor asked what else their fate might be
* In that fair land beyond the sea,
* So that it brought them liberty.
* 2.
* They came — and soon their axes rung
* By many a lake and tangled wood;
* And midst their labors, lo! they sung,
* For God was in their solitude.
* Their struggles none but he may tell,
* Who watched them on their dang'rous way;
* How by the lurking foe they fell,
* Yet trusted him, and said, '‘Tis well,
* He leads us to the coming day.'
* 3.
* The panther slunk into his lair,
* The she-wolf hid within her den,
* And there was peace and plenty there,
* For God had blessed the hands of men.
* Lo! towns, and states and cities rose,
* And flocks were fed in every glen;
* It was the bloss'ming of the rose,
* For God had blessed the hands of men.
* Oh! would that Peace might ever rest
* Her heav'nly wings on every shore;
* Then were mankind divinely blest,
* And men should learn of war no more.
* Pray, pray for that good hour in store,
* When men shall learn of war no more.
* 1.
* Oh! England, England, tell us where,
* Where had we wronged thee — how, and when?
* Hadst thou forgot thy children there,
* Although thy children, yet were men?
* Hadst thou forgot that clime, and sea,
* And growing years bring wider range,
* A larger hope, a destiny
* That laws nor wars can ever change?
* 2.
* Thy armies came, thy navies flung
* Their flags o'er many an inland sea;
* And soon the hills of England rung
* With shouts and thanks for victory.
* With shouts and thanks, but echoing there,
* The answer came from swamp and glen,
* You've driven the tiger to his lair —
* God help you when he comes again.
* 3.
* Towns, cities blazed, barefooted men
* Tramped where our Western rivers flow;
* They left their marks behind them, then,
* In bloody lines on frozen snow.
* 'Twas death — aye, more to them, but know
* Men oft'nest earn their freedom so.
* 4.
* Orphans and widows wept in vain,
* And armies sank for want of bread;
* Death stalked through every wood and plain,
* And fields were left unharvested.
* Still would they yield not — no, beware!
* God's will is worked through man's despair.
* 5.
* Days, months, and years, they wavered not,
* Nor asked the number of their foe;
* By wounds, by death, they cheaply bought
* The rights their grateful children know;
* The fairest right that heaven can give, —
* Unfettered in their faith to live.
* 6.
* They conquered, and a nation sprung
* To life, to greatness in the West;
* And the wide world her praises sung,
* She was the freest and the best.
* She was the freest and the one
* Whose soil no tyrant dared to tread —
* For lo! above, about her shone
* The mystery of her sacred dead.
* Fate chose but one, but one — 'twas she,
* To lead mankind to liberty.
* It is a century since then —
* A hundred years to-day, and men
* Tell all the old tales o'er again;
* How she was born, our land, how bred,
* And how the life her children led
* By faith and peace was hallowed;
* How well she kept her promised vow
* To lead the way — to help the oppressed
* Of every land and clime, and how
* Men worshipped her, and she was blest.
* How commerce came, and all that fate
* Ordains to glorify a State
* Waited on her, and she was great.
* Each wind that blew, each sail that bent,
* Seemed like some gift divinely sent
* To help enrich a continent.
* The world was envious, too — but no,
* Kings could not stop what fate had told;
* Hills, rocks unbound themselves, and lo!
* Their breasts were filled with oil and gold.
* What more? The land was blessed, and grew
* Like Eden fair, but never knew,
* Like it, she nursed a tempter, too.
* A tempter — black, fit child of hell;
* He came, and half the nation fell.
* They fell, and where the daisies grew,
* Lo! cannon belched their poisonous breath —
* And war her red-mouthed trumpet blew,
* And wedding morns saw nights of death.
* The hand of fate lay heavy then,
* For God had cursed the ways of men.
* Dark months and years, the storm-cloud swept
* Her course across a widowed land
* But, lo! the God of battles kept
* The nation in his pitying hand.
* At last, at last, the burning smoke
* Faded before her silent guns,
* But louder than her cannon spoke
* The shroudless bodies of her sons.
* Weep, fading clouds, speak, silent guns,
* And honor these, her fallen ones.
* Dead was the tempter, dead the past,
* And men forgot their burning hate,
* For hates and angers cannot last
* With men whose foes were good, or great.
* Sleep on, ye braves, ye shroudless ones!
* Men shall not ask which side ye stood:
* Enough, ye were the nation's sons,
* And ye are dead, and God is good.
* It little recks where men have stood,
* When Heav'n forgives, and God is good.
* 1.
* Again the peaceful lilies bloom,
* And kiss the graves of friend and foe;
* Again, again, the busy loom
* Sends its dear music to and fro;
* Again the hills are gold and red
* With shocks and sheaves on every hand,
* For all the fields are harvested,
* And there is plenty in the land.
* Plenty and peace, for God again
* Has smiled and blessed the hands of men.
* 2.
* And now, where once the wigwam stood,
* Upon the Schuylkill's banks of green,
* Where reddening vines and tangled wood
* Hemmed in the fair but dang'rous scene,
* Behold! a palace, fit for kings,
* Lifts its fair head unto the skies,
* And all the land her tribute brings,
* And shouts aloud, 'Friends, all, arise,
* This day, this hour, this place must be,
* Made sacred to men's liberty.'
* 3.
* And here, where all have met to see
* The earth's united rivalry,
* In all that is, or yet may be,
* They reached their hands to each, and said,
* This is the tribute to our dead,
* This is the ring with which we wed
* The twice-born bride, Columbia,
* And this the oath, new-sworn to thee,
* Land of our hopes and destiny.
* 4.
* Again the old time-honored scroll,
* Whereon the new world's faith was writ,
* Was shown to men, and every soul
* Thanked God, and wept, at sight of it.
* Thanked God, and wept — it was a sight
* Such as men see but once in life.
* I saw it then, I saw its birth —
* What more can one then want of earth?"
* 1.
* He ceased his music, and the lyre,
* Full-toned, fell at the singer's feet:
* Gone was the light, the hope, the fire,
* Finished the song he sang so sweet.
* We bore him to the deck above,
* Where soft winds kissed his brow and lip;
* In vain, sweet winds, no breath of love
* Could wake the poet of the ship.
* In freedom's faith his life had passed,
* His noblest, sweetest song, his last.
* 2.
* All night our ship sped on its way,
* Along a moonlit, starlit sea,
* And, when the red sun brought the day,
* The sailors shouted "Land," and we
* Looked to the west, and, smiling there,
* Lay the low hills of Delaware.
* Loud boomed the guns, the ship-bells rung,
* It Was the land the poet sung.
* 3.
* Land of the West, our Fatherland,
* We bow and greet thee, here at sea,
* We bare our heads, and meekly stand,
* And pray that God in his right hand,
* May ever keep thee great, and free.
* May ever keep thee great, and when
* Th' oppressed shall cry for liberty
* Thy stars and stripes shall answer then,
* Lo! here all men, all men, are free.