The northern galaxy. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1844-1848, 1844-09-11

mighty the voice of the nation, yelling defeat
to the foe, and joy TO the victor! but greater
than all these, most glorious and most mighty
of all victories, are the triumphs of the
Man Of Ashland, though these triumphs are
not the triumphs OF war.
His are the triumphs Of Peace! Yes, yes,
from ten thousand homes there ever arise to
God, the voice of blessing on his name.
There comes to his soul. as he thus stands
on the green knoll of Ashland, gazing at the
rising sun, the voice Of the toll wrung me.
chanic, bending over his loom, and that voice
blesses his name. From the dim chambers
Of the shadowy cavern. where the miner tolls
on his darkling path, rising, by slow degrees,
to the light Of day, the rich 81 ores Of old moth
er earth, comes the voice Of the miner, and
it echoes the word Of blessing! The farmer
in the golden harvest takes up the sound, and
echoes the song. From the noisy rooms Of
the Factory, w here the crash of the machine
~ no longer is mingled with the groans Of the
starving operative, there comes floating along
from old men and rosy-cheeked children.
from stout manhood and tender girlhood,
a chorus ofjoy, chanting msrrily, blessing,
on bis head-peace to his grave-glory to his
ashes-eternal honor to his name!
And why comes this mangIed song Of bless
ing from the mechanic and the miner, the
factory man and the factory-child, from the
operative OF the crowded city, and the farmer
OF the golden plainl
The Man Of Ashland first originated, then,
amid scorn and contempt, defended, and at
last firmly established, the AMERICAN SIS
TEN, which gave independence TO the Amer
lean nottingham, whether he tolls in the
mine or in the field, in the shop or at the
loom, which gives bread to his table, comfort
10 his fire side health and happiness TO his
home.
Guardian Angel Of that mighty man; thou
to whom his whole career has been delight
thou to whom the Past and the Future are
as one, roll aside the awful curtain that
stretche, across the stage of Fate, and give
US glimpse of the things that shall be.
Were the guardian spirit to speak this might
be the burden of his Prophecy
On that same gentle knoll ofthe Ashland
Hills, no longer green, but withered by Au-
tumn, viewing the glories Of the sunset,
streaking the sky with the dazzling red, and
purple, and gold, while clouded pillars and
sunbeam temples pile their form Of grandeur
along the horizon of the dying day, there
stands the Man of Ashland. silent and alone
at evening; there is the flush of the day god
on his lofty brow; there is a CLEAN Of a ten
der memory and clear forgiveness in bis
clear grey eye, as he turns to the South, and
looking to the hills of Tennessee, his soul
remembers the Mighty Hero, sheltered be-
meath the quiet roof of the Hermitage. Yes,
yes, his antagonist in the grand tournament Of
national fame-his rival in the race Of honor
the gallant General of the last war, so no
bly, defended by the Man Of ashland, now rests
beneath the roof Of the Heimitage-the tear
oh. shame it not with smile or scoff-
the tear glistens in his eye, and the feeling OF
the olden time comes throbbing round his
heart. The political antagonists, the rival
in the race Of honor, the bitter opponent for
the Chair Of Power, all, are forgotten, while
before the soul Of the Man of the Ashland
Hills, arises the mighty panorama of New
Orleans, the mist above, and the flame be-
low; the banner Of the stars still soaring
aloft in the midst of fame, borne upward by
the band Of its warrior champion, the white
haired man Of the Hermitage, who at his eve
ming hour gazes also upon yon red sunset,
and whispers, as he waits for the master, like
Simeon of old-"Lord, now lettest thou thy
servant depart in peace"
And, as the Man of Ashland gives his
soul to the memory of the white-haiIed war
rior (whom God forever blessD there comes
echoing along the twilight air the sound OF
horses hoofs, breaking the deep silence OF
the Indian Summer eve, and then the horse
and rider heave in sight and come painting up
the hill. And as the horse, all white with
foam, dashes along the ascent OF the knoll,
the rider whose attire. covered with the dust
of travel, tells you he has ridden far and long.
draws packet from his vest and waves il in
the air. Another moment, he has flung
himself from his painting steed, he rushes
hastily forward, and in silence delivers the
packet to tho Man of the Ashland Hills.
Now, Guardian Angel, we summon you
for the last time. Look we'll upon your
charge as he breaks the heavy seal Of this
strange packet. His fingers trsmble, his stat
ure dilates and increases with the throbblngs
of his chest, his proud eye quails and wanders
in its glance.
The packet is broken! and there in
many words the Electors Of the Nation
met in solemn council, send their message
to the Orphan Boy of Hanover. the young
backwoodsman of the West, the champion
of war in the Senate Halls, the advocate
of American Industry, the wronged, the
illuminated, and the triumphant!
And as the sun goes down to his cham
bers of glory, the Guardian Angel smiles,
and turning from the Man Of Ashland, as
his towering frame swells proudly erect.
while his eye gathers new fire in its glance,
the guardian spirit of the Orphan Boy Of
Hanover, bows low before the altar Of
American Freedom, and on the proud col
umn by its side, writes the orphanage, the
struggles, the wrongs, and the triumph Of
genius, in a single name, that shines and
brightens even amid the names of WASH
ington, Adams, Jefferson, Wayne, and
Jackson, the name of I HENRY
CLAY!
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