New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1856-02-01

THE ARTISAN.
LIT up thine iron hand
Thou OF the staiwan arm and fearless eve
Lift proudly, now, thine iron hand on high
Firm and undaunted stand
No need hast thou of gems
To deck the temple of thy glorious thought:
Thou hast the jewels which thy mind enwrought-
Richer than diadems
Thou art our Gods high-priestl-
Standing before great Natures mighty shrine;
For the whole world the glorious task is thine,
To spread the eternal feast.
Even Ike the Hebrew chief
Strikest thou on the rock and, from If deep,
Mysterious hean-the living waters leap
To give the earth relief.
Mighty among thy kind
Standest thou, man of iron toll! midway
Between the earth and heaven all things to sway
BY thy high-working mind
Thou canst deve in the earth,
And from it, mighty caves bring forth pure gold;
Thou canst unwrap the clouds in heaven rolled,
And give the hghtnngs birth.
Thou hast the stormy sea
Chained to thy cbariot-whees and the wild winds
Obey the oeT-ruing intellect that binds
Their rushing wings 10 thee.
Thou canst bid Thought 90 forth
Upon the electric piniOns of the air,
And through the opposeless ether thou canst Dear
Thy words from South TO North.
Thou canst new lands create,
Where the wLd-roling wave no mastery owns
And the vast distance of opposing zones
Canst thou annihilate
Thou know'st heavens ordnance
And their dominion in the earth thou ssest
And the foods hear thee, in their shrouds Of NIT,
And bring their fruitfulness!
Lift then, thy hand to heaven
Spread thy toil-scepter DER the sea and land
Thou hast the world intrusted to thy hand
Earth to thy charge Is given!
The right Of the landless to portion of the public
domain is among the radical doctrines which Mr. Da.
game maintains with the zeal of reformer. Here Is
one Of his illusions on this subject
THE UNsOLD LANDS.
A BILLION of acres of unsOld land
Are lying in grievous death;
And millions of men in the image of God
Are starving-all over the earth!
Oh tell me, We sons of America!
How much mems lives are worth!
Ten hundred millions of acres good,
That never knew spade nor plough
And a million of souls, in our goodly land,
Are pining in want, trow:
And orphans crying for bread this day.
And widows in misery bow
To whom do these acres of land belong
And why do they thriftless lie
And why is the widows lament unheard-
And stfed the orphans cry
And why are the poorhouse and jail 80 full
And the gallows-tree built high
Those millions OF acres belong to Man!
And his claim is-that he NEEDS
And his title is sealed by the hand Of God
Our God who the raven feeds:
And the starving soul Of each famished man
AT the throne of justice pleads
Ye may not heed it, we naughty men,
Whose hearts as rocks are cold
But the time will come when the fiat of God
In thunder shall be told
For the voice of the great AN hath said,
That "the land shall not be sold'
The remainder of the volume is mostly occupied
with poems of miscellaneous character with the
cepton of the long satircal outburst called Par
nassus in Pory, in which several of the most emf
nent American poets made the subjects of sngu-
ary inapposite lampcons. Some of the smaller pieces
display touch of tenderness in striking contrast with
the behgerent character OF large proportion OF he
volume. OF this character are 1.-THE Requiem for a
Beloved Child" "To Dying Sister, my Mis-
tresse," and "a Fantasia" with the last of which
we close our quotations: