The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1856-01-05
Original ]oortrp.
ADDRESS OF
THE CARRIER

That hung faint about the dying
OF the wild, delirions au ghter,
or the dead and buried Christmas.
Yester, when the mournfnl sunset
Like reaper, wan and weary,
That goes STOPPING thro' the cleaning,
Gathered all the shcaves of purple
And red splcndor, ripenins slowly
To blank and rainy twilight,
In the palace Of his fathers
Stood the Old Year, hcavy-hcarted,
With his vassals all around him
Waiting; with hungry silence
With longing for the treasures,
Broken baubics of the splcndots
Scattered in such bright proiusion
Round the throne of the unsupported
Looked he out between the portals
or the radient, solemn Present
To the dim approaching Future.
is there no kind heart that loves me =
Moaned the gray old Monarch, sadly
Is there no sweet soul to bless me-
No kind. loyal soul to soothe me,
With a soft hand smoothing downward
The death-rufilng ofmy treSses
Have yc not a song to sing ne
None Of all the many nyls,
Sang me in my vernal morning2
Then the lutcs mourncd all together
With mufilcd, fearful murlnur,
Like rustic on the coffin
or the dead, wet sand and gravel,
Shovclcd in. and lightly trod "n,
When the grum and careless sexton
Fills a fricndless grave in Autumn.
With a bright and stately beauty
Flashing tlro' the storm OF sorrow
That with grandeur crowned his forehead :
Silence, lutes! your irnitiess walling;
Lo! stride into the future
With my royal robes around me,
Like a warrior, battc-wcary,
Going ont 20 meet triumph;
Fearing not the pulseless darkness
In my new untricd dominion;
Lo! ! leave the crown and jewels;
i will walk the awful valley
With no hooking smile before mo
OF a lost and fallen grt atncss.
Hear me children Of the nations,
Born to largest aims Of freedom,
Growing to u mighty stature,
Nobler in your simple grandeur
Than the old heroic ages
Clad in wild, barbaric splcndOr-
Hear me, while with hand prophetic
] unseal the mystic pages
Glowing with your fiery future.
Ere the rain has washed my footprints
From the margin of the river
I shall cross from this my present,
Time shall teen with wondrous changes.
In the East, The starry Crescent,
With her sharp, bright horns shall culver
In the gay and shaggy forehead
OF the Northern Bear, who ferccly
Tramplcs, Frances, golden lilies
Into crimson pools Of slaughter,
Overlooking the pale roses
Blowing on the graves Of England.
When the laundering tides of battle
Beat against the hills of Alma,
And the whirlwind of red carnage
Reared and Missed thro' Balaklava,
Till the hoary MalakotfI
Rceled and tottcrcd on his throne, and
Thro' Sebastopol's vast portals
Rolled the fiery tides Of vengcance;
Vengeance that the Russian tierccness
And the Russian love of country
Stood so long 'gainst allied glory.
Nictory's broad and shining banner
Floatcd DER the golden lilies,
And the pale and blood-red roses,
Nodding tothe stately thistle;
While the Crescent wancd and faded
To rim ofpalest spcndor,
Shining wrirdly through the darkness
or "a Nations snnken glory
Fluated o'er the allied lcgiOns-
But its purple cast shadow,
Written over with wild legends
For each soldiers rude deciphering,
OF a farmland smiling brightly
In the beauty OF the sunlight
Vine clad hills and shady vallies;
Golden waves Of harvest plenty;
Mighty rivers chanting sca-ward;
Brooks that run thro' clover meadows
With pleasant home made music;
And the sound of little children
Playing up and down the woodlands,
Bcnt with merry laughs of danisels
And the sober talk of matrons,
Seated quiet at their spinning
Thro' the sweet and dreamy twilights,
Wondering sadly to each other
Where and where, the noble daring
OF some cherished one had led linn,
In the last and furious onslaught
They had heard of that same morning,
Read with pious interjections,
On the green lawn of the village
BY the meek and gray-haired pastor,
Praying inly for the blessing
OF a broken contrite spirit,
And heart of sweet forgiveness
AS he glanc ed in pitying silence
Ger the name OF some dear brother;
Some loved husband, or kind father,
Staring in "The Killed and Woundcd,"
While the trembling wife and sister
Stood with wild eye, dry and burning,
And their strained ears drinking fiercely
The mad tumut Of the battle
OF the battle where he persisted.
Like wave the old home-feeling
Swept all lesser aims before it;
What to them were splendid conquests!
What to them were kingly triumphs
And the royal robes Of vict'ry
Dabbled in the blood of millions,
Trailing down ths roads of slaughter;
Save that they were hopeless BARRIERS
Hopeless in their iron staring,
Facing, coldly, t'ward the beauty
OF the golden memoried Home land,
Lighting up each aspiration
or the struggling, dying soldier.
All! the fiery tide of madness
Pulsing holly thro' the arteries
ora nations thirst for glory,
And nations thirst for power,
Shall consume the lifeless ashes,
Conquests, thrones and proud dominions,
Till their fame shall be an echo,
And the r very name q fable
Till the arm Of the Republic,
Like stately, hOnored mother,
Clasps the orphaned nations clio scly.
COLUMBIA Thou glorious land and free,
Free as thine own dark, rolling floods
sublime.