Daily national Democrat., 1858-10-02

DAILY DEMOCRAT
Poem by Caxto,,.

ny NAAIOhs
The following poem 10y Caxton, (Wm. II
Rhodes was delivered by himself on til,
OCCASION of the Atlantic Telegraph Celebra
tion, in San Francisco. on Monday last. TIL,
production is somewhat curious. for its sud
den transitions of mood and meter, but con
tains some very good points. 1t was received
we are told, with loud applause:
Behold our Country, claspng every cline,
Shielded 10y oceans, boundless and sublime
Behold her Eagle on his pinons soar,
10 guard the continent from shore to shore
Behold her rivers, lakes, and mountail chains
Her golden plhcers and salubrious plains,
Her towns and cities peop.ing every vale,
Her commerce waited on 10y every gale,
Through every ocean, see her nlvies sweep
And roll their thunders DER the vassal deep
Whate'er IN war can slccor or befriend
Arms to attack, or bosoms to defend
Whate'er in peace, nation can refine
All, great and blest America, are thine
God of our fathers, It's to Thee
We owe each blessing given!
We therefore bend the willing knee,
And crave the smiles of Heaven
Far DER the high mountains, across the blue
sea,
California thy sisters are calling to thee;
hear the full chorus exutingly roll,
Till the Paln is echoed from tropic to pole.
Why shout the glad millions in frenzied de-
light?
Why peal the loud cannon, in glory and
might
Why blaze the bright bonires, on hill-tops
What illumines each city, till it CLEANS like
a star?
Why wave the broad banners2 Why rolls
the deep drum?
What hero has triumphed? What foe is
oercome?
What nation is vanquished? What altar
thrown down?
What monster has waded through crimes, to
crown?
1t is no victors mailed heel
That shakes the PROSTATE earth
'Cased in his helm of triple steel,
A butcher from his birth -
1t is no kings victorious march,
With terror in its train
To build with skeletons, his arch
OF triumph DER the slain
No no It's none of these that wakes
The worlds united tone.
And swels the anthem, till it shakes
Each tyrant, on his throne;
'Tis but the triumph of the Mind,
The victory of ART,
That thrills the soul of all mankind
And throbs in every heart!
PEACE IS THE CoNQUERoR to-day,
And holds her jubilee;
Her brow is cowned with ocean-spray,
Her empire is the sea.
Her lips are touched with heavenly FIRE,
Like Israel's bard of old
Her arms-the world encircing wire
Shall every cline enfold:
Then with the Lgatnings in her hand
Throned DER the land aud sea,
Her tongue shall speak the great command,
Man, EVERYWHERE, BE FREE !"
Old Jonny Bull, one summers day.
Called Jonathan, his son. from play,
And with a stern forbi ldins brow,
Said. johnny, Eve lecture now;
And let the lesson ever prove
The dept of my paternal love.
You're II big boy-nay. almost grown,
And It's high time some care was shown
TO mould your manners, still uncouth
And rough, as when you were youth
You are too boyish in your play,
And fly your ptper kite all day:
You whittle sticks from morn till night,
And that is gery impolite
You are too fold of firearms,
And constant fill me with alarms;
You are too curous and sly,
In other peoples business pry;
Besides, you're always In a hurry,
And do things in the greatest furry.
To make yoJr minners very fine,
just look at me, and copy minel"
Said Jonathan to Mr.. Bull.
His heart me intime with frolic full
And thinking of poor Pat, fororn:
Dear Father l confess tie corn.
"My boy Ben will fly his kite
In spite of king or crown;
But, then. its rods are all 50 bright,
1t wOUs the lightning down.
"Tis true, Steers whistles all the time,
Whilst others are at play;
Bat 10! the p luct OF pastime,
The yacht America!
"Coh is too fond of sqnibs uncurled,
Aud pistols he prefers;
Bat, in return, he gave the world
Revolving cylinders!
again, you scold me on the ground,
Of curiosity;
Bat Brooke piul-pryed. until he found
The bottom Of the sea
"And, finally. you rate me high,
For gtlloping like IL horse;
Bat thoughts now plumed with lightning
fly
Winged by Professor Morse
Farewell, Papa cannot yield,
Though your advice be fine;
I'm hurried now-but my son FIELD
Ere long 0W drop line!
The line has been dropped, the coble is laid
That anchors the East to the West;
Old Time has been vanqaished, Old Ocean
dismayed,
And the Lightning been Graded to rest
Far down, meath the pillows her wings have
been furled
Where the mermaden sings in the sea,
And whispers. "rnE LIGHTNING GIVES PEACE Tc
THE WORLD,
By LINKING THE HOMES OF THE FREE !"
R "
g5@ Insults, says modern philoso
pher, are like counterfeit money: We