Daily national Democrat., 1859-09-11
ALIF MA.

Bright Land of summery days and golden peace,
Ofvlnc and flower and ever rich increase;
Ofvened hills aud mountains treasure-stored,
Where miser-gnomes IN secret watch their hoard
And startle at the burglar pick and spade,
That do their careful-hidden wealth invade,
would some better, worthcr hand than mine
Could yield thee now the tributes that are thine,
And paint thee as poet should. divine
But, poor indeed would be the tongue and weak
Which could not something of thy glories speak,
And while FOR thee no gems of thought bring
From starry paths of lonely wandering,
Where Genius wont to stray, yet may my muse
Have found such tribute us thou'lt not refuse,
Some humber flowers of modest men and hue
BY silver streams in Fancy fields that grew.
Than this the sun lights up no loveler land
50 wondrous rich and beautiful and grand
From where Old Ocean 'gaust the rockbound
shore
His bi0ws rolls with never-ceasing roar
To where the flr-of ghostly sndw-realni shines,
Or solemn music of the mountain pines
Sounds through those dim and haunted solitudes
As if the Thunder whispered to the woods
0rwhere the golden-sanded streams do stray
And freshen nature in their gaddening way
Wheree'er our footsteps tend our visions roam,
We find but Beauty's Eden, Grandeur's Homel
Yet not alone to Natures bOuntcous hand
Are due the glories of this magic land
For man hath taught its fertile soil to yield
The yellow iargess of the waving field
\ -. =. -. A.
0fthousand fruits as toll hath ever won.
In deed and truth not idle hath he been:
His busy work is all around us seen.
From North to South, and from the East to West
His forming, changing hand hath not seen rest.
The Arts and Labor spake, and 10 there rose
(As dreamke as the cloud-born city shows
AT morning in the Etst,) this grandest Queen
ofal the cities of the West. With mlen
Majestic as of right her look should be,
She sits like Tyre ofold beside the sea,
And while the messengers of commerce wait,
She opens wide and free her Golden Gate
From far to her the Nations laden come
With silks and wares and precious stones and gum,
And Of their spoils she every land beguiles
And Ocean yields them from his thousand isles
Noa less the Genius of the Arts. with aid
OfLabor's rugged toll, hath been displayed
Where, winding through the arid plains and drear
That freshen with the liquid presence near,
Or circling round the pine-clad mountains side,
With crystal music in its ripping tide
Or rolling joyous, in its volumed flow,
Ger yawnng gulfand deep abyss below,
The snuous llme far bears its precious stream,
And thousaud hearts are gladdened in its CLEAN !
Nor less where, swift upon his path of fire,
The modern Mercry treads tn electric wire
The living chord that vibrates through the hills,
Groans in the st0rrfis or in the breezes thrills;
Threads plain and wilderness, and pierces far
To homes that nestle where the glaciers are.
Nor less again have Art and Labor wrought
To realize the bold inventive Thought
That finds achievement in the tunneed hills,
The sunken shaft the thunder ofthe mills,
The rivers leaping from their ancient bed
And plunging headlong in the course they're led,
The mountains crumbng to the level plain,
And forests prostrate meath the axes reign.
And shall we view these miracles and more
Which mind and muscle never wrought before,
Without remembrance, in these latter years,
0fthose brave men, those hardy pioneers,
who led the way for Science Art and Law,
Mid dangers their SUCCESSORS never saw,
And countless hordships that they never knew
The famed and unfamed heroes, tried and true,
Who crowded into months or days the deeds
Ofyears, and of young empire sowed the seeds4
Amid the mass there here and there appears
Some reverend head, majestic as a seers-
Arising from the rest like snow-crowned peak
Around whose brow the whitening tempests break!
These are the Pioneers of Pioneers,
Those elder heroes in the fight, who years
And years agone, did drive the wild beast back
To plant their homes where late he left his track
They're sinking, one by one, like pines that long
Have braved, erect, the bowling winters strong,
To fall at last midst stillest peace profound,
And wake the woods with wonder at the sound
Shall these old heroes be forgot? Not so,
For, while they yet survive Times downward low
see a rescuing hand stretched forth to save
The good, the true from dark Oblivion's grave.
IT'S womans hand that thus would snatch from
night
Those honored names far worthier of the light
And them transmit to shine on Hstorys scroll
When that gray sage his records shall unroll."
And yet some, whom the weeping muse laments