The Plymouth weekly Democrat. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1860-1869, 1868-04-02
Prom the Albany Argus.
WAS 1T A DREAM.


Lead on darkenel world to Liberty.
First in the van impetuous to strike
The fostering chains from linn, and soul alike
Par DER the rearward legi.n ms shining CLEAN
Her star-gemmed tanners Was it but a
- dreanas
Her life was young her poets, fresh and bold
rang hymns prophetic, which an age foretold
OF peace and plenty; ell ilIent and wise,
And pure anl just, jurists ana statesmen rise
To shape her destiny; gOdlike scheme
OF Right trium phant! Was it but dfeams
No long, dark records Of L barlarous age,
Oflloed and rapine, dinmed her histOry's
NO .eulal chiefs had hell her virgin soil;
No conquering despot made her wealth his
An equal people he'll the power supreme,
With law aud order. Was it butts drca:l?
The teemi,g West, a cont; lcnt her domain,
Where she sat peerless in her gentle reign,
She saw uprising from Atlantic bed,
On her broad brow his roseate honors shed,
And smiled before her when his latest beam
Warmed the Pacific. Was it but dreams
The latest birth Of time by seers foreto.d,
The blessed harbinger Of the age Of gold,
When peoples friend, with peoples should
restore,
Heavens first design, and war should rage no
more,
Destined the .lling nations to redeem,
And band them brothers. Was it but a dreams
Strong was SIZE in her youth; exubeiant
health,
Ships, mines. fields, workshops, deluged her
with wealth;
New states (young empires) from prolific
stock,
In vast accretions lock and interlock
By bonds Of kin, faith, interest, 'twould
Welded forever Was it but dreams
Il passed! saw her ghastly, stained with
Pale. in the sambre weeds of widowkood;
Her broad fields, heaped with hiIlocks, wave
on wave,
Where human hol0causss tornd CORY glave;
] saw her dungeons foul with victims teem,
And Hate, Wrong, Greed held sway. Was it
but q dream.
Her sacred laws, her cherished memories,
Her proud traditions-all the good and wise
OF her best days could teach, control no
more.
Her crccds are blo'tcd out with floods of gore;
Her priests between the porch and altar
scream
Frantic for blood Oh, God. is it a dream:
Eosfs against hosts, who lately hand with
hand
Graspel kindly, now in ranks embattled
stand;
And shrek and groan, their tale Of horror
tell
Meek Saviour. Hear not frantic cries bias
phcmc,
That now invoke Thee. Is 1t but a dream?
Death in the felI death in the crowded
camp;
Death in the march, death in the Livouac
damp:
Death in TIE cell; death in gauut famines
elfsP:
Death victims roll too fsst for sense to
grasp.
Ger all the blishted lanl death reigns su-
preme,
And hell rcjoices. Is it but drcams
So horror upon horror glastly grew,
Who tn ked OF pity To the infuri.,te crew,
With curse and yell was silenced; at last
The vengctul flow must wax its blight and
blast;
Ceased from the soil the hot fed blood to
stream;
Peace, vet no peace blind passion still holds
- sway;
Malice and Hate, insatiate hug their prey;
Greedy of pluSder, drunk with lawless pow
or,
Fierce anarchs ale the wO-begotten hour;
And all that's just and mercifal we deem
Irampled and scofing spurned. Is IT u
dream.
oEe -ieti,i" is tn. cry, with frenzy fraught,
The claims af mercy scorned and set at
nought,
False as cogged dice the shameful ballots
cheat,
Prescription, ruin, make the wreck complete.
Ere on our heads Gods vengcful thundefs
break,
And blast and blight, ard ruin, LET rs