Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1875-06-23

In the city of Milwaukee, June
23d, 1876.
Like the muse that pours from the throat
OF the lark, like the rhythmical note
/ Of the stream, as unfettered and free
1t sings on its way to the sea,
1 SO unburdened by canon or rule,
The poem should flow from the soul.
1t should thrill with tie smiles and the tears
| The passionate loves, hopes and fears,
That laden the swift-movng years.
With the dreams half diyineand half human,
In the bosom of man and of woman,
1t should be like a promise God-giyen,
| Like vision let down out of heaven
| But the poem that's written to order, ah! me,
A rare composition that poem must be-
Pegasus, remember, has wings Of his own,
In his flights he considers his pleasure alone,
| And in the free use that he makes of these
| wings,
| Pays little regard to the fitness of things.
But I've talked to him well, and he's prom
ised to go
Just a moderate pace not too fast nor too
slow,
Not to be over gay, nor yet over solemn,
Nor as though in retreat at the head of col
umn.
He sometimes deceiyes, though | say it
with grief
But this is my candid, unbiased belief,
Try to harness the spirited steed to dray,
And he surely will die, or will else run away
The summer is with us, the world is in tune,
Her blossoms lie fresh on the bright breast
of June
Through the gates of the morning all rare
glorics throng.
The dusk of the evening is haunted with
song.
The year writes her poems with warm finger
tips,
The winds and the leaves and the glad fow-
er lips,
Sing them over and over; to list to the
strain,
To rest from The labors of hand and of brain,
To sit at the feet of the summers complete
| ness,
To bask in her beauty, win strength from
And songs for life's singing, she bids you
again,
A welcome, Oh Knights of the Press and
Life has some pleasant hours, we all agree,
| Glad hours of rest, of mirth, of ecstacy
Perhaps, but there is still one little hour,
Whereof we all admit the secret power.
| A golden one that seems to hold within its
Little span, so many diamond minutes.
| That one devoted to the grateful use
Of morning coffee, and the morning news
| You read the paper, gladly owning that
1t is the breakfast-table's genuine Autocrat.
You bless that Arab, Allah rest his soul,
And speed his memory from pole to pole,
Who found by chance, or by his need compell-
! ed;
The fragrant Fe .fet taat ss.e berry held,
In the care-quelhng beverage you toast
The memories Of Gutenberg and Faust
1t was most fit that in the early age
! Of type, the first impression on the page
Of morning, twas the dawn's first blush;
Like to that glowing palpitating hue,
That floods the east before the sun shines
through.
Men looked with long-desiring heart-full eyes,
To see the newborn day break up the skies
They heard through all the darkness of the
night
Gods and the peoples cry, Let there be
Light
If from their dazzled eyes the slow years hid
The wondrous meaning of the work they did,
TheyIwrought in patience as the moment bid
Grander than all of earth's manifold voices,
Its din and its tumults, its wearying noises,
There are sounds-do you hear them p
so small and SO fine,
Yet they reach round the world in a mis-
| sion divine
| IT'S the sweep of the pen, and the throb of
! the press,
And the click of the type it is surely no
Than the audible heartbeat Ct life that you
.:Hs the swift march of mind that falls soft
on the ear.
And the Paper you hold in your hand
LIS marvel, mystery grand,
With the visible footprint Of thought,
IT'S the blood and the pulse of the land,
| Ills the wonder that patience hath
| wrought.
The vanguard of an army, whose sword
Is the Pen, and the thought and the word
'1is the banner that time has unfurled,
IT'S the far-reaching voice of.the world
Oh voice cry aloud,
And spare not, I pray;
The world waits to hear
What the world has to say
Oh, Banner float tree
For the world waits to see, +
What your signal may be.
To the fields that are yet to be won,
To the work that still waits to be done,
Oh army, lead on!
The year wears on her brow CROWN
A hundred years have proven
Her right to wear it. Glorious crown
Of Peace and Freedom woven!
A hundred years ago, the land
Wore robes of desolation.
1t saw mid agony and tears
The birth-hour of nation.
And strong hands smote and brave hearts pray
o1,
Amid the cannon's crashes
They looked on Liberty's fair face,
By the grim battle-fashes
They listened with their longing hearts,
With keen faith-quickened ear,
Above the roar and din they heard
Her triumph cry ring clear
They looked tsr down the years. Her smile
| Shone bright above the storms
They saw the infant nation clasped
Close in her sheltering arms
| Their patriot guns the wide world heard,
The echo ceases never