The New York herald., 1875-09-18
For from Atlantic's tide

/
| TO brave old Essex rang warning tone:
mo more IN ships abide,
But arm thy manhood for the forest lone.
! Is not all this one andf
DID not their fathers my floods with yours
On mountain as on strandS
one task for sail and plough for axe and oarsf
Child OF the sea- would'st thou my bounty share
That rolls unchecked COR allY
NO selfish son 70 zen q my breast may dare;
Go, heed the Woodlands call I"
Oh true and bravely done
Well wrought the sons of Essex in that hour;
Far, at the setting sun,
On our high places fell the Eastern aoweri
ON that my lips mute,
And from his Tent upon the Beach might ring
Above their graves the lutte
Whereto the Bard Of Essex deigns TO sing,
Yet Noi 'rwere sin with themes Of blood and death
His harmOnies to stain
Whose tones are echong with responsive breath
The angels tranquil strani
10.
All, feebly may we feel
The tolls and terrors which that legion bore
We, who wings OF steel
Rush like the hurricane, from shore to shore.
Less near this glade to them
Than now from Essex to the Golden Gate;
More work yon flood to stem
Than oceans careless travellers now await:-
And how by US, whose words the nations belt
With instantaneous zone,
Shall their long tedious agony be felt,
Ere Lathrop's fate was known?
IL
But shame on all who gauge
By length or number time's historic springsI
Woe worth the inflated age
That hath despised the day of little thingsl
They that with Lathrop bled,
Or tracked with Church the serpent TO his lair,
Left with the they bred
Tho soul TO suffer and the will to darei
Those that on Lousbourg in winter burst
Or left their bones to parch
By red Havana, had their boyhood nursed
On tales Of Deernelds march
IL
Then, when their full orbed course
An hundred years from this dark hour had run,
With sceptre- breaking foroe
Pealed at the dawn the shots Of LexngtonI
True 70 their grand old creed,
''No march too long, no toll too hard to save
Thy brother at his needp-
Lol Empires road New England corpses pave
When Massachusetts, by our sainted chief
Her post unhinclnng took,
She but renewed the lesson, sharp and BRIEF
Learnt here at Bloody Brook
Three generations pass;
Again the cry, ''Help brothers, we sink"
And now, in solid mass,
Like Eries waters, rolling TO the brink
OF the sle-sundered fall,
New England's heroes come the self same
That marched ut Hadey's call,
But thousands now, who TO that seed may trace
Their blood, their 1re, their spirt-and the tramp
OF this memorial glen
Has grown 10 leagues leagues, from camp TO camp,
Trod by our valleys men
Looked they not back our sires
To days gone by for strength, as we TO them;
Days when the bigots Lre5
Roared round the soldiers of Jerusalem?
Roll back an hundred years
From Hadleys murder, aud her visage grim
The naughty princess rears
That drove Gods flock from home to worship Him;
And gallant Henry bids on false Lorraine
His mailed squadrons pour
In vengeance Of that CHASTITY day, when Seine
Blushed with the martyrs gore.
So cheered they fought alone;
No aid treasure came from o'er the sea;
Charles moved not on his throne
Pillowed on sloth and Tapped in harlotry.
What sorrow should he feel
At tales of savage war across the foam,
Before whose scourge OF steel
The friends Of God and freedom quaied at homer
Alone they fought for the feeble AID
The stanch Mohegan lent
Child of the prayers which yet from Natck's shade
Our white-haired Eliot sent
16
Alone-No Heaven supplies
One captain yet to lead its troops to war,
Rising in ghostly guse
AS erst, in Spain, the entombed Campeador.
When broke the Indian storm
On leaguered Hadley, and her bravest shrank-
Lo, yon gaunt, griZzled form
Spurs TO the front anew her waverng rank,
From that God-fearing, man -defying band,
Which heaven had wied to fling
The blasting thunders Of an outraged land
To crush a perjured king
IT.
sayst thou twas legend all
nursery tale, whereat the sage may scon2
That Hadey's siegegirt wall
Eeer the sword, nor heard the shouts OF Gonel
Amenl There needs not rise
One fesh-robed soufro that stern judgment seat
AT Lathrop's foul surprise
4 thousand Cromwels started to their feeti
Aye by the blood that in our bosoms run
Drawn from his ironsides,
Let God so order, and New Engand's sons
Shall all be regicdesl
IS
The sacred vision fades
Back 10 their graves the centuries roll again.
Gone are the greenwood glades,
The lowly dwellings and the vermeil stain.
Yet this memorial hour
Still o'er the busting present shall prevail
To sway with tender power
Our hearts and eyes, as breathes its mournful tale
So shall the sons uphold the fathers name
The pilgrims from afar,
who conquered wood and savage, frost and fame
And made US what we arel
After the reading OF the poem ode sung by th
Quartet Club and the bi-centennia celebration of th
battle of Bloody Brook was at end