New-York tribune., 1875-05-17
ODE READ AT THE CONCORD CENTENNIAL

mr. James Russell Lowell declined to permit the ode
which lie read at the Concord Centennial. to be given
with the record of the that historical
occasion 1t was retained in order to be sold to maga
zine and at this late day s only just making its appear
ance. 1t is given below in full
Who cometh over the hills
Her garments with morning sweet.
The dance of a thousand nils
Making music before her feet!
Her presence freshens the air,
Sunshine steals light from her face,
The leaden fOOtstep OF Care
Leaps TO the time OF her pace,
Fairness of all that is far,
Grace al the heart of all grace!
Sweeteuer of hut and of hail.
Brnger of life out of naught,
Freedom, OH faTest OF all "
he daughters of lime and Thought
She cOmeth, cOmeth to-day;
Hark! hear We not her tread,
Sending a thrill through your clay,
Under the sod there, We dead.
Her champions and chosen Onesf
Do We not hear, as she comes,
The bay of the deep-mOuthed gunsf
The gathering buzz of tho drumsf
The bells that called yc to prayer,
How wildly they calnOr on her.
CRYING, She cOmeth prepare
Her to praise and her to honor,
That hundred years ago
Scattered here in blood and tears
Potent seeds whercfr0m should grow
GladneSs for hundred years r
Tell me, young men, have ye seen
Creature of Giviner micn,
For true hearts TO long and cry for,
Manly hearts to live and die for
What hath she that others want!
Brows that all endearnents haunt.
Eyes that make 1T sweet to dare,
Smiles that glad untmely death,
Looks that fOrtify despair
Tones more brave than tIumpet's breath;
Tell me, maidcns, have ye known
Household charm more swcctly raref
Grace OF woman amper blownf
Modcsty more debonarI
Younger heart with VII full-gr0wn'
Oh, for an hour Of my prime,
The pulse of my hotter years,
That might praise her III rhyme
Would tinge your cyelids to tears,
Our sweetness, our strength, and our star,
Our hope, our JOY, and our trust,
Who lifted us out of the dust
And made us whatever we are!
Wbiter than moonshinc upon snow
Her raiment is: but round the hem
Crimsol-staned and, as to and fro
Her sandals flash, we see on them,
And on her instep vened with blue,
Flecks of criInsOD,-On those falr fcet,
Uigh-arched, Diana-1ike, and fleet,
Fit for no grosser stain than dew:
Oh. call them rather chrislns than STAINS.
Sacred and from heOrIc veins!
For in the glory-guaIdod pass,
Her naughty and far-shining head
She bowed to shrive Leonidas
With his imperisllable dead;
Her, TOO, Morgarten saw,
Where the Swiss lion tleshed his icy paw:
She followed CromwelPs qucnchIes.; star
Where the grim puritan tread
Shook MaTs,e:., Hasby, and Dunbar;
Yea, on her feet dearer dyes
Yet fresh, nor looked Oh with unteariul eyes,
Our fathers found her in the woods
Where Nature meditates and brOods
The seeds of unexampled things
Which Time to cOnsummaton brings
Through life and death and mans unstable MOODS
They met her here, not recognized,
A sylvan huntress clothed i'll furs
To whose chase wants her bow sufliced,
Nor dreamed what destnes were hers;
She taught them beelike to create
Their simpler forms OF Church and State;
She taught them to endue
The Past with other functions than it knew,
And turn in channels strange the uncertain stream
of Fate: