Classic and Contemporary Poetry
GETTYSBURG ODE; DEDICATION OF THE NATIONAL MONUMENT, by BAYARD TAYLOR Poet's Biography First Line: After the eyes that looked, the lips that spake Last Line: And, dying here for freedom, also died for thee! Alternate Author Name(s): Taylor, James Bayard Subject(s): American Civil War; Gettysburg Campaign (1863); Monuments; U.s. - History; Gettysburg, Battle Of | ||||||||
I. AFTER the eyes that looked, the lips that spake Here, from the shadows of impending death, Those words of solemn breath, What voice may fitly break The silence, doubly hallowed, left by him? We can but bow the head, with eyes grown dim, And, as a Nation's litany, repeat The phrase his martyrdom hath made complete, Noble as then, but now more sadly-sweet: "Let us, the Living, rather dedicate Ourselves to the unfinished work, which they Thus far advanced so nobly on its way, And save the perilled State! Let us, upon this field where they, the brave, Their last full measure of devotion gave, Highly resolve they have not died in vain! -- That, under God, the Nation's later birth Of Freedom, and the people's gain Of their own Sovereignty, shall never wane And perish from the circle of the earth!" From such a perfect text, shall Song aspire To light her faded fire, And into wandering music turn Its virtue, simple, sorrowful, and stern? His voice all elegies anticipated; For, whatsoe'er the strain, We hear that one refrain: "We consecrate ourselves to them, the Consecrated!" II. After the thunder-storm our heaven is blue: Far-off, along the borders of the sky, In silver folds the clouds of battle lie, With soft, consoling sunlight shining through; And round the sweeping circle of your hills The crashing cannon-thrills Have faded from the memory of the air; And Summer pours from unexhausted fountains Her bliss on yonder mountains: The camps are tenantless, the breastworks bare: Earth keeps no stain where hero-blood was poured. The hornets, humming on their wings of lead, Have ceased to sting, their angry swarms are dead, And, harmless in its scabbard, rusts the sword! III. Oh, not till now, -- Oh, now we dare, at last, To give our heroes fitting consecration! Not till the soreness of the strife is past, And Peace hath comforted the weary Nation! So long her sad, indignant spirit held One keen regret, one throb of pain, unquelled; So long the land about her feet was waste, The ashes of the burning lay upon her, We stood beside their graves with brows abased, Waiting the purer mood to do them honor! They, through the flames of this dread holocaust, The patriot's wrath, the soldier's ardor, lost: They sit above us and above our passion, Disparaged even by our human tears, -- Beholding truth our race, perchance, may fashion In the slow process of the creeping years. We saw the still reproof upon their faces; We heard them whisper from the shining spaces: "To-day ye grieve: come not to us with sorrow! Wait for the glad, the reconciled To-morrow! Your grief but clouds the ether where we dwell; Your anger keeps your souls and ours apart: But come with peace and pardon, all is well! And come with love, we touch you, heart to heart!' IV. Immortal Brothers, we have heard! Our lips declare the reconciling word: For Battle taught, that set us face to face, The stubborn temper of the race, And both, from fields no longer alien, come, To grander action equally invited, -- Marshalled by Learning's trump, by Labor's drum, In strife that purifies and makes united! We force to build, the powers that would destroy; The muscles, hardened by the sabre's grasp, Now give our hands a firmer clasp: We bring not grief to you, but solemn joy! And, feeling you so near, Look forward with your eyes, divinely clear, To some sublimely-perfect, sacred year, When sons of fathers whom ye overcame Forget in mutual pride the partial blame, And join with us, to set the final crown Upon your dear renown, -- The People's Union in heart and name! V. And yet, ye Dead! -- and yet Our clouded natures cling to one regret: We are not all resigned To yield, with even mind, Our scarcely-risen stars, that here untimely set. We needs must think of History that waits For lines that live but in their proud beginning, -- Arrested promises and cheated fates, -- Youth's boundless venture and its single winning! We see the ghosts of deeds they might have done, The phantom homes that beaconed their endeavor; The seeds of countless lives, in them begun, That might have multipled for us forever! We grudge the better strain of men That proved itself, and was extinguished then -- The field, with strength and hope so thickly sown, Wherefrom no other harvest shall be mown: For all the land, within its clasping seas, Is poorer now in bravery and beauty, Such wealth of manly loves and energies Was given to teach us all the freeman's sacred duty! VI. Again 't is they, the Dead, By whom our hearts are comforted. Deep as the land-blown murmurs of the waves The answer cometh from a thousand graves: "Not so! we are not orphaned of our fate! Though life were warmest, and though love were sweetest, We still have portion in their best estate: Our fortune is the fairest and completest! Our homes are everywhere: our loves are set In hearts of man and woman, sweet and vernal: Courage and Truth, the children we beget, Unmixed of baser earth, shall be eternal. A finer spirit in the blood shall give The token of the lines wherein we live, -- Unselfish force, unconscious nobleness That in the shocks of fortune stands unshaken, -- The hopes that in their very being bless, The aspirations that to deeds awaken! If aught of finer virtue ye allow To us, that faith alone its like shall win you; So, trust like ours shall ever lift the brow; And strength like ours shall ever steel the sinew! We are the blossoms which the storm has cast From the Spring promise of our Freedom's tree, Pruning its overgrowths, that so, at last, Its later fruit more bountiful shall be! -- Content, if, when the balm of Time assuages The branch's hurt, some fragrance of our lives In all the land survives, And makes their memory sweet through still expanding ages!" VII. Thus grandly, they we mourn, themselves console us; And, as their spirits conquer and control us, We hear, from some high realm that lies beyond, The hero-voices of the Past respond. From every State that reached a broader right Through flery gates of battle; from the shock Of old invasions on the People's rock; From tribes that stood, in Kings' and Priests' desp'te; From graves, forgotten in the Syrian sand, Or nameless barrows of the Northern strand, Or gorges of the Alps and Pyrenees, Or the dark bowels of devouring seas, -- Wherever Man for Man's sake died, -- wherever Death stayed the march of upward-climbing feet, Leaving their Present incomplete, But through far Futures crowning their endeavor, -- Their ghostly voices to our ears are sent, As when the high note of a trumpet wrings AEolian answers from the strings Of many a mute, unfingered instrument! Plataean cymbals thrill for us to-day; The horns of Sempach in our echoes play, And nearer yet, and sharper, and more stern, The slogan rings that startled Bannockburn; Till from the field, made green with kindred deed, The shields are clashed in exultation Above the dauntless Nation, That for a Continent has fought its Runnymede! VIII. Aye, for a Continent! The heart that beats With such rich blood of sacrifice Shall, from the Tropics, drowsed with languid heats, To the blue ramparts of the Northern ice, Make felt its pulses, all this young world over! -- Shall thrill, and shake, and sway Each land that bourgeons in the Western day, Whatever flag may float, whatever shield may cover! With fuller manhood every wind is rife, In every soil are sown the seeds of valor, Since out of death came forth such boundless life, Such ruddy beauty out of anguished pallor! And that first deed, along the Southern wave, Spoiled not the sister-land, but lent an arm to save! IX. Now, in her seat secure, Where distant menaces no more can reach her, Our land, in undivided freedom pure, Becomes the unwilling world's unconscious teacher; And, day by day, beneath serener skies, The unshaken pillars of her palace rise, -- The Doric shafts, that lightly upward press, And hide in grace their giant massiveness. What though the sword has hewn each corner-stone, And precious blood cements the deep foundation! Never by other force have empires grown; From other basis never rose a nation! For strength is born of struggle, faith of doubt, Of discord law, and freedom of oppression: We hail from Pisgah, with exulting shout, The Promised Land below us, bright with sun, And deem its pastures won, Ere toil and blood have earned us their possession! Each aspiration of our human earth Becomes an act through keenest pangs of birth; Each force, to bless, must cease to be a dream, And conquer life through agony supreme; Each inborn right must outwardly be tested By stern material weapons, ere it stand In the enduring fabric of the land, Secured for these who yielded it, and those who wrested! X. This they have done for us who slumber here, -- Awake, alive, though now so dumbly sleeping; Spreading the board, but tasting not its cheer, Sowing, but never reaping; -- Building, but never sitting in the shade Of the strong mansion they have made; -- Speaking their word of life with mighty tongue, But hearing not the echo, million-voiced, Of brothers who rejoiced, From all our river vales and mountains flung! So take them, Heroes of the songful Past! Open your ranks, let every shining troop Its phantom banners droop, To hail Earth's noblest martyrs, and her last! Take them, O Fatherland! Who, dying, conquered in thy name; And, with a grateful hand, Inscribe their deed who took away thy blame, -- Give, for their grandest all, thine insufficient fame! Take them, O God! our Brave, The glad fulfillers of Thy dread decree; Who grasped the sword for Peace, and smote to save, And, dying here for Freedom, also died for Thee! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A VISIT TO GETTYSBURG by LUCILLE CLIFTON JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG by FRANCIS BRET HARTE THE GETTYSBURG ADDRESS by ABRAHAM LINCOLN GETTYSBURG [JULY 1-3, 1863] by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE THE HIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBURG [JULY 3, 1863] by WILL HENRY THOMPSON SIOUX SONGS: HARVEST by AGNES KENDRICK GRAY SIOUX SONGS: ROCKS by AGNES KENDRICK GRAY SIOUX SONGS: THE BATTLE by AGNES KENDRICK GRAY SIOUX SONGS: THE CEMETERY by AGNES KENDRICK GRAY BEDOUIN [LOVE] SONG by BAYARD TAYLOR NATIONAL ODE; INDEPENDENCE SQUARE, PHILADELPHIA by BAYARD TAYLOR |
|