Poems (Dorr)/The Dead Century
"PRO PATRIA"
THE DEAD CENTURY
I.
Lo! we comeBearing the Century, cold and dumb!Folded above the mighty breastLie the hands that have earned their rest;Hushed are the grandly speaking lips;Closed are the eyes in drear eclipse;And the sculptured limbs are deathly still,Responding not to the eager will, As we comeBearing the Century, cold and dumb!
II.
Lo! we waitKnocking here at the sepulchre's gate!Souls of the ages passed away,A mightier joins your ranks to-day;Open your doors and give him room,Buried Centuries, in your tomb!For calmly under this heavy pallSleepeth the kingliest of ye all, While we waitAt the sepulchre's awful gate!
III.
Yet—pause here,Bending low o'er the narrow bier!Pause ye awhile and let your thoughtCompass the work that he hath wrought;Look on his brow so scarred and worn;Think of the weight his hands have borne;Think of the fetters he hath broken,Of the mighty words his lips have spoken Who lies hereDead and cold on a narrow bier!
IV.
Ere he goesSilent and calm to his grand repose—While the Centuries in their tombCrowd together to give him room,Let us think of the wondrous deeds'Answering still to the world's great needs,Answering still to the world's wild prayer,He hath been first to do and dare! Ah! he goesCrowned with bays to his last repose.
V.
When the earthSang for joy to hail his birth,Over the hill-tops, faint and far,Glimmered the light of Freedom's star,Only a poor, pale torch it seemed—Dimly from out the clouds it gleamed— Oft to the watcher's eye 'twas lostLike a flame by fierce winds rudely tossed. Scarce could EarthCatch one ray when she hailed his birth!
VI.
But erelongHis young voice, like a clarion strong,Rang through the wilderness far and free,Prophet and herald of good to be!Then with a shout the stalwart menAnswered proudly from mount and glen,Till in the brave, new, western worldFreedom's banners were wide unfurled! And ere longThe Century's voice, like a clarion strong,
VII.
Cried, "Earth,Pæans sing for a Nation's birth!Shout hosannas, ye golden stars,Peering through yonder cloudy bars!Burn, O Sun, with a clearer beam!Shine, O Moon, with a softer gleam!Join, ye winds, in the choral strain!Swell, rolling seas, the glad refrain, While the EarthPæans sings for a Nation's birth!"
VIII.
Ah! he saw—This young prophet, with solemn awe— How, after weary pain and sin,Strivings without and foes within,Fruitless prayings and long suspense,And toil that bore no recompense—After peril and blood and tears,Honor and Peace should crown the years! This he sawWhile his heart thrilled with solemn awe.
IX.
His clear eyes,Gazing forward in glad surprise;Saw how our land at last should beTruly the home of the brave and free!Saw from the old world's crowded streets,Pestilent cities, and close retreats,Forms gaunt and pallid with famine soreFlee in hot haste to our happy shore, Their sad eyesWidening ever in new surprise.
X.
From all landsThronging they come in eager bands;Each with the tongue his mother spoke;Each with the songs her voice awoke;Each with his dominant hopes and needs,Alien habits and varying creeds.Bringing strange fictions and fancies they came,Calling old truths by a different name, When the landsSent their sons hither in thronging bands.
XI.
But the Seer—This dead Century lying here—Rising out of this chaos, sawPeace and Order and Love and Law!Saw by what subtle alchemyBasest of metals at length should beTransmuted into the shining gold,Meet for a king to have and hold. Ah! great Seer!This pale Century lying here!
XII.
So he taughtHonest freedom of speech and thoughtTaught that Truth is the grandest thingPainter can paint, or poet sing;Taught that under the meanest guiseIt marches to deeds of high emprise;Treading the paths the prophets trodUp to the very mount of God! Truth, he taught,Claims full freedom of speech and thought.
XIII.
Bearing longHeavy burdens of hate and wrong,Still has the arm of the Century beenWaging war against crime and sin.Still has he plead humanity's cause;Still has he prayed for equal laws; Still has he taught that the human raceIs one in despite of hue or place, Even though longIt has wrestled with hate and wrong.
XIV.
And at length—A giant arising in his strength—The fetters of serf and slave he broke,Smiting them off by a single stroke!Over the Muscovite's waste of snows,Up from the fields where the cotton grows,Clearly the shout of deliverance rang,When chattel and serf to manhood sprang, As at lengthThe giant rose up in resistless strength.········
XV.
Far apart—Each alone like a lonely heart—Sat the Nations, until his handWove about them a wondrous band;Wrought about them a mighty chainBinding the mountains to the main!Distance and time rose dark betweenIslands and continents still unseen, While apartNone felt the throb of another's heart.
XVI.
But to-dayTime and space hath he swept away! Side by side do the Nations sitBy ties of brotherhood closer knit;Whispers float o'er the rolling deep;Voices echo from steep to steep;Nations speak, and the quick repliesFill the earth and the vaulted skies For to-dayTime and distance are swept away.
XVII.
If strange thrillsQuicken Rome on her seven hills;If afar on her sultry throneIndia wails and makes her moan;If the eagles of haughty FranceFall as the Prussian hosts advance,All the continents, all the lands,Feel the shock through their claspéd hands. And quick thrillsStir the remotest vales and hills.········
XVIII.
Yet these eyes,Dark on whose lids Death's shadow lies,Let their far-reaching vision restNot alone on the mountain's crest;Nor did these feet with stately treadFollow alone where the Nations led;Nor these pale hands, so weary-worn,Minister but where States were born!— These clear eyes,Soft on whose lips Death's slumber lies,
XIX.
Turned their gaze,Earnest and pitiful, on the waysWhere the poor, burdened sons of toilEarned their bread amid dust and moil.Saw the dim attics where, day by day,Women were stitching their lives away,Bending low o'er the slender steelTill heart and brain began to reel, And their daysStretched on and on in a dreary maze.
XX.
Then he spoke;Lo! at once into being wokeMuscles of iron, arms of steel,Nerves that never a thrill could feel!Wheels and pulleys and whirling bandsDid the work of the weary hands,And tireless feet moved to and froWhere the aching limbs were wont to go, When he spokeAnd all his sprites into being woke.
XXI.
Do you sayHe was no saint who has passed away?Saint or sinner, he did brave deedsAnswering still to humanity's needs!Songs he hath sung that shall live for aye;Words he hath uttered that ne'er shall die; Richer the world than when the earthSang for joy to hail his birth, Even though you sayHe was no saint whom we sing to-day.
XXII.
Lo! we waitKnocking here at the sepulchre's gate!Souls of the Ages passed away,A mightier joins your ranks to-day;Open your doors, ye royal dead,And welcome give to this crownèd head!For calmly under this sable pallSleepeth the kingliest of ye all, While we waitAt the sepulchre's awful gate!
XXIII.
Give him roomProudly, Centuries! in your tomb.Now that his weary work is done,Honor and rest he well hath won.Let him who is first among you payHomage to him who comes this day,Bidding him pass to his destined place,Noblest of all his noble race! Make ye roomFor the kingly dead in the silent tomb!