American Poetry

Must every shore ring boldly to the voice
Of sweet poetic harmony, save this?
Rouse thee, America! for shame! for shame!
Gather thy infant bands, and rise to join
Thy glimmering taper to the holy flame:—
Such honour, if no other, may be thine.
Shall Gallia's children sing beneath the yoke?
Shall Ireland's harpstrings thrill, though all unstrung?.
And must America, her bondage broke,
Oppression's blood-stains from her garment wrung,
Must she be silent? — who may then rejoice?
If she be tuneless, Harmony, farewell!
Oh! shame, America! wild freedom's voice
Echoes, "shame on thee," from her wild-wood dell.
Shall conquered Greece still sing her glories past?
Shall humbled Italy in ruins smile?
And canst thou then —
[Unfinished.]