Book Tenth

What sounds are these which thrill the morning star,
Hailing the advancing banner of the sun,
While now the herald dawn, with backward hair,
Inflates his winding horn, and wakes the day,
Speeding across the hill-tops? Hark, the roll
Of distant cannon rumbling through the sky,
As if a huge triumphal car, in haste,
Were rolling and resounding through the streets
Of some glad city welcoming its return;
While lesser sounds of bells and rattling guns
Swell the rejoicing hour! It is the day
When Independence celebrates her birth —
The Jubilee of Freedom yearly kept!
A nation rising from its rest secure;
A nation which hath never worn a crown;
A land which hath not held a throne, or felt
The foot of king, or seen his purple robe,
Sends up its voice, with one loud shout of joy,
Which starts the eagle of the Nor'most lake,
And wakes the Mexic gulf — while on his shore
The Atlantic hears, and his eternal head
Lifts, and prolongs the sound — till in the West,
On stretching sands, in many an unknown bay,
Mid shadowy slumber the Pacific smiles,
Catching the cadence as it dies, and dreams
Of Freedom's cities rising on his coast,
And navies showing Liberty her flag!
It is a sound to flush the patriot's breast,
And drive the colour from the tyrant's cheek;
Where on his olden and decaying throne,
He stands a-gaze, and, staring o'er the sea,
Wonders; and, with a nervous hand of haste,
Presses the weighty crown upon his brow,
And grasps the sceptre his amaze hath loosed,
Assuring him a king! Long be the day
Remembered, and awaked with shouts, as now!

From every home the gladsome people pour;
O'er woods and fields resound the drum and fife;
And presently the flaming banners, rich
With golden mottoes and with silver stars,
Along the highway set a-blaze the air:
As in the hour when wildly on the sky,
They wrote in words of fire the despot's fall,
Dazzling his dull uncomprehending eye
With "weighed and wanting!" till the interpreter,
The father of a grateful country, came
And read the "Upharsin" to his startled ear!

With one accord, the various cottage-homes
Pour down the paths and highways to the town —
The village on the white and dusty road —
Their several habitants. The young and old,
Each bent on pleasing and on being pleased,
Are ranged into procession, two by two,
While many a jest and laugh run down the line.
Across the pasture, winding to the grove,
All follow, to the measure of that tune
Which first had birth upon Derision's lips,
Till Victory heard, and with exulting tongue,
Echoed the notes, that, hallowed by her voice,
Henceforth became an anthem for a nation!

Already the rude table's giant length
Stretches beneath the embowering limbs, and scents
The fragrant air with pine. Adjacent, see
The speaker's rostrum — rough, as suits the time,
And strong — where, caught aloft in smooth festoons,
Two silken banners of the stripes and stars,
With friendly points of glittering spear-heads crossed,
Delight the enthusiast's eye. Anon,
Mid shouts, the leaders take the stand; and now
The parson pours the solemn thankful prayer,
The gratitude which every freeman feels.
Then rises Master Ethan, tall and frail,
And clearly, with well modulated voice,
Reads the great "Declaration" to the end.
Whereat a long huzza, from every heart,
Shakes the deep welkin, while the limbs between
Murmur afar, and each astonished bird
Drops in the trees and listens. Then arises
The song which every tongue delights to swell.
This past, the fiery speech inflames the hour,
Oft interrupted by the loud applause;
And with a loving ardour lingers long
O'er scenes our grandsires, in the years agone —
What time they held us charmed upon their knees —
Pictured unto our childish eyes, until
The little soul, to patriot's teaching true,
Rose up in arms and waved the mimic sword.
Then comes the plenteous feast, with stated toasts,
And music and gay song between. And now,
In brimming cups the amber cider flows,
Sparkling and sweet, smelling of autumn brown;
Three years a-past from out the creaking press
It streamed, and now full ripe and rich, it glows
In cooling pitchers, starred and striped with dew;
Or paler beverage, where the citron swims,
Yielding the acid from its severed sphere,
And shedding odours of the melting South,
So nectarine, the wasp attracted comes,
An armed republican, and tastes the cup
Ere the libation, at the waiting mouth,
Is pledged to Liberty.