Forceless as is the shadow of a cloud,

They live but in the ear:

That is best blood that hath most iron in 't
To edge resolve with, pouring without stint
For what makes manhood dear.
Tell us not of Plantagenets,

Hapsburgs, and Guelfs, whose thin bloods crawl
Down from some victor in a border-brawl!

How poor their outworn coronets,

Matched with one leaf of that plain civic wreath
Our brave for honor's blazon shall bequeath,
Through whose desert a rescued Nation sets

Her heel on treason, and the trumpet hears
Shout victory, tingling Europe's sullen ears

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275

280

Feeling his soul spring up divinely tall,

Touched but in passing by her mantle-hem.

Come back, then, noble pride, for 't is her dower!
How could poet ever tower,

If his passions, hopes, and fears,

If his triumphs and his tears,

Kept not measure with his people?

310

Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves!

Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple!
Banners, advance with triumph, bend your staves!

315

Making earth feel more firm and air breathe braver:

"Be proud! for she is saved, and all have helped to save

her!

She that lifts up the manhood of the poor,
She of the open soul and open door,
With room about her hearth for all mankind!
The helm from her bold front she doth unbind,
Sends all her handmaid armies back to spin,
And bids her navies hold their thunders in.
No challenge sends she to the elder world,
That looked askance and hated; a light scorn
Plays on her mouth, as round her mighty knees
She calls her children back, and waits the morn
Of nobler day, enthroned between her subject seas."

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330

XI

Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release!
Thy God, in these distempered days,

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Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways,

And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace.

Bow down in prayer and praise!

O Beautiful! my Country! ours once more!
Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled hair
O'er such sweet brows as never other wore,

340

1865.

Could tell our love and make thee know it,

Among the Nations bright beyond compare?
What were our lives without thee?
What all our lives to save thee?
We reck not what we gave thee;

We will not dare to doubt thee;

But ask whatever else, and we will dare!

BAYARD TAYLOR

THE FIGHT OF PASO DEL MAR
Gusty and raw was the morning,
A fog hung over the seas,
And its gray skirts, rolling inland,

Were torn by the mountain trees;
No sound was heard but the dashing
Of waves on the sandy bar,
When Pablo of San Diego

Rode down to the Paso del Mar.

The pescador, out in his shallop,
Gathering his harvest so wide,

Sees the dim bulk of the headland

Loom over the waste of the tide;
He sees, like a white thread, the pathway
Wind round on the terrible wall,

1865.

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350

5

ΙΟ

Where the faint, moving speck of the rider
Seems hovering close to its fall.

15

Stout Pablo of San Diego

Rode down from the hills behind;
With the bells on his gray mule tinkling,

He sang through the fog and wind.

20

Under his thick, misted eyebrows
Twinkled his eye like a star,
And fiercer he sang as the sea-winds
Drove cold on the Paso del Mar.

Now Bernal, the herdsman of Chino,
Had travelled the shore since dawn,
Leaving the ranches behind him—

Good reason had he to be gone!
The blood was still red on his dagger,

The fury was hot in his brain,

And the chill, driving scud of the breakers
Beat thick on his forehead in vain.

With his poncho wrapped gloomily round him,
He mounted the dizzying road,

And the chasms and steeps of the headland
Were slippery and wet as he trod:

Wild swept the wind of the ocean,

Rolling the fog from afar,

When near him a mule-bell came tinkling,

Midway on the Paso del Mar.

"Back!" shouted Bernal, full fiercely;

And "Back!" shouted Pablo, in wrath,

They fought till the black wall below them

Shone red through the misty blast;
Stout Pablo then struck, leaning farther,
The broad breast of Bernal at last:
And, frenzied with pain, the swart herdsman

60

Closed on him with terrible strength, And jerked him, despite of his struggles, Down from the saddle at length.