53. to the United States.
by Mayne Reid.
O, land of my longings, beyond the Atlantic,What horrible dream has disturbed thy repose?
What demon hath driven thy citizens frantic--
A grief to their friends, and a joy to thy foes?
Is it true they are arming to kill one another?
That sire and son are in hostile array?
That brother is baring his blade against brother--
Each madly preparing the other to slay?
Is it true the star banner, so dear to the sight
Of freemen, may fall by a factionist's blow--
That banner I've borne through the midst of the fight,
Side by side with thy sons, as they charged on the foe?
I would not — I will not — I cannot believe it!
Oh! rally around it, and stand by the staff!
Or the children of men will have reason to grieve it,
And the tyrants of men will exultingly laugh.
Aye, sure would the priests and princes of earth
Greet the fall of thy flag with a joyous “hurrah!”
Even now scarce suppressing demoniac mirth,
They would hail thy decadence with a fiendish
“ha, ha!”
And he who would help them to win their foul game,
Whether Northern or Southern--no matter which claims him--
Be a brand on his brow, and a blight on his fame,
And scorn on the lips of the humblest who names him!
Be palsied the arm that draws sword fratricidal!
May the steel of the traitor be broken in two!
May his maiden betrothed, on the morn of his bridal,
Prove as faithless to him as he has been to you!
United, no power 'neath heaven can shake thee--
No purple-robed despot e'er smile on thy shame--
Asunder, like reeds, they will bruise thee and break thee,
And waste thee as flax in the pitiless flame.
Woe, woe, to the world, if this fatal division
Should ever arise in the ranks of the free!
O brothers, avoid, then, the fearful collision,
And millions unborn will sing praises to thee!
