The Sylvan Cabin - A Centenary Ode On The Birth Of Lincoln

I             O, fairest Dame of sylvan glades,     We come to pay thee homage due,     Embrace thee softly and to kiss     Thy lovely, long-forsaken cheeks;     To smooth thy flowing silver locks     And bind about thy snowy neck     A necklace golden studded full     With rarest gems and shining pearls.             Our eyes, though sometimes dimmed with tears,     In purer lustre sparkle forth     Whene'er they fall agaze on thee!     Our ears attuned to thy sweet lay     Catch every flowing, cadent note     And bear it ever safe within     Our rapturous hearts, which gladly leap     Whene'er thy name is called!     Deep in our souls the quenchless fire     Of love full brightly burns upon     The sacred altar, set apart     For sprite commune and sacrifice;     Whose high-priest tends with loving care,     And unto thee sweet incense burns.     Our tongues most gladly sing thy praise,     And from it ne'er shall cease - till all     The land be free!     II             A century lonely hast thou stood     Here all forsaken and forgot!     All men failed thee to visit save     Some idle lover of sylvan haunts     Who trod, perchance, this hallowed spot,     And cast a pensive eye upon     This lovely glade, thy sole abode     (Full lost in these continuous woods),     And brooding o'er thy lowly lot,     Oft thus did muse: "This cabin lone     Here stands to tell the tale of him,     Back-woodsman brave, who having scaled     The mystic mountains ne'er returned     To them, though loved yet left behind;     But here he chose his last abode,     These gloomy woods whose blackness stands     Up hard against horizon's slope;     Grim, spectral, dreaded, and untrod     Save monsters great of savage mien,     That prowled, or crouched upon their prey;     Sent forth a vicious roar that fairly shook     Old Sylvia far and near, from vale     Through crag to mountain peak!             Upon this spot the redskin oft     Has danced his 'War dance' and his 'Feast,'     His face a reddish hue aglow -     Long locks with eaglets' plumes bedecked;     His bow and never-failing dart,     And scalper dangling at his side.     More brightly gleamed his wary eye,     As braves the war-whoop loudly yelled -     A sight more like the fiery fiends     From Pluto's ghastly shore returned     Than human blood and bone!             They all have gone and left no tale     But woe which hurled them ever hence     To that shore whence no bark returns.     Old Cabin, thou, a land-mark art,     Of human progress' steady march!"     III                                                             Of thee     Thus has time passed with naught more said;     For man in his pedantic art     Soars far in feeble flights of song     From Nature's heart, and thus he fails     With Nature's God to hold commune!             The bard has slept, dreamed many a dream,     But failed to dream one dream of thee.     High hangs his lyre on willow reed,     And sitting 'neath yon shady nook,     He fails to catch one note of thy     Immortal song that fills the air.     Awake, O bard, from sleep so deep!     Attune thy lyre; let Nature breathe     In her immortal breath of song;     Then wilt thou sing a song most sweet,     The song by Nature's vesper choir,     Through all the countless ages sung, -     And still is singing day by day.     Then all the world will join thy sweet     Refrain in praise and ardent love     Of this fair forest Dame!     IV             The nations all their day shall have;     Yet each in turn shall rise and fall,     As falls the dark brown autumn leaf;     Or as those dread sky-kissing tides,     Which toss frail barks high upon     Some ghastly, frowning storm-beat shore, -     Though slowly, yet quite surely ebb away.             - Aye! Egypt fair once spread the Nile,     And green-bay-tree-like proudly flourished;     Her snowy sails sea-ports bedecked,     And deeply ploughed the rolling main,     Or clave the placid lakes, as does     The gentle swan, when some soft breeze     The bulrush stirs, flings its perfume     Upon the rippling silver waves!             Fair cities dotted here and there     Her vast domain. Her royal line     Of Pharaohs held the sceptre gold     Upon her all-emblazoned throne.             Now Egypt fair is wreck and ruin.     For, as fled on the flight of years,     The unrelenting Hand of time     Wiped her sweet visage off the globe!     Naught save the grim, grey pyramid,     Sublimest work of man, yet stands     To greet the rosy morn, with proud     Uplifted head, expanded chest -     A death defiant scoff at time!     Yet hoary Time in his wild rage     Of wreck and ruin, like Jove shall hurl     His fiery bolts upon the head     Of pyramid with ire, and crush     And raze it to its base with scorn!     V             Next Greece, the fairest nymph that trod     This belted globe upon, once shone     As shines the Morning Orb, long ere     The Dawn the rosy East has kissed;     High reared her sacred temples in     Olympia's shady groves, and built     There sacred altars to her gods.             Old Zeus and Phoebus oft here sat     In council with their fellow gods.     And Homer, fiery bard, was first     To smite the chords of nature's lyre;     Sweet sang he till the earth was filled     With rarest strains of rapturous song!             Then art and letters blew and blushed,     The fairest flowers of ages past,     Whose essence, spilled upon the breeze,     Is wafted still forever on     The twin deft with the flight of years;     And man in calm delight inhales     The fragrance of pure classic lore!             But Greece is gone! Her statues fair     Are mingled with the dust; each god     Has flown some fairer clime to rule,     Or, subdued, walks the dark abyss.     VI             Then Rome, the gaudy Southern Queen,     On seven rugged, rock-ribbed hills     Securely built her throne. The world     Then saw a mighty power rise     In splendor great, as does the sun     On some young, swift-winged morn of June.     A brighter dawning seemed to break;     Another life was lived, - for through     The Roman vein there coursed a blood,     A fiery burning blood of ire,     That rose and conquered all the world.             Great Csar led her legions forth     From victory on to victory,     And hung her royal pennons high     In tower, palace-hall, and throne;     The Roman sceptre swayed the globe.     Soft music soothed her savage ear,     Fine arts and sculptor were her toys,     And glory was her "starry crown."     But now we read the "Fall of Rome,"     The doleful lay that tells the tale     Of all who thus have passed away.     VII             To thee, fair Dame, we thus relate     The things which were but are no more;     That thou mightest know the worldly way,     And knowing, have no timid fear     To ever stir thy peaceful breast.     No fate like theirs awaits for thee;     For Fortune's maid shall tend with care     Thy every nod and beck - yes, place     Upon thy queenly brow a crown,     The "starry crown" by Freedom worn!             'Tis true no flint rock ribs thy base,     No stone thy corner marks; for that     What carest thou? For boasted pride?     Thy frame is of the sturdy oak,     Inlaid with ribs of stately pine;     The Prince and Princess twain are they     Of all Columbia's giant woods.     The sylvan songsters sing thy praise     From dawn till set of sun, and then     The nightingale, the queen of song,     In praise of thee poureth forth her lay     Till every mellow silver note,     Far floating in the silent trees,     Is taken by an elfish choir,     And chanted softly to the moon.             The eagle her wee eaglets tells     Of thee, that they may freedom love;     Then soaring full beyond the clouds,     She looks with vaunted pride on thee.     So must thy spirit fill the hearts     Of all Columbia's youth, as once     It filled old "Honest Abe," thy son,     Thy pride - the first-born of thy love.     For when each lowly lad well knows     That ever upwards he may soar,     Beyond vain tyrants' galling sway     To fairer climes where Freedom reigns:     Then will the shadow of thy wing     For aye to them a shelter be!