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    The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 02 Additional Poems (1837-1848)
    The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 02 Additional Poems (1837-1848)
    The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 02 Additional Poems (1837-1848)
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    The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 02 Additional Poems (1837-1848)

    By Oliver Wendell Holmes

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 25, 2013
    The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 02 Additional Poems (1837-1848)
    Author

    Oliver Wendell Holmes

    Oliver Wendell Holmes was an American physician, poet, and polymath based in Boston. A member of the Fireside Poets, he was acclaimed by his peers as one of the best writers of the day. His most famous prose works are the “Breakfast Table” series, which began with The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table.

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      The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 02 Additional Poems (1837-1848) - Oliver Wendell Holmes

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Vol. 2, by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Vol. 2 Additional Poems (1837-1848)

      Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

      Release Date: September 30, 2004 [EBook #7389]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF HOLMES, VOL. 2 ***

      Produced by David Widger

      THE POETICAL WORKS

      OF

      OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

      [1893 three volume set]

      ADDITIONAL POEMS

      1837-1848

      THE PILGRIM'S VISION THE STEAMBOAT LEXINGTON ON LENDING A PUNCH BOWL A SONG FOR THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION OF HARVARD COLLEGE, THE ISLAND HUNTING-SONG DEPARTED DAYS THE ONLY DAUGHTER SONG WRITTEN FOR THE DINNER GIVEN TO CHARLES DICKENS, BY THE YOUNG MEN OF BOSTON, FEBRUARY 1, 1842 LINES RECITED AT THE BERKSHIRE JUBILEE NUX POSTCOENATICA VERSES FOR AFTER-DINNER A MODEST REQUEST, COMPLIED WITH AFTER THE DINNER AT PRESIDENT EVERETT'S INAUGURATION THE PARTING WORD A SONG OF OTHER DAYS SONG FOR A TEMPERANCE DINNER TO WHICH LADIES WERE INVITED (NEW YORK MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION, NOVEMBER, 1842) A SENTIMENT A RHYMED LESSON (URANIA) AN AFTER-DINNER POEM (TERPSICHORE)

      THE PILGRIM'S VISION

      IN the hour of twilight shadows

      The Pilgrim sire looked out;

      He thought of the bloudy Salvages

      That lurked all round about,

      Of Wituwamet's pictured knife

      And Pecksuot's whooping shout;

      For the baby's limbs were feeble,

      Though his father's arms were stout.

      His home was a freezing cabin,

      Too bare for the hungry rat;

      Its roof was thatched with ragged grass,

      And bald enough of that;

      The hole that served for casement

      Was glazed with an ancient hat,

      And the ice was gently thawing

      From the log whereon he sat.

      Along the dreary landscape

      His eyes went to and fro,

      The trees all clad in icicles,

      The streams that did not flow;

      A sudden thought flashed o'er him,—

      A dream of long ago,—

      He smote his leathern jerkin,

      And murmured, Even so!

      "Come hither, God-be-Glorified,

      And sit upon my knee;

      Behold the dream unfolding,

      Whereof I spake to thee

      By the winter's hearth in Leyden

      And on the stormy sea.

      True is the dream's beginning,—

      So may its ending be!

      "I saw in the naked forest

      Our scattered remnant cast,

      A screen of shivering branches

      Between them and the blast;

      The snow was falling round them,

      The dying fell as fast;

      I looked to see them perish,

      When lo, the vision passed.

      "Again mine eyes were opened;—

      The feeble had waxed strong,

      The babes had grown to sturdy men,

      The remnant was a throng;

      By shadowed lake and winding stream,

      And all the shores along,

      The howling demons quaked to hear

      The Christian's godly song.

      "They slept, the village fathers,

      By river, lake, and shore,

      When far adown the steep of Time

      The vision rose once more

      I saw along the winter snow

      A spectral column pour,

      And high above their broken ranks

      A tattered flag they bore.

      "Their Leader rode before them,

      Of bearing calm and high,

      The light of Heaven's own kindling

      Throned in his awful eye;

      These were a Nation's champions

      Her dread appeal to try.

      God for the right! I faltered,

      And lo, the train passed by.

      "Once more;—the strife is ended,

      The solemn issue tried,

      The Lord of Hosts, his mighty arm

      Has helped our Israel's side;

      Gray stone and grassy hillock

      Tell where our martyrs died,

      But peaceful smiles the harvest,

      And stainless flows the tide.

      "A crash, as when some swollen cloud

      Cracks o'er the tangled trees

      With side to side, and spar to spar,

      Whose smoking decks are these?

      I know Saint George's blood-red cross,

      Thou Mistress of the Seas,

      But what is she whose streaming bars

      Roll out before the breeze?

      "Ah, well her iron ribs are knit,

      Whose thunders strive to quell

      The bellowing throats, the blazing lips,

      That pealed the Armada's knell!

      The mist was cleared,—a wreath of stars

      Rose o'er the crimsoned swell,

      And, wavering from its haughty peak,

      The cross of England fell!

      "O trembling Faith! though dark the morn,

      A heavenly torch is thine;

      While feebler races melt away,

      And paler orbs decline,

      Still shall the fiery pillar's ray

      Along thy pathway shine,

      To light the chosen tribe that sought

      This Western Palestine.

      "I see the living tide roll on;

      It crowns with flaming towers

      The icy capes of Labrador,

      The Spaniard's 'land of flowers'!

      It streams beyond the splintered ridge

      That parts the northern showers;

      From eastern rock to sunset wave

      The Continent is ours!"

      He ceased, the grim old soldier-saint,

      Then softly bent to cheer

      The Pilgrim-child, whose wasting face

      Was meekly turned to hear;

      And drew his toil-worn sleeve across

      To brush the manly tear

      From cheeks that never changed in woe,

      And never blanched in fear.

      The weary Pilgrim slumbers,

      His resting-place unknown;

      His hands were crossed, his lips were closed,

      The dust was o'er him strown;

      The drifting soil, the mouldering leaf,

      Along the sod were blown;

      His mound has melted into earth,

      His memory lives alone.

      So let it live unfading,

      The memory of the dead,

      Long as the pale anemone

      Springs where their tears were shed,

      Or, raining in the summer's wind

      In flakes of burning red,

      The wild rose sprinkles with its leaves

      The turf where once they bled!

      Yea, when the frowning bulwarks

      That guard this holy strand

      Have sunk beneath the trampling surge

      In beds of sparkling sand,

      While in the waste of ocean

      One hoary rock shall stand,

      Be this its

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