Mexican War, 1846-1848 -- Poetry; Slavery -- United States -- Poetry
There are two things upon which it would seem fitting to dilate somewhat
more largely in this place,--the Yankee character and the Yankee
dialect. And, first, of the Yankee character, which has wanted neither
open maligners, nor even more dangerous enemies in the persons of those
unskilful painters who have given to it that hardness, angularity, and
want of proper perspective, which, in truth, belonged, not to their
subject, but to their own niggard and unskilful pencil.
New England was not so much the colony of a mother country, as a Hagar
driven forth into the wilderness. The little self-exiled band which came
hither in 1620 came, not to seek gold, but to found a democracy. They
came that they might have the privilege to work and pray, to sit upon
hard benches and listen to painful preachers as long as they would, yea,
even unto thirty-seventhly, if the spirit so willed it. And surely, if
the Greek might boast his Thermopylæ, where three hundred men fell in
resisting the Persian, we may well be proud of our Plymouth Rock, where
a handful of men, women, and children not merely faced, but vanquished,
winter, famine, the wilderness, and the yet more invincible _storge_
that drew them back to the green island far away. These found no lotus
growing upon the surly shore, the taste of which could make them forget
their little native Ithaca; nor were they so wanting to themselves in
faith as to burn their ship, but could see the fair west wind belly the
homeward sail, and then turn unrepining to grapple with the terrible
Unknown.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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