For him who, at the parting of the ways, Disdained the flowery path, and gave His succor to the hunted Afric slave, Whose cause he chose nor feared the world’s dispraise; Yet found anon the right become the might, And, in the long revenge of time, Lived to renown and hoary years sublime. Ye know him now, your beacon-light! Ay, he was fronted like a tower,— In thought large-moulded, as of frame; He that, in the supreme hour, Sat brooding at the river-heads of power With sovereign strength for every need that came! Not for that blameless one the place That opens wide to men of lesser race;— Even as of old the votes are given, And Aristides is from Athens driven; But for our statesman, in his grander trust No less the undefiled, The Just,— With poesy and learning lightly worn, And knees that bent to Heaven night and morn,— For him that sacred, unimpassioned seat, Where right and wrong for stainless judgment meet Above the greed, the strife, the party call.— Henceforth let CHASE’S robes on no base shoulders fall! IX. ATLANTIS SURGENS. Well may your hearts be valiant,—ye who stand Within that glory from the past, And see how ripe the time, how fair the land In which your lot is cast! For us alone your sorrow, Ye children of the morrow,— For us, who struggle yet, and wait, Sent forth too early and too late! But yours shall be our tenure handed down, Conveyed in blood, stamped with the martyr’s crown; For which the toilers long have wrought, And poets sung, and heroes fought; The new Saturnian age is yours, That juster season soon to be On the near coasts (whereto your vessels sail Beyond the darkness and the gale), Of proud Atlantis risen from the sea! You shall not know the pain that now endures The surge, the smiting of the waves, The overhanging thunder, The shades of night which plunge engulféd under Those yawning island-caves; But in their stead for you shall glisten soon The coral circlet and the still lagoon, Green shores of freedom, blest with calms, And sunlit streams and meads, and shadowy palms: Such joys await you, in our sorrows’ stead; Thither our charts have almost led; Nor in that land shall worth, truth, courage, ask for alms. X. VALETE ET SALVETE. O, trained beneath the Northern Star! Worth, courage, honor, these indeed Your sustenance and birthright are! Now, from her sweet dominion freed, Your Foster Mother bids you speed; Her gracious hands the gates unbar, Her richest gifts you bear away, Her memories shall be your stay: Go where you will, her eyes your course shall mark afar. June 25, 1873. HORACE GREELEY.