Ah, little dreams the quiet dame Who plies with' rock and spindle The patient flax, how great a flame Yon little spark shall kindle! The lurid morning shall reveal A fire no king can smother Where British flint and Boston steel Have clashed against each other! Old charters shrivel in its track, His Worship's bench has crumbled, It climbs and clasps the union-jack, Its blazoned pomp is humbled, The flags go down on land and sea Like corn before the reapers; So burned the fire that brewed the tea That Boston served her keepers! The waves that wrought a century's wreck Have rolled o'er whig and tory; The Mohawks on the Dartmouth's deck Still live in song and story; The waters in the rebel bay Have kept the tea-leaf savor; Our old North-Enders in their spray Still taste a Hyson flavor; And Freedom's teacup still o'erflows With ever fresh libations, To cheat of slumber all her foes And cheer the wakening nations. 1874. NEARING THE SNOW-LINE SLOW toiling upward from' the misty vale, I leave the bright enamelled zones below; No more for me their beauteous bloom shall glow, Their lingering sweetness load the morning gale; Few are the slender flowerets, scentless, pale, That on their ice-clad stems all trembling blow Along the margin of unmelting snow; Yet with unsaddened voice thy verge I hail, White realm of peace above the flowering line; Welcome thy frozen domes, thy rocky spires! O'er thee undimmed the moon-girt planets shine, On thy majestic altars fade the fires That filled the air with smoke of vain desires, And all the unclouded blue of heaven is thine! 1870. IN WARTIME TO CANAAN A PURITAN WAR SONG This poem, published anonymously in the Boston Evening Transcript, was claimed by several persons, three, if I remember correctly, whose names I have or have had, but never thought it worth while to publish. WHERE are you going, soldiers, With banner, gun, and sword? We 're marching South to Canaan To battle for the Lord What Captain leads your armies Along the rebel coasts? The Mighty One of Israel, His name is Lord of Hosts! To Canaan, to Canaan The Lord has led us forth, To blow before the heathen walls The trumpets of the North! What flag is this you carry Along the sea and shore? The same our grandsires lifted up,-- The same our fathers bore In many a battle's tempest It shed the crimson rain,-- What God has woven in his loom Let no man rend in twain! To Canaan, to Canaan The Lord has led us forth, To plant upon the rebel towers The banners of the North! What troop is this that follows, All armed with picks and spades? These are the swarthy bondsmen,-- The iron-skin brigades! They'll pile up Freedom's breastwork, They 'LL scoop out rebels' graves; Who then will be their owner And march them off for slaves? To Canaan, to Canaan The Lord has led us forth, To strike upon the captive's chain The hammers of the North!