Q<. Jdr^ mim m mwm U"^ ^y^A/ — jjji ^^y//^/v^ *yoS-^ A^,^ , L-llll^ THE WARNING OF WAR A POEM DELIVERED BEFORE THE UNITED SOCIETIES OF DARTMOUTH COLLEGE HANOVER, N. H. AT THE ANNUAL COMMENCEMENT, JULY 30, 1862, Charles T.'^Congdon, ^\ " GOD'S MOST DREADED INSTRUMENT, IN WORKING OUT A PURE INTENT, IS MAN ARRAYED FOR MUTUAL SLAUGHTER: YEA, CARNAGE IS HIS DAUGHTER. "—«ur*!(.,)r«i. NEW- YORK : PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY FRANCIS HART & CO. 63 CORTLANDT STREET. 186S. ^hx^- To BIQJ^EY riniful of warning, which we did not heed Becaluse our faculties refused to read. Then, in long columns, now with kick, now hint. How many a sage has prophesied in print I And while the whirlwind hourly wilder grew, Went on, and wondered why the storm still blew! Alas I the sturdy demon would not sleep For all these charms, however dull and deep ! Till now, above the nation's wide-spread woe. We hear his mocking laugh, and cower below! Till now we find the evil days have come When science fails and subterfuge is dumb ! The bird of freedom marks with manv a shriek 17 I I i This moulting-time of her pretenses weak, j And finding now no virtue in a text, In trembling wonder waits for what may happen next ! Who knows ? The knot that kingly hands defied Was cut at last, but could not be untied. Sometimes the body of the commonweal Is cancered so it must submit to steel : New life is born of travail and of pain, And human freedom dies to live again : The actual cautery of this war may teach What lawyers could not prove nor churches preach. That, when our deeds are balanced 'gainst our word. The problem's solved by something quite absurd. We 've tried this formula of cold and hot : *'A11 men are free and equal — and are not; "God made of one blood all men — but, you see, *'IIe gave black blood to Sambo, blue to me; *'A11 men we hold — too plain a fact to show — "Born free and equal — that is, if 'tis so; "All men the scriptures prove are near of kin — "That is, all men who have a common skin ; "Freedom's the birth-right of all men that be, "Provided men can manage to be free. "The law's repealed against a pair of stools — "Four millions of exceptions prove all rules. "Extremes must meet, and thus you clearly see "Freedom is Slavery, and slaves are free; "So, the same thing by different name we call — "A fact well known to Jefferson and Paul!" Such speech too long has cheated — worse than this. We twisted human wretchedness to bliss ; Gave Bondage all that Liberty can please. 18 Arcadian raptures and a pastoral ease. Exempt from all that willing labor bears, Uneasy foresight, economic cares, The days flew by, insured the daily bread; The hand that flogged w^as still the hand that fed; Their wages heavy and their labor light ; Blacks lounged all day and fiddled through the night; Lapt in completest ease, their sweet career Ne'er raised a sigh, and never forced a tear; Reversed all fusty rules and notions old — The age for us was brass, for them was gold. Nor was this all : these chattels, void of sin. Lived in a faith that freemen could not win. And snatched, without the old alchymic pains, A golden pleasure out of iron chains — Feeling, in spite of many an ugly gash, A plerophoric rapture 'ueath the lash. ' Twas Abraham's fingers fixed the welded bands; ' Twas Moses heated and applied the brands ; ' Twas Isaac paddled up the blistering chine ; ' Twas Jacob that applied the cooling brine. These things, wliich forced sometimes the guilty shriek. Were dispensations from Mount Sinai's peak. We wrote in blood — for blood full often flowed — These needed margents of the Hebrew code: But Sambo, smiling, ov^-ned imputed taints ; He. suffered surely — suffered so the saints. Without the compensation that arose From holy hands inflicting sacred blows! Ah ! what a field for strengthening in the strife A love of Heaven and scorn of lower life! Ah I what a privilege to so endure 19 A bitter pang that death alone could cure ! The sable stoic, with perpetual grin Breasted the storm, and marched through thick and thin, While all was dark without, and all was light within! These were the tales they told us; we believed; Most acquiesced, though here and there one grieved, And for his pains the satisfaction had Of being stamped as traitorous or mad. He who could feel a brother's countless pains Was plotting treason or was ifiring fanes : He patriot only who in rose-light saw Whips, dungeons, fetters, tar-pots and lynch-law ! Thank Heaven, that day of dark delusion past. We think with pity — boldly speak at last ; That no more now, with diabolic skill, The foul enchantress moulds us at her will ; That sin no more, in quest of useful tools. Turns hearts to stone, and wise men into fools. We see it now : each thronging hope or fear Has purged our eyes, and lo ! what shames appear ! We ask with wonder why the satirist's flail So long has slept, while wrongs like these prevail : The savage hand that smote the unguarded weak, .Snatching Heaven's power its petty wrath to wreak; The code, that by one sweeping, searing ban, Crushed manhood out by systematic plan; The fears that aye with meddlesome control Trod out the slumbering fires of each poor soul — Watched every heart with such unwinking care Lest some poor spark of love should linger there ; The greedy avarice that, sharp and strong. Held back the wage of labor hard and long; 20 The lust that, hcirtlly half-true to itself, Polluted women for the sake of pelf; The stolid selfishness that tore apart Hands that God joined, and loving heart from heart ; And, trained all foolish feeling to despise. Heard but with scorn the infant's natural cries — Just for a moment in this world caressed, Then rapt forever from its mother's breast. We see it now — the schoolman's day is o'er. We feel it now, that never felt before. Some may be agitators, and some knaves ; He may be canting while the other raves; And this unsex itself, or man or dame. For notoriety, which they call fame ; One single diamond 'neath a sea of mud — One single truth upou a shoreless flood Of nonsense floating! Yet 'tis only fair We should admit that what is there is there ; And claim, for honor of our common kind, That none always are deaf — completely blind. If cold dull men, content to labor still In one unceasing logic-grinding mill, Worship the head while they ignore the heart, They serve a purpose though they act a part ; And though we're skeptical, or though we're sound, Upon that topic, still the world goes 'round, And as it goes must be content to hear \ Prophetic voices, though not over clear — The passionate oracles of men who see Too well to let their speech coherent be — Of men remembered through all coming years. Spite of their failures, with regretful tears : 21 Men who but make it better understood That human error mmgles yet with good — Men still of dignity in their disgrace, The just exponents of a fallen race. What though this pastor fired, not fed, his fold. And poor Sybilla mannish grew and bold — Seeking a height that sanity can't reach In freaks of costume or in frisks of speech? What though, sometimes in love, sometimes in wrath, They left for devious w^ays the beaten path? What though sometimes, the public ear to win. They used a language to abuse akin? What though, of no conventional shame afraid, They tried to startle who could not persuade? Am I so wise that I must look with scorn On human zeal, of human kindness born? Am I so pure that I can well disdain Truth trod to dust in weary throes of pain? Is faith so loved on earth, that earth now needs No words that blister and no breast that bleeds? All western winds— the sun-shine calm and sweet — The path of progress primrosed to our feet! Life but one round of rosy-fingered hours — , Perpetual arbors sweet with constant flowers. That woo our slumbers with their odorous breath — The dreams of Islam without Islam's death! Not so, I think, have Saxon legends told Of earth subdued in iron days of old. They'd some dull notion that bliss follows blows, And only after labor comes repose ; That he who'd taste man's possible delight Must win his title in the heady fight; I 22 That not one joy worth having, dear and deep, Conaes to a nation in its calmest sleep. If, then, this maxim rules creation's plan That what is hard is horrible to man — That what is difficult is dreadful — then Thrice happy worms, and thrice unhappy man ! Then every mocker who has made mankind His sport and shame, was wide-awake — we blind! Then we begin to see the dreadful drift Of laughing Rabelais and of sneering Swift ; Then we begin to see that all our tribe Deserved at least the Gulliverian jibe — The muddy mockery at earth's children cast, Dwarfs, monsters, beasts — pedantic fools at last ; The drivelling sots whom accident has made To eat and drink and sleep — perhaps to trade ; Then all our work so boasted of but seems Far less substantial than our lightest dreams ; They only wise who sought in cloistral night Surcease of struggling in a fatuous fight! Not by such fears, my land! thy fortunes rose. Ko dulcet dreamings waited on thy throes ! Thy men, wlio dared the battle, dared to think. Nor deigned' from any ripe result to shrink. When Naseby saw a tyrant's legions fly When Whitehall saw that tyrant justly die — When our great Milton, in defence of right, Gave up, with no regretful sighs, his sight — Ah ! who such offering can well despise ? The world so fair to his poetic eyes — When, Cromwell, emulous of truth alone. Scoffed at man's law, and took from God a throne 23 When that frail ship, with such a freight, came o'er The ungentle sea to this ungentle shore; When, famine stalking o'er the blighted field. They lived to die, but did not live to yield; When came those later days of struggle stout — Days that our fathers' history rounded out Throuf^h all these annals, (and what race can tell Of so much done, and so much done so well ?) We read with blinded and unworthy sight Who find not there that God will guide the right. War has its chances — and a bad chance must Sometimes lead feeble men to felse distrust. One battle lost, the craven may despair : The knightly soul reads victory's portents there. A righteous cause its champions never yields; It keeps its laurels though it lose its fields ; And though its men-at-arms five times may fly, Eternal justice was not born to die. Truth is a sun, and though the envious cloud May for a day its radiance enshroud, He's but a doting doubter who'd declare Only the cloud, and not the sun is there! We need this faith in error's final doom — .Need it alike in boisterous glee or gloom — Need it when victory purples all the press. And need it still when different tales depress ; Need it alike in failure and success. I've seen a man — and so, may be, have you — Smitten with grief and choking with ado. Who, having read of danger over nigh. Gave up the contest and began to cry. But yesterday to Heaven exultant tost. 24 He croaks to-day that all 's forever lost ; With piteous whine declares our well-tried braves Are simply cowards, and our statesmen knaves ; Admits, poor man, with self-denying groan, Our foe's the glory, and the shame our own; And, really, speaking as the country's friend, Thinks we should yield, and so the contest end! — Mourns that such quantities of blood should flow — And, if they will not stay — why, let them go! He'll something save — this strangely prudent man! His fortune first, the country, if we can ! No matter what with coming peace befall — The war 's well over when its o'er at all ! Ground arms at once! we may be happy yet With Slavery tempered by enormous debt. Accept these chattels as unpleasant facts! Coerce these rebels by our generous acts ! While they, admitted possible the slave, May give us back a part of what we gave, And all the nation lapse to primal bliss. Or something better than a war like this. O gentle logic ! O pathetic wail ! O sweet co'nfusion of the head and tail I O pleasing faith in what has failed before ! O velvet compromise, proposed once more ! He boasts no prophet skill, nor ponderous brain. Who sees and shows that you would fail again — Perhaps no prescience wond'rously wide-eyed To see and show you'll not again be tried. War has its vices, but it is not one That wars, for causes certain, backward run. 25 Freedom has follies, but 'twere hard if she Gave up her freedom that she miglit be free; Nor would it seem the wisest course to break All rules of right for justice's sweet sake — Although our weeping friends, in times like these, Aye stand prepared to show that chalk is cheese ; Which I, for one, admit not, though I go To axe or halter for not thinking so. Then trust we yet the faith our fathers gave, Though courts may sneer and cal^inets may rave. Trust we, while crafty interest once more tries The drear diplomacy of lackered lies, And seeks to waken in this hour of woe Quarrels men thought allayed so long ago. I blame not England ! I too long have known She held no other interest than her own ; I knew her custom was to proudly speak Sweet words sometimes; but kindness to the weak I never found, howe'er her love might roam, Preferred by her to what begins at home. I knew, although her orators might bawl Fierce tirades 'gainst the South in Exeter Hall, That Exeter Hall, perplexed by Hobson's choice. Is sometimes deaf and sometimes loses voice. I knew, whatever brilliant alms they give, The men of Manchester must spin to live ; I knew how seldom traders, east or west, Stand fast by truth when profit is the test ; I knew 't were hard to find one constant friend 'Twixt Dukes who borrow — Democrats who lend; I knew that gold wonld make our Bashan dumb, And, knowing this, expected what has come ! i i' Ji! •26 And say but here, in non-committal verse, It might be better, and it might be worse. The hand that smote the shivering Indies down To add new jewels to a burthened crown ; The iron hand that all the world has felt, From barbarous black man to enlightened Celt ; Still used to crush the unresisting kern, Has found a velvet touch the last to learn. And yet as softened manners might not show A softer heart their complaisance below. We '11 take our English cousin as we find The wond'rous man — half gentleman, half liindl As now the gold, and now the brass we see. Confess our wonder such a beast can be ; And, laughing, own, good-naturedly, at last Our comprehension thoroughly surpassed ; Own that our morals get unusual shocks When morals mix with fiuctuating stocks; Own that, when well observed, at last we lind A specie balance awful to the mind ; Own that ten million yards of cotton cloth Cut down to five, should make the spinner wroth ; So, shaking hands and giving up our rounds. We count' our dollars — and John counts his pounds; Thrice happy both — if truce like that were o'er — Or pounds or dollars made one virtue more. I think 'twere manlier if our nerves were less Inclined to this gratuitous distress, — Self-poised, in spite of steamboats and of mails. Of foreign praises, or of foreign wails. He is a character but dwarfed and dim Who says too much of what men say of him. 27 The elder Roman bore himself the same, His shoulder high, whatever tidings came : Still high in latter days their port was borne, Though Vandals plucked Patrician beards in scorn. And thus, my country ! dignified through all, Whatever wreck, whatever ruin fall. Keep thou thy center, though thou may'st not move- Like great men troubled, such as gods approve. trust, my shaken land ! in all to find Thy peace in virtue and the solid mind ; Unmoved by desperate fortune, and untost By factious strife, though battles may be lost. He who can brave the worst, is strong to meet The leaden leaders of some London sheet — The purchased wrath of hack and garreteer. Who works at once on ignorance and beer — The long drawn libels, sharp and superfine. Writ for a dinner, paid for by the line. 1 read them calmly, and I franklv own England has men of better stuff' and tone. One honest voice, like thine, O honest Bright ! Is worth far more for reason and for right Than all tliis doubtful truck-work that reveals «A coward placeman trembling for his seals. Who fears appeal, when all this slime is cast. From England present unto England past ? When, both our fortunes blended into one, Our common histories in one current run ? True sous of England, we'll forget this hour. When figures false to facts alone have power. For days to man of higher hope and health — Of Magna Charta and the Commonwealth ! 28 Turn back our tlieme ! I know not, as I write, The future, hidden well from human sight. I only know that, by eternal laws, There is no failure for a righteous cause ! And knowing this, by reason's eye is seen A state self-centered — vital, yet serene. A state that gives to all an equal share Of all her blessings, and her common care ; From whose broad l>osom, with an equal flow. Draw sustenance alike the high and low ; Whose gentle hand to all alike imparts Whate'er she gains of learning and of arts ; Who, leaving all to learn or all to teach, Eespects opinion and a liberal speech ; And, free from every taint of courts or kings, Disdains to call her happy children things ! And though with enterprise of sharpest ken She buy and sell, will buy and sell not men. On those wide plains, now lone beneath the skies, Her tribes extend, and new-born cities rise ; Our Saxon speech is heard from shore to shore; Our Saxon homes with happiness run o'er; Our simple laws, calm, temperate and plain. Invite once more the migratory train, From want and hard oppression o'er the sea. To rest them in this Canaan of the free ! Is this a dream ? Ye generous minds, that here Have something learned of human hope and fear ! Have something of a nobler nature caught, From all that high philosophy has taught, Sav, while the lisht of vouth is restins- now 29 In morning freshness on each unbent brow ; Say, while this ghxdsome summer time imparts Its ripening beauties to unhackneyed hearts, Is this a dream ? Your answer, loud and clear, In sounding action breaks upon mine ear ; And each replies: "This head, this heart, this hand- ■ Take all I have, mv suftering, strusiilino- laiul ! But leave me still the right untouched to claim • Myself a part of thine unsullied fame ! • leave me, spite of all this gathering gloom, Heroic life or unpolluted tomb!" TO SCHOLARS. i FRANCIS HART and COMPANY 63 Cortlandt Street, New- York, Have every facility for the manufacture of BOOKS and PAMPHLETS. They have a large and varied stock of types, use R. Hoe & Company's best presses, pay especial attention to proof-reading, employ none but care- ful workmen, and believe themselves competent to please the most exacting. 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