Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PUTNAM, by SARA JANE CLARKE LIPPINCOTT Poet's Biography First Line: Let the haughty smile, the low defame Last Line: Was the soldier's welcome there. Alternate Author Name(s): Greenwood, Grace Subject(s): American Revolution; Putnam, Israel (1718-1790) | ||||||||
LET the haughty smile, the low defame, The heartless worldling mock; I thank my God my fathers came Of the good old Pilgrim stock! I thank my God, through this heart bounds Blood from that hero band; That my sire first opened his young eyes Where Northern plains expand; That my mother's first breath was the air Of Putnam's glorious land! Our own brave Putnam! worthy thou Such rare and knightly praise As warrior bards of a warrior race Wove in their triumph-lays, And sang aloud to their sounding harps, In the old heroic days. When Freedom first her standard reared, Her sword first girded on, -- When her rally first from Concord rang, And pealed from Lexington, -- Thou heard'st with triumph in thine eye, And proud, uplifted brow, And, like the patriot Roman, went To glory from the plough! Thy voice rang like a clarion out On Bunker's trampled height; Thy sword gleamed like a meteor through The thick cloud of the fight; Where cannon boomed, where bayonets clashed, There was thy fiery way, And thy blows came down, a storm of death, On the foe that fearful day. Thy daring ride adown the rocks,-- Have chivalry's bold days A deed of wilder bravery In all their stirring lays? The veteran loves to tell the tale, When night enwraps the earth, And youthful forms all eager crowd Around the household hearth. The listeners, -- how, as with hushed breath They drink in every word, Is the martial spirit through their veins Like a stream of lightning poured! How eye meets eye in a kindred blaze, Like the flash of sword on sword! The Briton, on the hill's high brow, With levelled arms, they see; And thou below, -- thy gray war-steed Dashing on gallantly. A shout springs to their lips, their souls Go leaping down with thee! Like Wolfe, upon the crimsoned turf It was not thine to lie, The cannon's roar in thy dying ear, The strife in thy dying eye; With thy country's banner o'er thy head, Unrolling broad and free, And with thy passing spirit thrilled By shouts of "Victory!" But by the hands of Peace and Love Thy white death-couch was spread; And Hope unfurled her starry wing In glory o'er thy head. In the sweet May-time, when flowers awoke, And earth was very fair, To the bending heaven the soldier's soul Uprose on the breath of prayer, And the shout of "Victory!" -- here unheard -- Was the soldier's welcome there. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DARKENED HOURS by SARA JANE CLARKE LIPPINCOTT DREAMS by SARA JANE CLARKE LIPPINCOTT EMILIE PLATER by SARA JANE CLARKE LIPPINCOTT FANNY FORESTER by SARA JANE CLARKE LIPPINCOTT HERVEY TO NINA - MISS BREMER by SARA JANE CLARKE LIPPINCOTT I WILL NEVER GROW OLD by SARA JANE CLARKE LIPPINCOTT ILLUMINATION FOR VICTORIES IN MEXICO by SARA JANE CLARKE LIPPINCOTT INVOCATION TO MOTHER EARTH by SARA JANE CLARKE LIPPINCOTT LOVE'S EMBLEMS by SARA JANE CLARKE LIPPINCOTT LOVE-LETTER TO A FRIEND by SARA JANE CLARKE LIPPINCOTT |
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