USA > New Hampshire > Grafton County > Lebanon > July fourth, 1761: an historical discourse in commemoration of the one hundredth anniversary of the charter of Lebanon, N.H., delivered July fourth, 1861 > Part 4
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REV. C. H. FAY :
DEAR SIR : In behalf of the Committee of the Town, I hereby request you to furnish for publication a copy of your admirable Poem, delivered on the Fourth of July last, the occasion being the "Centennial Celebration of the Charter of Lebanon, N. H."
Yours truly, G. W. BAILEY, Corres. Secretary. LEBANON, February, 1862.
REV. G. W. BAILEY :
DEAR SIR : I feel highly complimented by the request which the Com- mittee of my native town have made through yon, their Corresponding See- retary. Although my estimate of the production they solieit for publication, may fall far below that which they are pleased to entertain, I cannot refuse to comply with their kind request.
Yours most truly, C. H. FAY.
PROVIDENCE, R. I., February 7, 1862.
POEM.
WE come, thy children come, dear Mother Land ! Thy call we heard afar. By eastern strand, Where ocean billows roll their anthem bold, - 'Mid northern hills, which lift their summits old Above the vales where hamlets nestle warm, Though cold around them breaks the awful storm, - On prairies wide, where towns like mushrooms grow, As westward waves of population flow, - By southern streams, which onward ever sweep, Through green savannas, broadening towards the deep, - In cities vast, our country's pride and boast, Like jewels strung along her winding coast ; In rising towns, remote from thronging mart, Where springs the life-blood of the nation's heart, - We heard thy voice, and now in gladness come, To share thy welcome at our childhood's home ! But dost thou know us all ? and wilt thou own ? Thy " boys " have up to stalwart manhood grown, - Exchanged their noisy sports and careless ways, For sober work in life's meridian blaze. Thy " girls," which left thee when both young and shy, Their fortunes in the world's strange mart to try, Are women now, and mothers, too, I ween, With troops of children, strangers on thy " green." And as these winds around our brows shall play, They'll lift to view some locks of silver grey, - Badges of age, perchance of wisdom great, Gracefully worn by fathers of the State. Yes, we have changed since, joyous, hale, and fleet,
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POEM.
These fields we roamed on childhood's bounding feet : Long years, eventful years, since then have flown, Which, seeds of care, with lavish hands have sown. Thou, too, hast changed, O mother of us all ! Impartial time spares neither great nor small ; It furrows makes on nature's rugged brow, And, pressed with age, e'en rock-braced mountain's bow. But slight the change that o'er thy form has passed : The same firm hills still breast the northern blast ; Though, to our view, their brows seem tempest-worn, And here and there their forest-robe is torn ; And on their slopes, once mantled thick with trees, Broad fields of grain are nodding to the breeze. We miss the solemn pines that whilom stood, In stately pride, the monarchs of the wood, Wearing their plume-like crests, forever green, The crowning grace of all the wild-wood scene. O, that one relic of the mighty race Were left, to show our children, from its place, How stood, in stature grand, in strength sublime, The forest Anaks of the olden time ! Slight change within these quiet vales we see,
Made verdant still by tireless Mascomy, And vocal, too, for, as it flows along, Its waves keep step to their own joyous song. The grand old elms, 'round which in youth we played, Still throw, for other sports, their welcome shade, - Still lift their heads above the busy town, And on its thrift with conscious pride look down. But in thy homes on hill-side and on plain, And in thy streets, where, like descending rain, The foot-falls pattered from the dawn of day, 'Till deep'ning shadows quenched the fading ray ; Sad proofs we see of changes manifold, Among the forms that walked these ways of old. The fathers, mothers, where, O, where are they ? Their furrowed brows meet not our gaze to-day. Ah, there, within the churchyard's realm of rest,
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POEM.
Their bones repose, their spirits with the blest ! Finished their course, their noble life-work done, They bowed in death, and passed triumphant on, Leaving exempt, for aye, from moth and rust, The stainless, rich memorial of the just.
Swayed by the hour, our minds far backward run, Backward to SEVENTEEN HUNDRED SIXTY-ONE, ---- A century from to-day! Now look upon The chartered " tract " just christened LEBANON ! From hill-top high to depth of lowest dale, The lonesome winds through olden forests wail ; - We see no opening in the solemn shade, Save here and there by fierce tornado made ; Or where the streams from shadows leaping bright, Their breasts expand to catch the gladsome light. The cunning fox, and wolf, and wildeat grey, All undisturbed pursue their panting prey ; The cautious crow no powder ever smelt, Nor fiercer hawk the fear of huntsman felt ; And eagle bold, on eraggy height enthroned, His sway enjoys, by feathered subjects owned. Ah, who will dare upon his realm intrude ? Who break the spell of this deep solitude ? Lo, our reply ! Yon ranks of yeomen bold, With sinews toughened both by heat and eold, By rain, by sunshine, and by hardest toil, To plant their homes upon this virgin soil, And rear their church, - religion's sacred shrine, - Are marching northward, nerved by faith divine. There's Dana, Downer, Davidson, and Wood, Storrs, Porter, Hebbard, Wheatley, true and good, Hill, Kilbourne. Hartshorn, Meacham, Huntington, Waterman, Blodgett, heroes every one ; Jones, Dewey, Turner. Tilden, Fuller. Hyde. Estabrooks. Cooke, and Aspenwall beside.
Eldridge. Lathrop, Hough. Potter. Hutchinson. And Bliss, Peck, Alden, Griswold, Sprague, and Young :
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POEM.
Chase, Martin, Barrows, Woodward, Allen, Hall, Clapp, Bosworth, Billings, Ticknor, Freeman, all, With Colburn, Swetland, Parkhurst, Kendrick, Fay, Wells, Liscomb, Durkee, Payne, at later day Their stout hands gave to clear the forest wild, And patient wrought till fields in beauty smiled : And other names there were, which, had I time, I'd gladly weave in my unpolished rhyme.
Now rings the axe from depths of wildest gloom, Now crash the trees descending to their doom ; Loud crackles next the all-consuming fire, While smoke-wreathes rise with aspect dark and dire, Befitting pall, as spreading o'er the skies, For forests wild departing from our eyes ! And now behold the " log-house," rude and low, And fields of grain, which round it rankly grow : What simple life beneath that humble roof, Of what hard toil the " clearing " wide gives proof. Thus in the wavy woods, from east to west, Cleared spaces bloom like "islands of the blest ;" Grouping in beauty round that central spot, Revered by age, and ne'er by youth forgot, Where stands the sacred church, and school-house plain, The cherished germs of all our social gain. Small profits from their arduous labors grew, But few the wants their frugal habits knew. Silks, satins, laces, ribbons, such as now Rustle on hoops, and flutter round the brow Of maidens fair, in all the winds that play, Were quite unknown in that primeval day. In homespun suits young men went forth to " woo," And sweet times had with maids, in homespun too : - Sweet times, though by the fire-place wide and high, - The tongs and shovel standing staidly by, - They sat on chairs flag-bottomed, heavy, rough, Or " settle " hard, crammed full of household stuff ! No chaise then rocked aristocratic pride, Nor buggy light gave pampered wealth a ride :
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POEM.
The farm-horse served for draft and carriage both, And seldom he at duty's call was loath ; Saddled and pillioned, he the ground would clear, With man and wife, or swain and sweetheart dear. What though so rude the ways and customs then ? They gave the world some ornamental men ; And women, too, were moulded by their might, In whose pure fame their children now delight.
Now later times, our childhood's far-off days, With all their pleasant scenes and social ways, Are brought to view by mem'ry's magie power, And notice elaim at this high festal hour ! Behold the farm-house, of content the seat, Beneath whose roof, in union close and sweet, Plainness and plenty side by side could live, And toil to health its richest bloom could give! Thy sway, capricious Fashion, was unknown ; Then bowed no slaves before thy gilded throne : Luxury then could not her sway advance, Nor thou, insidious foe, Extravagance. No idler droned within the busy hive, No sharper purposed by his wits to thrive, For sun-browned labor then with honor erowned. Held, all in " fee," the thrifty acres round. At home, where woman held her useful sway. No petted daughter languished life away, Or thrummed piano while her mother toiled. Or novels read, till she for service spoiled, Was only fit to lounge and flirt the fan, Companion meet for some exquisite man ! Then Lowell's looms were but ideal things. And Cotton was not of the race of kings : For maiden sinews did the work of steam, The shuttle threw, and drove the heavy beam, Made hum with speed the ancient spinning-wheel, And, partner of its toil, the rapid reel. O, how could cotton gain tyrannie rule,
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POEM.
While woman wrought in home's industrial school ! Before her glance have bolder tyrants cowed : E'en lords domestic to her tongue have bowed : What chance, then, 'gainst her supple, skilful hand, The base pretender of our southern land ! O, woman true, again assert thy power, And light shall break upon this darksome hour !
Then locomotive, sereaming forth its ire, As if possessed of fierce fire-demon's dire, Dragging its lengthy train on desp'rate trips, Like the dread dragon of Apocylypse, Had never filled these beasts and birds with fright, Or echoes waked on every mountain height; The stages then came rolling into town, And from their tops the "mails" were tumbled down. What favored men stage-drivers were, in view Of boys, who longed to be stage-drivers too!
Each season brought its proper work and care ; Each season had of pastime meet a share. When blooming spring led on her flowery train, We ploughed the field, and sowed the fruitful grain ; And when the " stent " was done, the easy " stent," With powder, shot, and gun, we hunting went, And roamed the woods in search of tempting game, That we might win successful hunters' fame : How proud, when homeward we in triumph bore A crow, or fox, and told adventures o'er! What strains rang forth from leafy wood and grove, As spring's wild warblers sang their guileless love! Then rollicked wild the free and happy lambs, In pastures green, o'erwatched by careful dams ; And merry calves in barn-yard's narrow space, Fought mimic fights, and ran the reckless race, While weary cows, the day's hard grazing done, Sedately chewed their cuds and watched the fun !
POEM. 57
Next, summer came, the " haying season " hot, Whose arduous tasks will never be forgot. O scythe, and rake, and pitchfork sharp and strong, What memories now around you closely throng, Of strifes with neighbors in adjoining field, And feats herculean, when, -the muscles steelcd By blackstrap- men, themselves no longer then, Went wild with strength, and boys felt strong as men ! What music, as the mower's scythe went through The grass so tender in the morning dew, And bobolink and lark flung clear and free, Their matin notes of liveliest melody !
Two holidays resplendent summer had : - The FOURTH, when tories deemed the land was mad. What cannon-peals awoke its morning bright ! What echoes broke and thundered into night ! What speech, when patriotismn found a vent, Through lips of orator grandiloquent ! We do this business now in other ways, With crackers sharp, and fireworks' wondrous blaze, - But does the land with loftier ardor glow, Than in those simpler days long time ago? And last, like angel visit, came serene, "Commencement Day," on Dartmouth's classic green. Ah me! what awe those learned men inspired, In neckcloth white and broadcloth black attired, While slow, through rustic crowds, they moved in state, The critics grave of anxious graduate ! What wonder filled our minds when standing mute Among the carts of Yankee Pedler's cute, While they their gaping victims sought to nab, Through dire confusion wrought by ceaseless gab !
When Autumn followed in the gorgeous train, We gathered in the promised harvest gain, Our hearts o'erflowing with unceasing praise, To Him who gave its blandly tempered days.
8
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POEM.
- Those cool autumnal days, with mornings bright, And sunsets glorious fading into night ; - Those peaceful nights, kind nature's choicest boon, So bright with stars, and graced by harvest-moon ! With hues all fadeless o'er us now they rise, As erst they rose on our delighted eyes.
'T was then - the day's work done - with line and hook, And expectation great, we sought the brook, Where dwelt the wary dace and spotted trout, With high artistic skill to pull them out. How oft, alas, our only earnest bites, Musquitoes gave of furious appetites ! Not e'en a shiner dangled from the pole,
And died to keep the fisher's credit whole.
Those " Huskings" in the long cool evenings bright, And after-sports, far-reaching into night- And " Apple-Bees," that ended off with plays, Too rude, they think, in these more prudish days, Ah, clear are all in memory's pictured past, And glow in colors which through life will last.
Nor shall we e'er forget that time so grand When martial strains went pealing through the land, - Great Muster Day! O ne'er shall pass from mind The Bugler fat, of most mysterious wind, - The nervous Drummer, drumming as if Mars Had charged him with the noise of all his wars, - The Fifer, pouring out his breath in streams, And which, like steam let-off, expired in screams ; - The Soldier, marching at the loud command, - The Captain bold, with flashing sword in hand, - The Colonel fine, on restive charger set, - The General grand, with gleaming epaulette, - And strange " sham-fight " which rounded off the day, That we might " homeward plod our weary way."
Next, - greatest day of all, - Thanksgiving came ! O, weeks before we fancied time was lame, Or hard opposed by fate and furies strong,
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POEM.
So slowly moved his lagging steps along. At length Aurora saunt'ring up the east, Announced the great day of the yearly Feast ! What joy, as brothers, sisters, parted wide From parents dear, and home's loved altar-side, Together met their youth to live again, And brighten love's enduring, golden chain ! What rapture felt impatient boys that day, As turkey brown on ample platter lay, And chicken, rich plum-pudding, pie and cake. Their keen vorocious appetites did wake ! But here I pause - my palate tickles so, By visions fired, - I dare no further go !
- Then followed Winter, blustering, cold, and drear. But not without its hours of pleasant cheer. Those evening pastimes round the glowing hearth, When stormy blasts went howling o'er the earth ; The merry sleigh-rides when the winds were still, And waveless snow wrapt valley, plain, and hill ; Our slides on sleds our own good hands had made, And skating sports upon the ringing glade, - O, these will ne'er by us forgotten be, - Oases they of deathless memory. As winter days returned, so short and cool, - The farm-work done - then op'd the winter-school ; And boys and girls who had their " teens " attained, Were sent to be by sapient " Master " trained ; - The " School- Marm" mild, who'd ruled the smaller fry. Through blander months, had laid her sceptre by.
And now before us stands, distinct, complete, The School-House famous, learning's sober scat ; Like other seats where wisdom taught its lore. Renowned by age, and by decay still more. Its site, though central to the neighbors round. Was not on nature's most commanding ground : Seldom did human hands essay to place
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POEM.
Upon that spot an artificial grace. No skill e'er drew the structure's odd design, Nor was it built to plummet and to line ; No paint e'er stained its loosened clapboards thin, Nor white-wash cheap relieved the walls within ; In lieu thereof the smoke's perpetual play, The ceiling frescoed in its own wild way ; For high within a solemn fire-place stood, For nothing else but furious smoking good. Around this place, arranged in order wise, Rose bench on bench, as Alps on Alps arise : The seats in front were never made to ease The short-legged urchins of the A B C's, But made to earnest give, at life's young day, Of science's heights and learning's rugged way. And now 'mid all conspicuous we can see The place of dreaded, high authority, Crowned with its chair, the seat of sternest rule, Where sat enthroned the monarch of the school, Whose smile berignant filled the room with cheer, As smiling day a cloudless hemisphere ; Whose awful frown from that Olympian height Cast o'er his realm a shadow black as night. Those masters wise ! a wondrous race of men ! O, shall we look upon their like again ! From college some, with tongues so toned to Greek, They half disdained their mother tongue to speak ; And others were with metaphysics crammed, All Stewart, Bacon, Locke, and Brown were jammed Within the compass of their craniums wide, Enough to thrust all rudiments aside ! But most of learning less, or less pretence,
Their school advanced by sterling common sense : Remembered these with lasting, grateful love, And ranked the heroes of the earth above.
What though of yore advantages were few? The text-book dry, and mode of teaching too ; What though brain-labor, earnest, hard was done ?
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POEM.
Were not, through these, bright crowns of triumph won ? We've teachers now more finished, it is said, And modern modes to serve in study's stead ; We've school-rooms built with childhood's ease in view, And fixtures fine, our childhood never knew : Say, will the young, thus favored, e'er attain To higher worth, for pathway made so plain ?
Lo, now the " Meeting House " upon the " green," So firmly built, and placed there to be seen, -- Since thrust aside, with other things of old, By modern taste, or by irrev'rence bold : Its plain white walls rise clearly on our view, As once they rose when life with us was new ; And towering upward, graced with gilded balls, Which glow like fire as summer's sunshine falls ; The " steeple's" outlines grow before our eyes, A thing of earth, but reaching to the skies! In burly strength the ancient structure stood, Expressive of its sturdy builders' mood, Daring both storm and heresy to mock, And crow defiance through its weather-cock ! Within, what marvels our young eyes beheld, - The church arrangements of the days of eld ! Before us, raised sublimely broad and high, (Fit stand, we thought, for message from the sky,) The pulpit stood, and threw its shadow o'er The " deacons' seats," built close its base before ; While just above it, pendant on a cord, Was hung the broad, mysterious sounding-board. How oft we've wondered what its purpose was, And how it served religion's holy cause ! How oft we've trembled for the saints below, Lest rope should snap and let it downward go! The pews, high-backed, were built both snug and square, With seats on hinges to turn up in prayer : What rattle, as this service ended, when The seats fell back and said their loud amen !
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POEM.
Mid-way between the roof and well-worn floor, By pillars propped, above each entrance door, On three sides round, the galleries were built, Whose outer nooks, for boyhood's restless guilt, Afforded safe retreat, since there the eye Of parson grave could not the pranks espy. Sometimes a sound he'd hear and guess the cause, And with a warning word give mischief " pause." No sacrilegeous stove there glowed with heat, Save private ones of tin for aged feet, Though windows loose and doors on every side Let air drive in through chinks and crannies wide ! How could devotion rise in place so cold ? Was preaching warmer in those days of old ?
Those saintly men who broke the Bread of Life, And waged the pious, theologic strife, Were grave of mein and solemn was there speech, Too distant most for childhood's heart to reach ; They seemed to move in pathways all their own, Forever in the shadow of the Throne ! But well they met their days' demands, and now Each shines with Paul, a crown upon his brow.
O, with what brightness beams life's early day ! What charms invest its scenes long passed away ! We thank Thee, Father, in this festive hour, For faithful memory's hallowing power ; And for the bliss delicious, pure, she brings From childhood's clear, and sweet, and sparkling springs ! - But now from these high sources must we turn, For lo, our hearts with patriot ardor burn ; The inspiration of this day's decree, Which gave our Nation Birth and Liberty.
- Why sweep these shadows o'er the andscape fair? Why trembles, as with doom, the heavy air? O, has our Union lived its day of glory,
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POEM.
To henceforth be with empires old of story ? And will its stars, bright gems on Freedom's crown, Be plucked therefrom and then go darkling down ? And must those hopes enkindled by their light, Throughout the world, be quenched in sudden night ? No ; by the vows of early martyrs dead, - No ; by the blood our honored fathers shed, - No ; by their bones and battle-fields renowned, Our guarded relics, and our hallowed ground, - No ; by our past achievements grand and great, By foregleams bright of still more glorious state, - No; by that name immortal, WASHIINGTON, No star shall pale to perish, -no, not one ! Soon rebel hearts shall cease our flag to spurn, And mad Secession's fires to spread and burn ; And hopes of vengeful despots now aglow, Shall quickly out in endless darkness go : For rising up in armed battalions grand, Are loyal men throughout our northern land, Whose solemn vow is registered on high, That now Rebellion impious must die ; And if its death involves foul Slavery's doom, Then both be hurled into one common tomb !
My Native State! the home of heroes' bold, Whose names on scroll historic are enrolled, Thy quick response from all these vales aud hills, To Freedom's call, my heart with rapture fills. Thy faithful sons now marching bravely forth, With marshalled hosts from all the mighty North, Will prove where rolls the conflict fierce and dark, Worthy the fame of Langdon and of Stark.
Dear Native Town! my love flows forth to thee, For all thy proofs of noble loyalty ! Thy warrior sons are not of coward stock, - No braver hearts will breast the battle-shock : For Kendrick skilled, and Benton calm, aye, all, Have sworn to conquer or to bravely fall.
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POEM.
O, that the grave might yield one hero dead, Of valor high, that peerless lustre shed On Mexic's plains, whose form to-day we miss, Thy worthy son, lamented Major Bliss! I pause ; my task, loved mother land, is done ; How mean for one thus honored as thy son! Accept it as the tribute of a heart, Whose thankful love would worthier gift impart.
- Shall e'er again our longing eyes behold These verdant plains and rocky summits old ? This may not be, for shadows flit in view ; - No, - may not be - so here's our sad adieu : Farewell green Vales and upland Pastures wide, - Farewell ye Woods, whose grandeurs yet abide, - Farewell ye " Homes," the nurseries of Men, - Farewell dear Granite Hills, still firm as when By wooing winds first kissed in dalliance free, And round you rolled the new-born Mascomy !
Bright stream of our childhood, farewell, farewell ; -- Still gladden thy shores through meadow and dell ; And long may the sound of thy musical waves, Be requiem meet by our forefathers' graves !
AN
ORATION
Commemoration of the One Hundredth Anniversary IN
OF THE
CHARTER OF LEBANON, N. H. DELIVERED JULY FOURTHI, 1861.
BY PROF. J. W. PATTERSON, OF DARTMOUTH COLLEGE.
LEBANON, January 10, 1862.
PROF. J. W. PATTERSON :
DEAR SIR: In behalf of the citizens of Lebanon I return you their thanks for the eloquent and timely patriotic Oration, delivered July 4, 1861, in com- memoration of the One Hundredth Anniversary of the Charter of Lebanon. and respectfully request a copy for publication.
Truly yours, CHARLES A. DOWNS,
For the Committee of the Town.
ILANOVER, January 11, 1862.
DEAR SIR : I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your note, com- municating to me the wish of the citizens of Lebanon, that a copy of the Oration which it was my privilege to deliver at the centennial celebration, on the 4th of July last, be given to the press.
I will comply with the request, without apology, though, as you are aware, the Oration was prepared hastily, to meet an emergency, and with no expecta- tion of its publication.
Please accept my cordial acknowledgment of the courtesy with which you have expressed to me the thanks of the people of Lebanon, and believe me to be, with sentiments of high regard,
Your obedient servant,
J. W. PATTERSON.
ORATION.
IT is a beautiful custom, handed down to us from the earliest ages, to celebrate those days of the calendar which have been consecrated to a perpetual remem- brance either by great misfortunes or splendid tri- umphs.
Great deeds and imperishable events, as they trans- pire, throw an interest and a glory into the passing hours which time can never efface.
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