TO AMERICA.

I.

COLUMBIA, child of Britain,-noblest child!
I praise the growing lustre of thy worth,
And fain would see thy great heart reconciled
To love the mother of so blest a birth :
For we are one, Columbia! still the same
In lineage, language, laws, and ancient fame,
The natural nobility of earth:

Yes, we are one; the glorious days of yore
When dear old England earn'd her storied name,
Are thine as well as ours for evermore;

And thou hast rights in Milton, ev'n as we,

Thou too canst claim "sweet Shakspeare's wood-notes wild,"

And chiefest, brother, we are both made free Of one Religion, pure and undefiled!

II.

I blame thee not, as other some have blamed,—
The highborn heir had grown to man's estate;
I mock thee not as some who should be shamed,
Nor ferret out thy faults with envious hate;
Far otherwise, by generous love inflamed,
Patriot I praise my country's foreign Son,
Rejoicing in the blaze of good and great

That diadems thy head !—go on, go on,

TO AMERICA.

Young Hercules, thus travelling in might,
Boy-Plato, filling all the West with light,

Thou new Themistocles for enterprise
Go on and prosper, Acolyte of Fate!

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And, precious child, dear Ephraim, turn those eyes,For thee thy Mother's yearning heart doth wait.

III.

Let aged Britain claim the classic Past,

A shining track of bright and mighty deeds, For thee I prophecy the Future vast

Whereof the Present sows its giant seeds:
Corruption and decay come thick and fast

O'er poor old England; yet a few dark years,
And we must die as nations died of yore!
But, in the millions of thy teeming shore—

Thy patriots, sages, warriors, saints, and seers-
We live again, Columbia! yea, once more
Unto a thousand generations live,

The mother in the child; to all the West Through Thee shall We earth's choicest blessings give, Ev'n as our Orient world in Us is blest.

IV.

Thou noble scion of an ancient root,

Born of the forest-king! spread forth, spread forth,—

High to the stars thy tender leaflets shoot,

Deep dig thy fibres round the ribs of earth:
From sea to sea, from South to icy North,

It must ere long be thine, through good or ill,

To stretch thy sinewy boughs: Go,-wondrous child!
The glories of thy destiny fulfil ;—
Remember then thy mother in her age,
Shelter her in the tempest, warring wild,

Stand thou with us when all the nations rage
So furiously together!—we are one :

And, through all time, the calm historic page Shall tell of Britain blest in thee her son!

TO BROTHER JONATHAN.

(IN 1850.)

Ho! Brother, I'm a Britisher,

A chip of heart of oak,

That wouldn't warp or swerve or stir
From what I thought or spoke,—
And you-a blunt and honest man,
Straightforward, kind, and true,

I tell you, Brother Jonathan,
That you're a Briton too.

I know your heart, an open heart,
I read your mind and will,
A greyhound ever on the start

To run for honour still;

And shrewd to scheme a likely plan,

And stout to see it done,

I tell you, Brother Jonathan,

That you and I are one.

TO BROTHER JONATHAN.

There may be jealousies and strife,
For men have selfish ends,
But petty quarrels ginger life,
And help to season friends;
And pundits who, with solemn scan,
Judge humans most aright,

Decide it, testy Jonathan,

That brothers always fight.

Two fledgling sparrows in one nest
Will chirp about a worm,
Then how should eaglets meekly rest,

The children of the storm!

No! while their rustled pinions fan
The eyrie's dizzy side,

"GOD save the Queen" delights you still,

And "British Grenadiers,"

The good old strains your heartstrings thrill,
And catch you by both ears;

And we,-Oh hate us if you can,
For we are proud of

you,

We like you, Brother Jonathan,

And "Yankee Doodle" too!

There's nothing foreign in your face,

Nor strange upon your tongue, You come not of another race

From baser lineage sprung;

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No, brother! though away you ran,
As truant boys will do,

Still true it is, young Jonathan,
My fathers father'd you.

Time was,-it wasn't long ago,

Your grandsire went with mine To battle traitors, blow for blow, For England's royal line;

Or tripp'd to court to kiss Queen Anne, Or worship mighty Bess,

And you and I, good Jonathan,

Went with them then, I guess.

Together both-'twas long ago-
Among the Roses fought;
Or charging fierce the Paynim foe
Did all knight-errants ought:
As Cavalier or Puritan

Together pray'd or swore,-
For John's own Brother Jonathan,

Was only John of yore!

There lived a man, a man of men,
A King on fancy's throne,
We ne'er shall see his like again,

The globe is all his own;
And, if we claim him of our clan,
He half belongs to you,

For Shakspeare, happy Jonathan,
Is your's and Britain's too!