368 First of April Ode to America. [APRIL, 



I see thy heroes not such men 



As creep on Europe's dwarfish shore 

 All grenadiers, from six feet ten 



(The lowest size) to seven feet four. 



Mother of eloquence, whose touch 



Shall on thy triumphs set the seal ; 

 Essence of Indian, German, Dutch, 



Of Yankee slang, and Irish yell ! 



Give thee some dozen centuries, 



Down goes the fame of Greece and Rome ; 



While man uplifts his dazzled eyes, 

 Mocked by the soarings of thy plume. 



Thy armies, millions in a corps, 



Earth trembling at their mighty tread, 

 Shall march o'er earth's remotest shore, 



By Yankee Alexanders led. 



Ay, let the world say what it will, 



There's greatness stamped upon thy frame ; 



There's not a hedge-row, hut, or rill, 

 But now puts all the world to shame. 



Thy rocks are of the rockiest flint ; 



Thy hills are all but in the sky ; 

 Thy bog, if Satan's self were in't, 



Not all his fires could keep him dry. 



Wait but some dozen centuries, 



And when old Europe's an old fool, 

 Shall gardens in those desarts rise, 



And every pig shall wear its wool. 



What if the land is mire one half, 



And t'other sand, or salt, or stone, 

 When Europe writes her epitaph, 



Thine is the universal throne. 



Then where the Mississippi rolls 



His muddy tide through mire and fen, 

 Shall poets o'er their midnight coals 



Dip for posterity the pen. 



Then villas not such plaster things 



As glitter on old England's plain, 

 But palaces, for Nature's kings 



Shall tell where Nature's monarchs reign. 



Oh ! glories of the coming ages, 



Halt on your march, and spare your bard ; 



Hail, native land of bards and sages, 

 Like your own bunting banner, starred. 



Where'er on thee my gaze I fix, 



I see th' unknown, the great to come. 

 Though now thy soul were dull as Styx, 



Thy sages all a Hunt or Hume ; 



Yet pass a little thousand years, 



And earth before thy flag shall fall ; 

 And, spite of dead men's scoffs and sneers, 



The Yankee shall lead off the ball ! 



