In my house and garden-plot, Though beloved, I miss her not; But one I seek in foreign places, One face explore in foreign faces. At home a deeper thought may light But if upon the seas I sail, So the gentle poet's name To foreign parts is blown by fame; Seek him in his native town, He is hidden and unknown. BOSTON SICUT PATRIBUS, SIT DEUS NOBIS THE rocky nook with hilltops three The men of yore were stout and poor, And where they went on trade intent Their dauntless ways did all men praise, The world was made for honest trade, To plant and eat be none afraid. The waves that rocked them on the deep To them their secret told; Said the winds that sung the lads to sleep, The honest waves refused to slaves Old Europe groans with palaces, Has lords enough and more; We plant and build by foaming seas For day by day could Boston Bay We grant no dukedoms to the few, On Monday in the mall, For what avail the plough or sail, The noble craftsman we promote, A union then of honest men, Or union never more again. The wild rose and the barberry thorn Fair rose the planted hills behind The good town on the bay, And where the western hills declined The prairie stretched away. What care though rival cities soar Along the stormy coast, Penn's town, New York and Baltimore, They laughed to know the world so wide; For you,' they said, 'no barriers be, For you no sluggard rest; Each street leads downward to the sea, O happy town beside the sea, Whose roads lead everywhere to all; Bad news from George on the English throne; "You are thriving well,' said he; Now by these presents be it known You shall pay us a tax on tea; 'Tis very small, — no load at all,— Honor enough that we send the call.' Not so,' said Boston, 'good my lord. We pay your governors here Abundant for their bed and board, Six thousand pounds a year. (Your Highness knows our homely word) Millions for self-government, But for tribute never a cent.' The cargo came! and who could blame If Indians seized the tea, And, chest by chest, let down the same, Into the laughing sea? For what avail the plough or sail, Or land or life, if freedom fail? The townsmen braved the English king, And honor joined the patriot ring O bounteous seas that never fail! |