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Title: To America
Author: James Allan Mackereth [
More Titles by Mackereth]
I.
Thou of the starry wing, that canst not soar,
Confuséd power, still seeking, still unblest;
For ever clutching to a braggart breast
The hope portentous and the worldling's lore.
Furiously futile, with a raucous roar
Thy dizzy moments mock th' eternal quest;
To feverish ends, by factions fierce distrest,
Toiling, a sanguine Titan evermore,--
America!--Ah, burthen of the mind!--
Cradled in truth, and 'mid distractions born
To pure emprise on that despotic morn
When freedom yearned along the westering wind,
And tyranny, that hound among the blind,
Bayed toward the deep where faith went forth--forlorn.
II.
Thou who didst dare th' unknown, precarious sea,
And down the unbounded winds adventurous roam,
Searching the world's horizons for a home,
A haven for the heart of liberty:--
Boaster of freedom, found no longer free,
What vaporous phantom from time's ocean-foam
Blurs the translucence of th' eternal dome
Where sang the burning stars that beckoned thee?
Thy heart hath caught the siren's doom-sweet cries,
And sips oblivion at fond Circe's nod.
Oh! for a seer whose soul is lightning-shod,
To stand imperial 'gainst th' impervious skies,
As Lincoln stood, with brave heaven-gazing eyes,
To appeal from guile's impermanence to God!
[The end]
James Allan Mackereth's poem: To America
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