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Or sultry Hindostan!
With peaceful flag unfurled,
Of commerce round the world!
Speed on the ship !—But let her bear
No merchandise of sin,
Her roomy hold within.
Nor poison-draught for ours; But honest fruits of toiling hands
And Nature's sun and showers.
Be hers the Prairie's golden grain,
The Desert's golden sand, The clustered fruits of sunny Spain,
The spice of Morning-land!
May blessings follow free,
Her white sails from the sea I
Ho! workers of the old time styled
The Gentle Craft of Leather ! ^ Young brothers of the ancient guild,
Stand forth once more together 1
In the olden merry manner I
Fling out your blazoned banner I
Rap, rap! upon the well-worn stone
Rap, rap! the measured sound has grown
A quick and merry clamor.
The glossy vamp around it,
Whose gentle fingers bound it I
For you, along the Spanish main
A hundred keels are ploughing;
His lasso-coil is throwing;
The woodman's fire is lighting;
The woodman's axe is smiting.
For you, from Carolina's pine
The rosin-gum is stealing;
Her silken skein is reeling;
His rugged Alpine ledges;
Bloom England's thorny hedges.
The foremost still, by day or night,
On moated mound or heather, Where'er the need of trampled right
Brought toiling men together;
Defied the mail-clad master,
No craftsmen rallied faster.
Let foplings sneer, let fools deride—
Ye heed no idle scorner; Free hands and hearts are still youi pride.
And duty done, your honor. Ye dare to trust, for honest fame,
I HE SHOEMAKERS
The jury Time empanels,
Thy so*ngs, Han Sachs, are living yet,
In strong and hearty German; And Bloomfield's lay, and Gifford's wit,
And patriot fame of Sherman; Still from his book, a mystic seer,
The soul of Behmen teaches, And England's priestcraft shakes to hear
Of Fox's leathern breeches.
The foot is yours; where'er it falls,
It treads your well-wrought leather,
On carpet, or on heather.
Of matron grace or vestal's,
Among the old celestials!
Rap! rap !—your stout and bluff brogan,
With footsteps slow and weary,
Shuts down upon the prairie.
By Saratoga's fountains,
Beneath the Crystal Mountains!
The red brick to the mason's hand,
The brown earth to the tiller's, The shoe in yours shall wealth command,
Like fairy Cinderella's 1 As they who shunned the household maid
Beheld the crown upon her, So all shall see your toil repaid
With hearth and home and honor.
Then let the toast be freely quaffed,
In water cool and brimming— "All honor to the good old Craft,
Its merry men and women!" Call out again your long array,
In the old time's pleasant manner; Once more, on gay St Crispin's day,
Fling out his blazoned banner 1
Through heat and cold, and shower and son,
Still onward cheerly driving! There's life alone in duty done,
And rest alone in striving. But see! the day is closing cool,
The woods are dim before us; The white fog of the way-side pool
Is creeping slowly o'er us.
The night is falling, comrades mine,
Our foot-sore beasts are weary,
Looks out upon us cheery.
His beechen fire is glowing;
Are filled to overflowing.
From many a valley frowned across
By brows of rugged mountains;
Gush out the river fountains;
And bright with blooming clover;
No richer hovers over;
THE DROVERS. l\
Day after day our way has been,
O'er many a hill and hollow;
Our stately drove we follow.
As smoke of battle o'er us,
Like plumes and crests before us.
We see them slowly climb the hill,
As slow behind it sinking;
Or sunny lakelet, drinking.
In thick and struggling masses,
Or rattling coach that passes.
Anon, with toss of horn and tail,
And paw of hoof, and bellow,
O'er meadow-close or fallow.
Wife, children, house-dog, sally,
The baffled truants rally.
We drive no starvelings, scraggy grown,
Loose-legged, and ribbed and bony, Like those who grind their noses down
On pastures bare and stony— Lank oxen, rough as Indian dogs,
And cows too lean for shadows, Disputing feebly with the frogs
The crop of saw-grass meadows!
In our good drove, so sleek and fair,
No bones of leanness rattle;
Qr Pharaoh's evil cattle.