Saturday - Page 2

promontory lower down the stream to wave us a last farewell; but we, having already performed these shore rites, with excusable reserve, as befits those who are embarked on unusual enterprises, who behold but speak not, silently glided past the firm lands of Concord, both peopled cape and lonely summer meadow, with steady sweeps. And yet we did unbend so far as to let our guns speak for us, when at length we had swept out of sight, and thus left the woods to ring again with their echoes; and it may be many russet-clad children, lurking in those broad meadows, with the bittern and the woodcock and the rail, though wholly concealed by brakes and hardhack and meadow-sweet, heard our salute that afternoon.

We were soon floating past the first regular battle ground of the Revolution, resting on our oars between the still visible abutments of that "North Bridge," over which in April, 1775, rolled the first faint tide of that war, which ceased not, till, as we read on the stone on our right, it "gave peace to these United States." As a Concord poet has sung:--

"By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world.

"The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps."

Our reflections had already acquired a historical remoteness from the scenes we had left, and we ourselves essayed to sing.

Ah, 't is in vain the peaceful din That wakes the ignoble town, Not thus did braver spirits win A patriot's renown.

There is one field beside this stream, Wherein no foot does fall, But yet it beareth in my dream A richer crop than all.

Let me believe a dream so dear, Some heart beat high that day, Above the petty Province here, And Britain far away;

Some hero of the ancient mould, Some arm of knightly worth, Of strength unbought, and faith unsold, Honored this spot of earth;

Who sought the prize his heart described, And did not ask release, Whose free-born valor was not bribed By prospect of a peace.

The men who stood on yonder height That day are long since gone; Not the same hand directs the fight And monumental stone.

Ye were the Grecian cities then, The Romes of modern birth, Where the New England husbandmen Have shown a Roman worth.

In vain I search a foreign land To find our Bunker Hill, And Lexington and Concord stand By no Laconian rill.

With such thoughts we swept gently by this now peaceful pasture-ground, on waves of Concord, in which was long since drowned the din of war.

But since we sailed Some things have failed, And many a dream Gone down the stream.

Here then an aged shepherd dwelt, Who to his flock his substance dealt, And ruled them with a vigorous