WELCOME TO THE NATIONS.-O. W. HOLMES.
SUNG AT PHILADELPHIA, JULY 4, 1876.
Bright on the banners of lily and rose,
Lo, the last sun of our century sets!
Wreathe the black cannon that scowled on our foes,
All but her friendships the Nation forgets-
All but her friends and their welcome forgets!
These are around her: But where are her foes?
Lo, while the sun of her century sets,
Peace with her garlands of lily and rose!
Welcome! a shout like the war trumpet's swell
Wakes the wild echoes that slumber around;
Welcome! it quivers from Liberty's bell;
Welcome! the walls of her temple resound.
Ilark! the gray walls of her temple resound;
Fade the far voices o'er hill-side and dell;
Welcome, still whisper the echoes around;
Welcome, still trembles on Liberty's bell.
Thrones of the Continents! Isles of the Sea!
Yours are the garlands of peace we entwine;
Welcome, once more, to the land of the free,
Shadowed alike by the palm and the pine;
Softly they murmur, the palm and the pine,
"Hushed is our strife, in the land of the free;"
Over your children their branches entwine,
Thrones of the Continents! Isles of the Sea!
QQQQQ*
ORMOLU'S TENEMENT HOUSE.-FITZ JAMES O'BRIEN.
A nice little dinner at Ormolu's;
A chosen few, and no ladies there:
Every man is a millionaire,
With ample waistcoat and creaking shoes.
The dinner, of course, is a great success-
Dinners at Ormolu's always are-
From the delicate bisque to the caviare,
And the wild boar's head in its gaudy dress.
But better than all is the rich dessert,
The season of large, well-fed repose,
When calm delight through the system flows,
And the brain deliciously lies inert.
Then the rich man sits in his easy chair,
And dreamily sees his houses and gold
In long processions of wealth unrolled,
Like caravans crossing the fields of air.
Wine and walnuts, walnuts and wine;
Big grapes frosted with purple bloom,
Odors floating all over the room
From ruby claret and leathery Rhine;
Crystal goblets of flint-like grain
Flashing the light through a thousand prisms,
And full of the tawny, unctuous chrisms
That ooze from the oily vines of Spain.
Fleshy clusters of rich bananas,
Citrons drowning in sirops of amber;
And, curling cloudily through the chamber,
Faint blue smoke from the fresh Havanas.
Over the wine the chat goes round—
English consols and Erie stock;
The newest invention, a patent lock,
And how the Paragon Bank's unsound.
Money, money on every tongue;
How to make it and how to lose it,
How to keep it and how to use it—
All the changes are duly rung.
Every guest round that shining board
Only dreams of dollars and cents,
Only dreams of the rise in rents,
Only thinks of his gathering hoard.
And Ormolu at the table sits,
Sipping with gusto that rich Latour;
While a vague thanksgiving that he's not poor Over his gratified senses flits.
And somehow he sees, in a dreamy way,
His tenement houses-he owns a few,
And capital profits they bring him too;
For he knows how to make the tenants pay->
He sees them squalid and black and tall,
With rotten rafters and touch-wood stair,
The scant rooms fetid with stagnant air,
And the plaster membrane that's called a wall. >
And he sees the swarms of life that huddle
In and out and over and through,
Till the buildings look like a human burrow) Moated about with a loathsome puddle.
Crazy, filthy, and insecure,
Hastily builded, and cheap and nasty,
About as strong as fresh-baked pastry,
But almost too good for vagrant poor.
The neighbors say that they must come down;
From top to bottom each chamber rocks,
As the roaring wind of the Equinox
Blusters fiercely over the town.
And sometimes it seems that the neighbors think That if a fire should come that way,
What splendid field it would have to play Through tottering chamber and gaping chink;
And how its serpentine tongue would curl
With fierce, insatiate appetite,
Down the staircase's rotten flight,
And over the roofs in a crimson whirl;
And how the fiery fiend would rifle
Each crackling room of its human treasure-
Drinking blood with a savage pleasure,
And vomiting vapor to blind and stifle !
But what if it did? the tenement houses
Are all insured to their fullest figure-
Appraised and valued at utmost rigor—
And so our friend Ormolu carouses.
Come, just one glass of this Clos Vougeot!
An olive, though, first to give it a savor;
That's a wine of the true grape flavor,
Bottled exactly ten years ago!
See how it shines in amethyst splendor,
Just where the lamp-light strikes it and shivers:
This is the food for our sanguine rivers-
Strong as Milo, as Venus tender!
The wine is praised and the bottle passes,
And Ormolu looks all ripe and glowing;
No black remorse to his heart is flowing
As he gayly drinks from his aërial glasses.
ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!
The fire alarm comes loudly tolling, Over the roofs of the city rolling, And dying away on the island-shore. One, two, three, four!
Engines over the pavements reaping; While lusty tides of the firemen sweeping Down through the channeled avenues pour. One, two, three, four!
The panting foreman's trumpet bellows, "Pull her along and jump her, fellows! All your muscle and something more!"
One, two, three, four!
The shrieking crowds of boys that follow, The cries of the firemen hoarse and hollow, Startle the night with a fitful roar.
One, two, three, four!
The red shirts down to their labor settle;
Every fellow is full of mettle,
Muscle, and courage, and something more.
One, two, three, four!
Ormolu hears the fire-bell toll;
It is his district-but, bless your soul! All is insured, and fires are a bore!
One, two, three, four!
These Burgundy wines make one feel misty,
So here's a bottle of Lagrima Christi,
Fresh from the indolent Naples shore.
The wine is praised, and the bottle passes—
Smoking Vesuvius is its sire-
But Ormolu thinks never of fire,
As he gayly drinks from his aërial glasses.
The tenement buildings are red and flaring,
The narrow street with the crowd is choking,
The opposite houses are hot and smoking,
The windows like blood-shot eyes are glaring.
Golden jets, like fiery fountains,
Over the tall roofs leap and spatter;
Till, struck by the wind, they break and scatter, While ever the smoke piles up like mountains.
Hark to the roar of its hollow laughter,
As it swirls all over each rotten rafter,
Drunk with the heat of its own desire.
See how the jets from the hose-pipes battle
All in vain with the floods so furious;
Hark to those sounds so hollow and curious,
Like mournful lowing of distant cattle.
See how the blinded firemen clamber,
Step by step, up the smoking ladder;
And how the fire grows madder, madder,
As it thrusts them off from that stifling chamber!
See how the crowds that are watching shiver,
As they see in the midst of that tide abhorrent A black shape flash through the golden torrent, Like one that drowns in a fiery river!
See that woman at the window flicker,
Holding a child in her hands and shrieking,
Ah! she's gone, even while we're speaking,
And every heart in the crowd grows sicker.
List to that sound that so hollowly rumbles!
The firemen pause, for they know what's brewing;
Then down with a roar, in a crimson ruin,
Ormolu's tenement building tumbles.
Crushed and mangled with beam and girder,
Five corpses lie in those tenement houses;
And Ormolu with his guests carouses-
Guilty, by Heaven, of all that murder!
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