| |
| MANHATTAN BAY in glory lay | |
| When Verrazano entered; | |
| His heart was cold, on thoughts of gold | |
| And ivory concentred: | |
| “Now go about and sail we out!— | 5 |
| Although this scene entrances; | |
| For we Italians seek rich mines | |
| To satisfy King Francis.” | |
| |
| The Portugee came in from sea, | |
| Sir Estevan de Gomez; | 10 |
| “I smell,” said he, “no spicery | |
| Nor gum, such as at home is; | |
| King Charles of Spain, he would raise Cain | |
| And cuss-words use terrific, | |
| If we clove not this granite main | 15 |
| To cloves of the Pacific.” | |
| |
| The Half-Moon next our harbor vexed— | |
| The Dutchman made appearance— | |
| The Northwest Passage was his text, | |
| And Albany his clearance; | 20 |
| The Indian damsels pleased his ways,— | |
| He was a gay deceiver,— | |
| And nothing met his sordid praise | |
| But buffalo and beaver. | |
| |
| Next came Lord Howe, guns at his prow, | 25 |
| His nose and clothes vermilion, | |
| With Hessian bayonets, to plough | |
| The hills around new Ilion; | |
| Seven years the fleet stayed here to eat,— | |
| King George he paid the ration,— | 30 |
| Till French and Yankees down the street | |
| Saw an evacuation. | |
| |
| The artisan American | |
| Came now—a buoyant schemer— | |
| With fleets of fire-winged birds to span | 35 |
| The shores with many a steamer. | |
| At Fulton’s wand our sparkling pond | |
| Leaped into life and duty, | |
| But nothing came to correspond | |
| Unto the sense of Beauty. | 40 |
| |
| The gold we made, the South-Sea trade, | |
| The peltries and the spices, | |
| And mechanisms, like crystal prisms, | |
| Refracted our devices. | |
| Yet in the heart the spell of Art | 45 |
| Slept, like the winter throstle, | |
| Or Faith, in old Diana’s mart, | |
| Awaiting an apostle. | |
| |
| The son of France his kindling glance | |
| Threw o’er this radiant Edom, | 50 |
| And like a Bayard of romance | |
| Knelt to the strength of Freedom; | |
| He saw arise athwart our skies | |
| A Goddess ever living, | |
| Illumination in her eyes, | 55 |
| And flame to darkness giving. | |
| |
| Lift high thy torch and forward march, | |
| O dame of Revolution!— | |
| All heaven thy triumphal arch, | |
| All progress the solution; | 60 |
| And from the earth and all its dross | |
| May man behold the story— | |
| Friendship is pious as the cross, | |
| And only Art is glory! | |
| |
