’Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves
  Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers’ graves,
  Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a crime;—­
  Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their
          time? 
  Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make Plymouth rock
          sublime?

  They were men of present valor, stalwart old iconoclasts,
  Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the Past’s;
  But we make their truth our falsehood, thinking that hath made us
          free,
  Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender spirits flee
  The rude grasp of that Impulse which drove them across the sea.

  They have rights who dare maintain them; we are traitors to our
          sires,
  Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom’s new-lit altar-fires;
  Shall we make their creed our jailer?  Shall we, in our haste to
          slay,
  From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away
  To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to-day?

  New occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good uncouth;
  They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth;
  Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be,
  Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter
          sea,
  Nor attempt the Future’s portal with the Past’s blood-rusted key.

December, 1845.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

* * * * *

THE LITTLE CLOUD.[A]

[Footnote A:  Arousing of Anti-Slavery agitation, when it was proposed in Congress to abolish the “Missouri Compromise” and throw open the Territories to slavery if their people should so vote.]

[1853.]

  As when, on Carmel’s sterile steep,
    The ancient prophet bowed the knee,
  And seven times sent his servant forth
    To look toward the distant sea;

  There came at last a little cloud,
    Scarce larger than the human hand,
  Spreading and swelling till it broke
    In showers on all the herbless land;

  And hearts were glad, and shouts went up,
    And praise to Israel’s mighty God,
  As the sear hills grew bright with flowers,
    And verdure clothed the valley sod,—­

  Even so our eyes have waited long;
    But now a little cloud appears,
  Spreading and swelling as it glides
    Onward into the coming years.

  Bright cloud of Liberty! full soon,
    Far stretching from the ocean strand,
  Thy glorious folds shall spread abroad,
    Encircling our beloved land.

  Like the sweet rain on Judah’s hills,
    The glorious boon of love shall fall,
  And our bond millions shall arise,
    As at an angel’s trumpet-call.