FOOTNOTES: 

[2] The old philosophy held, that “Nature abhors a vacuum”; but modern observation shows that the natural Yankee abhors the air.

* * * * *

THE SWORD OF BOLIVAR.

    With the steadfast stars above us,
      And the molten stars below,
    We sailed through the Southern midnight,
      By the coast of Mexico.

    Alone, on the desolate, dark-ringed,
      Rolling and flashing sea,
    A grim old Venezuelan
      Kept the deck with me,
    And talked to me of his country,
      And the long Spanish war,
    And told how a young Republic
      Forged the sword of Bolivar.

    Of no base mundane metal
      Was the wondrous weapon made,
    And in no earth-born fire
      Was fashioned the sacred blade.

    But that it might shine the symbol
      Of law and light in the land,
    Dropped down as a star from heaven,
      To flame in a hero’s hand.

    And be to the world a portent
      Of eternal might and right,
    They chose for the steel a splinter
      From a fallen aerolite.

    Then a virgin forge they builded
      By the city, and kindled it
    With flame from a shattered palm-tree,
      Which the lightning’s torch had lit,—­

    That no fire of earthly passion
      Might taint the holy sword,
    And no ancient error tarnish
      The falchion of the Lord.

    For Quito and New Granada
      And Venezuela they pour
    From three crucibles the dazzling
      White meteoric ore.

    In three ingots it is moulded,
      And welded into one,
    For an emblem of Colombia,
      Bright daughter of the sun!

    It is drawn on a virgin anvil,
      It is heated and hammered and rolled,
    It is shaped and tempered and burnished,
      And set in a hilt of gold;

    For thus by the fire and the hammer
      Of war a nation is built,
    And ever the sword of its power
      Is swayed by a golden hilt.

    Then with pomp and oratory
      The mustachioed senores brought
    To the house of the Liberator
      The weapon they had wrought;
    And they said, in their stately phrases,
      “O mighty in peace and war! 
    No mortal blade we bring you,
      But a flaming meteor.

    “The sword of the Spaniard is broken,
      And to you in its stead is given,
    To lead and redeem a nation,
      This ray of light from heaven.”

    The gaunt-faced Liberator
      From their hands the symbol took,
    And waved it aloft in the sunlight,
      With a high, heroic look;

    And he called the saints to witness: 
      “May these lips turn into dust,
    And this right hand fail, if ever
      It prove recreant to its trust!