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An Ode Pronounced Before the Inhabitants of Boston

AN ODE:

pronounced before the INHABITANTS OF BOSTON,

September the seventeenth, 1830,

at the CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION of the SETTLEMENT OF THE CITY.

BY CHARLES SPRAGUE.

BOSTON: John H. Eastburn ... City Printer.

MDCCCXXX.

CITY OF BOSTON.

In Common Council, September 17, 1830.

_Ordered_, That the Committee of Arrangements for the celebration of this day be, and they are hereby, directed to present the thanks of the City Council to CHARLES SPRAGUE, Esquire, for the elegant, interesting and instructive Poem, this day pronounced by him, and respectfully request a copy thereof for the press.

Sent up for Concurrence, B. T. PICKMAN, _President_.

_In the Board of Aldermen, September 20, 1830._

Read and concurred. H. G. OTIS, _Mayor_.

A true copy--Attest, S. F. M'CLEARY, _City Clerk_.

_Boston, September 17, 1830._

Charles Sprague, Esq.

The Undersigned, the Committee of Arrangements for the Centennial Celebration of the Settlement of Boston, have the honor to enclose you an attested copy of a vote of the City Council, and respectfully ask your compliance with the request contained therein.

Harrison Gray Otis, Benjamin Russell, Winslow Lewis, Benjamin T. Pickman, Thomas Minns, Joseph Eveleth, John W. James, John P. Bigelow, Washington P. Gragg.

ODE.

I.

Not to the Pagan's mount I turn, For inspiration now; Olympus and its gods I spurn-- Pure One, be with me, Thou! Thou, in whose awful name, From suffering and from shame, Our Fathers fled, and braved a pathless sea; Thou, in whose holy fear, They fixed an empire here, And gave it to their Children and to Thee.

II.

And You! ye bright ascended Dead, Who scorned the bigot's yoke, Come, round this place your influence shed; Your spirits I invoke. Come, as ye came of yore, When on an unknown shore, Your daring hands the flag of faith unfurled, To float sublime, Through future time, The beacon-banner of another world.

III.

Behold! they come--those sainted forms, Unshaken through the strife of storms; Heaven's winter cloud hangs coldly down, And earth puts on its rudest frown; But colder, ruder was the hand, That drove them from their own fair land, Their own fair land--refinement's chosen seat, Art's trophied dwelling, learning's green retreat; By valour guarded, and by victory crowned, For all, but gentle charity, renowned. With streaming eye, yet steadfast heart, Even from that land they dared to part, And burst each tender tie; Haunts, where their sunny youth was passed, Homes, where they fondly hoped at last In peaceful age to die; Friends, kindred, comfort, all they spurned-- Their fathers' hallowed graves; And to a world of darkness turned, Beyond a world of waves.


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