| Yonder the Capitol stands; the people perhaps are assembling. | |
| I know the inaugural music by the ground and windows trembling; | |
| I tremble a little myself, as, with a Cadet's desire, | |
| On the field of Palo Alto I first went under fire. | |
| | |
| My carriage waits at the gate; the manes of my span are rippling | 5 |
| Like those of the great wild studs I broke in Ohio, a stripling! | |
| But I never owned a cloak as my coachman's half so good, | |
| When I reined down the streets of St. Louis on my wagon-load of wood. | |
| | |
| I know that this is no dream; my fancy was never so strong | |
| As to dream a great deal higher than just to get along; | 10 |
| And that was enough for an honest dream — as Lincoln used to say | |
| That better than building castles was steady " pegging away. " | |
| The four gold stars on my shoulder, the sword upon my hip, | |
| I have put away with my salesman's pen and my teamster's leather whip, | |
| And perhaps these different keepsakes my children would rather choose | 15 |
| For the symbols of their Father than the Politician's screws. | |
| | |
| Still wise are the politicians, and the fact that is most to be prized | |
| In this world of infinite wisdom is, Nothing must be despised. | |
| But God, whom I thank, has thus far permitted me success | |
| By the soberest endeavor and a simple No or Yes. | 20 |
| | |
| I sat up late last evening with the speech I am to deliver, | |
| Thinking again of barrack-life out on the Columbia river, | |
| When I used to conceive in the pipe-smoke that curled about my tent, | |
| What sort of a strange old chap might be at the head of the government: | |
| | |
| Whether he ever wondered what we poor Captains won, | 25 |
| With our wives and babies camp-bound by the mud or by the sun, | |
| Away from civilization without a play or a school, | |
| Save the music of a fifer or the bray of a teamster's mule: | |
| | |
| Whether he felt our impulse half Mexico to bag, | |
| Or to march upon Vancouver's and lower the English flag, | 30 |
| To summon the Indian traders up to a Drum-head Court, | |
| Or to court the Indian woman who loitered around the fort. | |
| | |
| It seemed a lost, lost youth to me, and somewhat did I reck | |
| The school to Cerro Gordo, the way to Chapultepec, | |
| When, by such devious civil paths, the heights of empire came, | 35 |
| And Fame was but an accident, and Power lived close to Shame. | |
| | |
| Now, looking back, the way seems plain, as from the mountain crags | |
| At doubtful Chattanooga I read the signal flags; | |
| The frontier post, the tannery, the farm of barren land, | |
| Were parts of the line of battle, and Providence had command. | 40 |
| | |
| I felt the guns of Sumter like old acquaintances | |
| Come back to me in anger and give but one redress — | |
| An earthquake split the nation, and when the fragments blent | |
| Myself was on the pinnacle and millions in the rent! | |
| | |
| Upon the dizzy height I stood, as yonder, looking down, | 45 |
| Stands Freedom, poised upon her sword, above the gazing town — | |
| And politicians, creeping up, explain the State to me | |
| Much as the devil described the world to him of Galilee. | |
| | |
| The drums I hear sound hollower than those which beat to arms: | |
| To some they beat to holiday, to me they beat alarms — | 50 |
| To battle-drums fell soldiers' feet on sacrifices bent; | |
| These feet leave all the battle to the coming President. | |
| | |
| Ten thousand office-seekers to their own inaugural wind; | |
| A million feeble partisans walk thoughtlessly behind. | |
| When those be disappointed, then these will be malcontent, | 55 |
| And still on his lonely pinnacle must stand the President. | |
| | |
| Yet by the strong attrition which crumbled Treason's wrath, | |
| In summer or in winter fighting it out on that path, | |
| I shall move on the works civilian till the government adored | |
| Of the people, by the people, for the people be restored! | 60 |
