The empire of the ocean caves.

Old Europe groans with palaces,

Has lords enough and more; –

We plant and build by foaming seas

A city of the poor; –

For day by day could Boston Bay

Their honest labor overpay.

We grant no dukedoms to the few,

We hold like rights and shall; –

Equal on Sunday in the pew,

On Monday in the mall.

For what avail the plough or sail,

Or land or life, if freedom fail?

The noble craftsman we promote,

Disown the knave and fool;

Each honest man shall have his vote,

Each child shall have his school.

A union then of honest men,

Or union nevermore again.

The wild rose and the barberry thorn

Hung out their summer pride

Where now on heated pavements worn

The feet of millions stride.

Fair rose the planted hills behind

The good town on the bay,

And where the western hills declined

The prairie stretched away.

What care though rival cities soar

Along the stormy coast,

Penn’s town, New York, and Baltimore,

If Boston knew the most!

They laughed to know the world so wide;

The mountains said, ‘Good day!

We greet you well, you Saxon men,

Up with your towns and stay!’

The world was made for honest trade, –

To plant and eat be none afraid.

‘For you,’ they said, ‘no barriers be,

For you no sluggard rest;

Each street leads downward to the sea,

Or landward to the West.’

O happy town beside the sea,

Whose roads lead everywhere to all;

Than thine no deeper moat can be,

No stouter fence, no steeper wall!

Bad news from George on the English throne:

‘You are thriving well,’ said he;

‘Now by these presents be it known,

You shall pay us a tax on tea;

’T is very small, – no load at all, –

Honor enough that we send the call.’

‘Not so,’ said Boston, ‘good my lord,

We pay your governors here

Abundant for their bed and board,

Six thousand pounds a year.

(Your Highness knows our homely word,)

Millions for self-government

But for tribute never a cent.’

The cargo came! and who could blame

If Indians seized the tea,

And, chest by chest, let down the same

Into the laughing sea?

For what avail the plough or sail,

Or land or life, if freedom fail?

The townsmen braved the English king,

Found friendship in the French,

And Honor joined the patriot ring

Low on their wooden bench.

O bounteous seas that never fail!

O day remembered yet!

O happy port that spied the sail

Which wafted Lafayette!

Pole-star of light in Europe’s night,

That never faltered from the right.

Kings shook with fear, old empires crave

The secret force to find

Which fired the little State to save

The rights of all mankind.

But right is might through all the world;

Province to province faithful clung,

Through good and ill the war-bolt hurled,

Till Freedom cheered and the joy-bells rung.

The sea returning day by day