Fourth of July Ode

Are we free from stubborn will,
From low hate and malice small,
From opinion’s tyrant thrall?
Are none of us our own slaves still?

Are we free to speak our thought,
To be happy, and be poor,
Free to enter Heaven’s door,
To live and labor as we ought?

Are we then made free at last
From the fear of what men say,
Free to reverence today,
Free from the slavery of the Past?

Our fathers fought for liberty,
They struggled long and well,
History of their deeds can tell—
But ourselves must set us free.

James Russell Lowell  (1819-1891)

     Ode for the Fourth of July

SQUEAK the fife, and beat the drum,
Independence-day is come!
Let the roasting pig be bled,
Quick twist off the cockerel’s head,
Quickly rub the pewter platter,
Heap the nut-cakes, fried in butter;
Set the cups and beaker-glass,
The pumpkin and the apple-sauce;
Send the keg to shop for brandy;
Maple-sugar we have handy.
Independent, staggering Dick,
A noggin mix of swinging thick;
Sal, put on your russet skirt,
Jotham, get your boughten shirt;
To-day we dance to tiddle diddle.
—Here comes Sambo with his fiddle;
Sambo, take a dram of whisky,
And play up Yankee Doodle frisky.
Moll, come, leave your witched tricks,
And let us have a reel of six.
Father and mother shall make two;
Sal, Moll, and I, stand all a-row.
Sambo, play and dance with quality;
This is the day of blest equality.
Father and mother are but men,
And Sambo—is a citizen.
Come foot it, Sal—Moll, figure in,
And, mother, you dance up to him;
Now saw as fast as e’er you can do,
And, father, you cross o’er to Sambo.
—Thus we dance, and thus we play,
On glorious Independent day.—
Rub more rosin on your bow,
And let us have another go.
Zounds! as sure as eggs and bacon,
Here’s Ensign Sneak, and Uncle Deacon,
Aunt Thiah, and their Bets behind her,
On blundering mare, than beetle blinder.
And there’s the ’squire too, with his lady—
Sal, hold the beast, I’ll take the baby.
Moll, bring the ’squire our great arm-chair,
Good folks, we’re glad to see you here.
Jotham, get the great case-bottle,
Your teeth can pull its corn-cob stopple.
Ensign,—Deacon, never mind;
’Squire, drink until you’re blind.
Thus we drink and dance away,
This glorious Independent day!

        Royall Tyler (1757-1826)