Proclaimed thy lineage from a Giant race,
And claimed as subjects, all who trembling hear
Art thou a son of old Polyphemus,
Or brother to the Sphinx, now turned to stone--
The mystery and riddle of the world?
Did human passions stir within thy breast
And move thy heart with human sympathies?
Was life to thee, made up of joy and hope,
Of love and hate, of suffering and pain,
In fair proportions to thy Giant form?
Did ever wife, by whatsoever name
Or tie of union, with her ministries
Of love, caress and cheer thy way through life?
Were children in thy home, to climb thy knee
And pluck thy beard, secure, and dare thy power
Or, was thy nature as its substance now,
Like stone--as cold and unimpressible?
Over these hills, with spear like weaver's beam,
Dids't thou pursue the chase and track thy foe,
Holding all fear and danger in contempt?
And, did at last, some fair Delliah
Of thy race, hold thee in gentle dalliance,
And with thy head upon her lap at rest,
Wer't shorn of strength, and told too late, alas,
"Thine enemies be upon thee?"
Tell us the story of thy life, and whether
Of woman born--substance and spirit
In mysterious unon wed--or fashioned
By hand of man from stone, we bow in awe,
And hail thee, GIANT OF ONONDAGA!