 | The genius of oblivion ; and Other Original Poems |  |
84
WASHINGTON.
When morning trembles on her purple throne,
As Sol, in glory, claims it for his own;
And all above is light—pure, boundless, free,
And all around is life, and love, and glee,
What mind but brightens with that bright'ning sky
What heart but melts with softest sympathy!
And who, of soul refin'd, that gazes there,
But mingles with the hallowed scene a pray'r,
That brighter, lovelier still the day may shine,
Charm as it grows, and soothe in its decline!
But when the sable night her veil hath spread,
And that bright morn, and brighter day have fled—
Oh, still remembrance through the shades of night,
Recalls and revels in that glorious light!
The sounds that cheered, the scenes that charmed her rise,
But softened as in autumn, summer skies—
And still the thoughtful, pensive mind prefers
Her midnight musings—they are only her's—
The day she hath enjoyed no storms can blast,
Nor fate nor nature sway the mighty past!
As Sol, in glory, claims it for his own;
And all above is light—pure, boundless, free,
And all around is life, and love, and glee,
What mind but brightens with that bright'ning sky
What heart but melts with softest sympathy!
And who, of soul refin'd, that gazes there,
But mingles with the hallowed scene a pray'r,
That brighter, lovelier still the day may shine,
Charm as it grows, and soothe in its decline!
But when the sable night her veil hath spread,
And that bright morn, and brighter day have fled—
Oh, still remembrance through the shades of night,
Recalls and revels in that glorious light!
The sounds that cheered, the scenes that charmed her rise,
But softened as in autumn, summer skies—
And still the thoughtful, pensive mind prefers
Her midnight musings—they are only her's—
The day she hath enjoyed no storms can blast,
Nor fate nor nature sway the mighty past!
Thus, Washington, thy morn of being show'd,
And thus thy day's meridian glories glow'd—
We feel 'tis past—and yet it passed so fair,
We would not, if we might, recall it here—
The grave, that closed thy drama, stamp'd thy name,
In living blazon on the rolls of flame,
And it will glow, through each successive age,
Thy country's purest, proudest heritage!
And thus thy day's meridian glories glow'd—
85
We would not, if we might, recall it here—
The grave, that closed thy drama, stamp'd thy name,
In living blazon on the rolls of flame,
And it will glow, through each successive age,
Thy country's purest, proudest heritage!
Well may America record the scene,
Where Washington her guiding stay hath been—
Well may his deeds that sacred joy impart,
Which throbs with kindred thrill earth freeman's heart;
Their bond of union, that cements in one
All minds whose model is a Washington!
Where Washington her guiding stay hath been—
Well may his deeds that sacred joy impart,
Which throbs with kindred thrill earth freeman's heart;
Their bond of union, that cements in one
All minds whose model is a Washington!
While fair Aurora's pencil paints the skies,
What tints on tints, in bright succession, rise,
From her first touch till the last gorgeous dyes!
Can taste that ever-varying scene pursue,
And note each change, and name each diff'ring hue?
No, blended all is beauty, all is light;
But the nice shades elude the eager sight—
So is it vain each virtue to display,
When we our Hero's character portray:
'Twas excellence united, and the claim
Of Warrior, Statesman, Citizen the same.
Heaven taught, he rose—his youth might lesson age.
When his young wisdom sav'd from savage rage
The remnant of that proud, misguided host,
A Braddock's headlong rashness all but lost—
But when his countrymen his aid require,
How do their perils, wrongs, his bosom fire!
Life, fortune, sacred honor, plighted ALL,
To save his Country, or to share her fall.
And Warren, earliest martyr at the shrine
Of Freedom, holy nature stamps divine,
Though throned on high, in heaven's pure Liberty,
Yet might his sainted spirit bend to see,
How fled from Washington's uplifted brand,
The coward, cruel, desolating band!
What tints on tints, in bright succession, rise,
From her first touch till the last gorgeous dyes!
Can taste that ever-varying scene pursue,
And note each change, and name each diff'ring hue?
No, blended all is beauty, all is light;
But the nice shades elude the eager sight—
So is it vain each virtue to display,
When we our Hero's character portray:
'Twas excellence united, and the claim
Of Warrior, Statesman, Citizen the same.
86
When his young wisdom sav'd from savage rage
The remnant of that proud, misguided host,
A Braddock's headlong rashness all but lost—
But when his countrymen his aid require,
How do their perils, wrongs, his bosom fire!
Life, fortune, sacred honor, plighted ALL,
To save his Country, or to share her fall.
And Warren, earliest martyr at the shrine
Of Freedom, holy nature stamps divine,
Though throned on high, in heaven's pure Liberty,
Yet might his sainted spirit bend to see,
How fled from Washington's uplifted brand,
The coward, cruel, desolating band!
But Albion sends her thousands to the field,
To crush those Freemen who may die—not yield!
Then through the Jerseys lay their cold retreat,
The snow-path crimson 'neath their bleeding feet,
And firmest patriots trembled, or despaired,
And Washington, even thou their feelings shared.
It must be so,—couldst thou unmoved have seen
War's giant strides, Destruction in his train,
And chains, or death on his command attend,
Thou wouldst have been our angel, not our friend!
The human friend, whose sympathetic heart
Feels in each brother's pang, a brother's part!
Then was the trial of men's souls—the night
Of darkness deep as Egypt's!—Oh, how bright
Burst through that gloom, the gleam of vict'ry's sun,
As Trenton, Princeton, echoed Washington!
He conquer'd—more than crowns was his reward,
When to his country he resign'd his sword,
And felt that she was free—that all his pain,
His perils, sacrifices were not vain:
For her he'd fought and toil'd in dust and blood—
She gave him all he wished—her gratitude!
She thron'd him in her heart—forever there
He'll reign immortal as his virtues are.
To crush those Freemen who may die—not yield!
Then through the Jerseys lay their cold retreat,
The snow-path crimson 'neath their bleeding feet,
And firmest patriots trembled, or despaired,
And Washington, even thou their feelings shared.
It must be so,—couldst thou unmoved have seen
War's giant strides, Destruction in his train,
And chains, or death on his command attend,
Thou wouldst have been our angel, not our friend!
87
Feels in each brother's pang, a brother's part!
Then was the trial of men's souls—the night
Of darkness deep as Egypt's!—Oh, how bright
Burst through that gloom, the gleam of vict'ry's sun,
As Trenton, Princeton, echoed Washington!
He conquer'd—more than crowns was his reward,
When to his country he resign'd his sword,
And felt that she was free—that all his pain,
His perils, sacrifices were not vain:
For her he'd fought and toil'd in dust and blood—
She gave him all he wished—her gratitude!
She thron'd him in her heart—forever there
He'll reign immortal as his virtues are.
Greece had her conqu'rers—and her warriors, Rome—
And some proud column, or some sculptured dome
Each nation hallowed to her heroes' fame—
But Washington thy monument's thy Name!
Their brightest names some sickly vapors shroud;
Thine, the broad summer's sun without a cloud.
And some proud column, or some sculptured dome
Each nation hallowed to her heroes' fame—
But Washington thy monument's thy Name!
Their brightest names some sickly vapors shroud;
Thine, the broad summer's sun without a cloud.
| The genius of oblivion ; and Other Original Poems | |