Duganne's Poetical Works Autograph edition. Seventy-five Copies |
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REQUIEM FOR JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. |
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 | Duganne's Poetical Works |  |
REQUIEM FOR JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.
THERE is a shadow on the souls of men—
There is a sound as of a nation's sob,
And a wild-heaving sorrow, like the throb
Of a giant's mighty heart.
Adams is dead!
“This is the last of earth!” O'er plain and glen
Those words are wandering like a troubled bird,
And the deep waters of all hearts are stirred;
He hath no longer part
In the rude warfare of the troublous world!
He who hath borne God's armor in the fight—
He who hath struck brave blows for human right,
And wrestled with the fiercest wrongs, and hurled
His thunders at the brazen front of might,—
Adams is dead!
He hath writ his glorious memory on the page
Of a great people's history, and the blaze
Of his all-radiant life shall be enshrined—
A lofty beacon light,
A pillar of fire amid his country's night—
A flame upon the altar of mankind,
Fann'd by the breath of patriots, whereso'er
Riseth a freeman's prayer!
He hath ruled o'er generous natures, and sunk down
Gloriously diademed with the reverend crown
Of pure and spotless age!—
Brighter and larger, as the dying sun
Sinks in the ocean wave—his golden grave.
Meet was it that he died
Within those walls that heard his clarion tones
Echoing of yore from Freedom's council-floor,
And startling Europe's despots on their thrones,—
Meet was it that he died,
Grasping the helm which none might better guide.
There is a sound as of a nation's sob,
And a wild-heaving sorrow, like the throb
Of a giant's mighty heart.
Adams is dead!
“This is the last of earth!” O'er plain and glen
Those words are wandering like a troubled bird,
And the deep waters of all hearts are stirred;
He hath no longer part
In the rude warfare of the troublous world!
He who hath borne God's armor in the fight—
He who hath struck brave blows for human right,
And wrestled with the fiercest wrongs, and hurled
His thunders at the brazen front of might,—
Adams is dead!
339
Of a great people's history, and the blaze
Of his all-radiant life shall be enshrined—
A lofty beacon light,
A pillar of fire amid his country's night—
A flame upon the altar of mankind,
Fann'd by the breath of patriots, whereso'er
Riseth a freeman's prayer!
He hath ruled o'er generous natures, and sunk down
Gloriously diademed with the reverend crown
Of pure and spotless age!—
Brighter and larger, as the dying sun
Sinks in the ocean wave—his golden grave.
Meet was it that he died
Within those walls that heard his clarion tones
Echoing of yore from Freedom's council-floor,
And startling Europe's despots on their thrones,—
Meet was it that he died,
Grasping the helm which none might better guide.
Raise ye a monument!
Yet pile not stones, nor build up walls of brass,
For “the old man eloquent!”
But gather chains, by his stern thunders broken—
Rear ye the crumbled idols that he crush'd—
'Grave on those ruins the warnings he hath spoken,—
And crown the mass
With the lofty hopes that from his bosom gush'd!
Then shall his parting words be given
In blessings from his glorious heaven—
Then shall each mystic word,
Wherewith his lofty life was closed,
To Freedom's lips be prayerfully transferr'd:—
“I am composed!”
Yet pile not stones, nor build up walls of brass,
For “the old man eloquent!”
But gather chains, by his stern thunders broken—
Rear ye the crumbled idols that he crush'd—
'Grave on those ruins the warnings he hath spoken,—
And crown the mass
With the lofty hopes that from his bosom gush'd!
340
In blessings from his glorious heaven—
Then shall each mystic word,
Wherewith his lofty life was closed,
To Freedom's lips be prayerfully transferr'd:—
“I am composed!”
| Duganne's Poetical Works | |