 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
225
THE CENTENARIAN.
[_]
[Written in memory of Abner Morgan, Esq., who died at Avon, aged 100 years. He graduated at Harvard in 1763, was a member of the bar of Massachusetts, resided many years at Brimfield in that state, and held the rank of Major in the Army of the Revolution.]
Weep not for him! Those white, thin locks that shade
A brow majestical and high, the winds
Of an eventful century have stirred.
The gay companions of his infant years,
And jocund mates in academic halls
Grew old and died, while that tall, wasted form,
Now shrouded for the sepulchre, along
The chequer'd pathway of existence moved.
A brow majestical and high, the winds
Of an eventful century have stirred.
The gay companions of his infant years,
And jocund mates in academic halls
Grew old and died, while that tall, wasted form,
Now shrouded for the sepulchre, along
The chequer'd pathway of existence moved.
Weep not for him! The Present was a page
Wherein his dim and glazing eye could trace
Not one redeeming character of joy.
Decay unstrung the harp of memory
Long ere his pulses were forever hushed,
And on his blunted ear her jarring notes
Fell like funereal echoes, while the world
Lost its familiar aspect. When the springs
Of brilliant thought grew dry, and Darkness fixed
Her habitation in the torpid brain,
His native dignity of mien survived,
And a faint fire would light his hollow eye
When others read of battle.
Like a gleam
Of sunlight in a cloudy sky, sometimes
The pleasant Past came back, and he would call
The members of his household by the names
Of buried comrades of his childhood hours,
And those who snatched, like him, avenging sword
From rust and slumber, when the bugle-peal
Of waking Liberty aroused the land,
And willing martyrs fell at Lexington.
Wherein his dim and glazing eye could trace
Not one redeeming character of joy.
Decay unstrung the harp of memory
Long ere his pulses were forever hushed,
And on his blunted ear her jarring notes
Fell like funereal echoes, while the world
Lost its familiar aspect. When the springs
Of brilliant thought grew dry, and Darkness fixed
Her habitation in the torpid brain,
His native dignity of mien survived,
And a faint fire would light his hollow eye
When others read of battle.
Like a gleam
Of sunlight in a cloudy sky, sometimes
The pleasant Past came back, and he would call
The members of his household by the names
Of buried comrades of his childhood hours,
226
From rust and slumber, when the bugle-peal
Of waking Liberty aroused the land,
And willing martyrs fell at Lexington.
Weep not for him! The maladies of flesh
That daily quench the fires of middle age,
And blight the vernal promise of the young,
Infused no deadly poison in his veins;
But left him, like some venerable oak
Spared by the storm that overthrows the wood,
To perish in the kindly arms of Time.
In him the houseless beggar found a friend,
And the pale orphan from his open door
Went with a tearless cheek and lighter heart.
His frugal habits to voluptuous man
Spoke with a loud and monitory voice;
And, proudly resolute of soul, he shunn'd
The whirlpool of ebriety that lures
Too many of thy gifted sons, O, Earth!
To sink, poor wrecks, in its dissolving womb.
That daily quench the fires of middle age,
And blight the vernal promise of the young,
Infused no deadly poison in his veins;
But left him, like some venerable oak
Spared by the storm that overthrows the wood,
To perish in the kindly arms of Time.
In him the houseless beggar found a friend,
And the pale orphan from his open door
Went with a tearless cheek and lighter heart.
His frugal habits to voluptuous man
Spoke with a loud and monitory voice;
And, proudly resolute of soul, he shunn'd
The whirlpool of ebriety that lures
Too many of thy gifted sons, O, Earth!
To sink, poor wrecks, in its dissolving womb.
One look, the last!—Now give with solemn rites
The veteran of liberty a grave!
He needs no proud memorial of art
To consecrate his ashes; for the soil
He aided in redeeming from the rule
And cruel presence of despotic power,
Is more endearing record of his deeds
Than pompous marble or a pyramid.
The veteran of liberty a grave!
He needs no proud memorial of art
To consecrate his ashes; for the soil
He aided in redeeming from the rule
And cruel presence of despotic power,
Is more endearing record of his deeds
Than pompous marble or a pyramid.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |