University of Virginia Library

Sweet is repose by labor earned,
And safety won from perils past,
As skies, through breaking clouds discerned,
Are brightened by the stormy blast,
And smile upon the gazer's sight
With softer blue in purer light.
Amid his old ancestral woods,
The forest pines, that sentries stand,
Like marshalled giants of the land,
To guard its solemn solitudes,
The mansion-house of Marion rose,
With peace, and love, and honor blest,
Of weary wars a fitting close;
A place of joy, a home of rest,
A shrine of hospitality.
Its open portals sought the eye
Of every stranger wandering by,
And with a welcome, sure and warm,
Enticed his lingering step to stay,
And won him, with a growing charm,
To loiter joyous weeks away;
Around the board, of ample cheer,
With hearts still young, from day to day,
The veteran warriors revelled there;
Alert and strong, though worn and gray,
And listened with unwearied ear,
Or talked of battles fought and won;
And sometimes with a soldier's tear,
They named the names of comrades gone—
Brave hearts, but fated not to see
Their country's final victory.

On either side the mansion lay
Broad pastures for the generous steed,
There petted colts at pleasure play,
And flocks and herds securely feed;
With bell adorned, about the lawn,
Of lustrous eye and agile limb,
A deer half tamed, a forest fawn,
Walks gently or, in sudden whim
Or causeless fright, with graceful bounds,
Leaps the high fence and scours the grounds;
So lightly, airily it springs,
The creature seems to move on wings.

More distant field and swamp sustain
A varied crop of golden grain,
And ample barns, with open door,
Welcome the rich autumnal store;
To help the hospitable fare,
The ready forest gives its share:
Fat turkeys first—the table's pride—
The partridge pasty by their side;
Blue teel and summer ducks supply
Another faultless luxury;
And rice-reared birds—more delicate
A dainty princess never ate:
The lake, the pond, their daily dish
And sport bestow, of various fish,
The choicest product of the stream,
Delicious trout and peerless bream.
But chiefest of the country cheer,
Plump haunches of the forest deer—
Not like the park's that, fed and tame,
Can give no taste to sylvan game:
These range at will the distant woods,
And browse the glades and swim the floods;
And, when the hunter's horn is heard,
And opening dogs are on the cry,
No sport so deeply ever stirred
The heart with joy. The hunter's eye
Flashes with fire, he spurs his steed
Through bush and brake with furious speed,
Till reached the stand, his steady aim
And sharp shot stop the flying game.
Brave sports, and worthy to impart
Due vigor to the hand and heart,
To train them for the bolder game
That guards their country's flag and fame;
Who that has felt the joy it gives,
But loves the life the hunter lives,
When free as air he wildly roves
The hill, the vale, the fields and groves;
Where nerve and eye, from every scene,
Fatigue and toil, grow strong and keen;
Fit, too, the sport for veterans, when
The bolder hunting past of men—
They want some mimic scene of strife
To mind them of their ancient life.

Here, prompt to do each generous deed,
The widow help, the orphan feed,
With ready hand and open door,
To right the wronged, to aid the poor:
In every plan for good to lead,
To give desert its fitting meed.
Truth, knowledge, virtue to sustain,
The jars of new-made peace restrain
With vigorous hand and steady rein,
He lived beloved—his waning years
Flowed softly as a river flows,
Where green and flowery banks enclose
A quiet stream that gently bears
Its tribute to the parent deep,
And in its bosom sinks to sleep.

Sleep, gallant warrior, calmly sleep!
No mummeries shall here presume,
With heartless pageantries to heap
And desecrate thy simple tomb;
To virtue reared with reverent care,
By Love and Truth alone adorned,
No false pretense has offered there
The homage by thy spirit scorned;
It stands thy woodland home beside,
Where Eutaw's storied waters flow;
It needs no gift of pomp or pride,
Of vanity or vulgar show.
Fitly the forest warrior lies
In groves with mossy draperies hung,
His dome of state the vaulted skies,
By birds his requiem daily sung:
The wild deer bounds and browses near,
Around it sated herds repose,
And on his sculptured name the year
Drops crimson leaf-showers at its close.
Fair, like the scene, thy deed and thought
The pure example ever finds,
With nature's blended influence fraught
Apt audience here with noble minds.
Long ages hence, the voice of fame
Shall love its lessons to prolong;
Long ages hence, thy cherished name
Shall live the light of tale and song:
A light, a lustrous star, beside
The radiant host that shine to cheer
Ingenuous hearts, and prompt and guide
Their course in honor's high career.
Sleep, gallant chief, around thy grave
No sculptured busts nor columns rise,
But hither come the fair, the brave,
With swelling hearts and brimming eyes,
And feel, as at some hallowed shrine,
An influence here almost divine.