 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
275
HEAD QUARTERS OF WASHINGTON,
WHEN NEW YORK WAS EVACUATED BY CLINTON.
It is a structure of the olden time,
Built to endure, not dazzle for a day:
A stain is on the venerable roof
Telling of conflict with the King of Storms,
And clings to casement worn and hanging eaves
With thread-like roots the moss.
Gray shutters swing
On rusted hinges, but the beams of day
Dart with a softening radiance through the bars.
Colossal domes of chiselled marble made,
Religion's fanes, with glittering golden spires,
And Mammon's airy and embellished halls,
Wearing a modern freshness, are in sight;
But a cold glance they win from me alone.
Built to endure, not dazzle for a day:
A stain is on the venerable roof
Telling of conflict with the King of Storms,
And clings to casement worn and hanging eaves
With thread-like roots the moss.
Gray shutters swing
On rusted hinges, but the beams of day
Dart with a softening radiance through the bars.
Colossal domes of chiselled marble made,
Religion's fanes, with glittering golden spires,
And Mammon's airy and embellished halls,
Wearing a modern freshness, are in sight;
But a cold glance they win from me alone.
Why do I turn from Art's triumphant works
To look on pile more humble? Why in thought
Linger around this ancient edifice?
The place is hallowed—Washington once trod,
Planning the fall of tyranny, these floors.
Within yon chamber did he bend the knee,
Calling on God to aid the patriot's cause,
At morn and in the solemn hour of night.
His mandate, pregnant with a nation's fate,
Went forth from these plain, unpretending walls.
Here towered in warlike garb, his stately form,
While marshalled thousands in the dusty street
Gave ear to his harangue, and inly vowed
To die or conquer with their matchless Chief.
Methinks at yon old window I behold
His calm majestic features—while the sound
Of blessing rises from the throng below.
Have not the scenes of other days returned?
Do I not hear the sentry's measured tramp,
Clangor of mail and neigh of battle-steed,
Mingling their discord with the drum's deep roll?
No! 'twas a dream!—the magic of a place,
Allied to memory of earth's noblest son,
Gives form and seeming life to viewless air.
To look on pile more humble? Why in thought
Linger around this ancient edifice?
The place is hallowed—Washington once trod,
Planning the fall of tyranny, these floors.
Within yon chamber did he bend the knee,
Calling on God to aid the patriot's cause,
At morn and in the solemn hour of night.
His mandate, pregnant with a nation's fate,
Went forth from these plain, unpretending walls.
Here towered in warlike garb, his stately form,
While marshalled thousands in the dusty street
Gave ear to his harangue, and inly vowed
To die or conquer with their matchless Chief.
276
His calm majestic features—while the sound
Of blessing rises from the throng below.
Have not the scenes of other days returned?
Do I not hear the sentry's measured tramp,
Clangor of mail and neigh of battle-steed,
Mingling their discord with the drum's deep roll?
No! 'twas a dream!—the magic of a place,
Allied to memory of earth's noblest son,
Gives form and seeming life to viewless air.
Relic of our Heroic Age, farewell!
Long may these walls defy dissolving time,
Mock the blind fury of the hollow blast,
And woo the pilgrim hither, while a voice
Comes from the shadowy caverns of the past,
Full of instruction to a freeman's soul—
A mighty voice that speaks of Washington,
And prompts renewal of stern vow to guard
Pure fires that on my country's altar glow.
Long may these walls defy dissolving time,
Mock the blind fury of the hollow blast,
And woo the pilgrim hither, while a voice
Comes from the shadowy caverns of the past,
Full of instruction to a freeman's soul—
A mighty voice that speaks of Washington,
And prompts renewal of stern vow to guard
Pure fires that on my country's altar glow.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |