The Legend of Genevieve with other tales and poems. By Delta [i.e. David Macbeth Moir] |
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TO THE
SPIRIT OF KOSCIUSKO. |
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 | The Legend of Genevieve |  |
94
TO THE SPIRIT OF KOSCIUSKO.
Unnoticed shall the mighty fall!
Unwept and unlamented die!
Shall he whom bonds could not enthrall,
Who plann'd, who fought, who bled for all,
Unconsecrated lie!
Without a song, whose fervid strains
Might kindle fire in patriot veins!
Unwept and unlamented die!
Shall he whom bonds could not enthrall,
Who plann'd, who fought, who bled for all,
Unconsecrated lie!
Without a song, whose fervid strains
Might kindle fire in patriot veins!
No! thus it ne'er shall be; and Fame
Ordains to thee a brighter lot;
While earth—while hope endures, thy name
Pure, high, unchangeable—the same—
Shall never be forgot;
Tis shrined amid the holy throng;
'Tis woven in immortal song;
Ordains to thee a brighter lot;
While earth—while hope endures, thy name
Pure, high, unchangeable—the same—
Shall never be forgot;
95
'Tis woven in immortal song;
Yes!—Campbell of the deathless lay,
The ardent poet of the free,
Has painted Warsaw's latest day,
In colours that resist decay,
In accents worthy thee;
Thy hosts on battle-field array'd,
And in thy grasp the patriot blade!
The ardent poet of the free,
Has painted Warsaw's latest day,
In colours that resist decay,
In accents worthy thee;
Thy hosts on battle-field array'd,
And in thy grasp the patriot blade!
Oh! sainted is the name of him,
And sacred should his relics be,
Whose span no selfish aims bedim,
Who, spotless as the seraphim,
Puts forth his energy
To make the earth by freemen trod,
And see mankind the sons of God!
And sacred should his relics be,
Whose span no selfish aims bedim,
Who, spotless as the seraphim,
Puts forth his energy
To make the earth by freemen trod,
And see mankind the sons of God!
And thou wert one of these; 'twas thine,
Through thy devoted country's night,
The latest of a freeborn line,
With all that purity to shine,
Which makes a hero bright;
In all that lustre to appear,
Which freemen love, and tyrants fear.
Through thy devoted country's night,
The latest of a freeborn line,
With all that purity to shine,
Which makes a hero bright;
In all that lustre to appear,
Which freemen love, and tyrants fear.
96
A myrtle wreath was on thy blade,
Which broke before its cause was won;—
Thou to no sordid fears betray'd,
'Mid desolation undismay'd,
Wert mighty, though undone;
No terrors gloom'd thy closing scene,
In danger and in death serene!
Which broke before its cause was won;—
Thou to no sordid fears betray'd,
'Mid desolation undismay'd,
Wert mighty, though undone;
No terrors gloom'd thy closing scene,
In danger and in death serene!
Though thou hast bade our world farewell,
And left the blotted lands beneath,
In purer, happier realms to dwell;
With Wallace, Washington, and Tell,
Thou shar'st the laurel wreathe—
The Brutus of degenerate climes!
A beacon light to other times!
And left the blotted lands beneath,
In purer, happier realms to dwell;
With Wallace, Washington, and Tell,
Thou shar'st the laurel wreathe—
The Brutus of degenerate climes!
A beacon light to other times!
| The Legend of Genevieve | |