Anyta and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Winfield, thy prophet-parents named thee, Scott;
And now at climax of delight they fold
Thee in celestial vision, and behold
Their warrior win his highest field; for not
Canadian laurels, 't was thy youthful lot
To reap victorious, nor thy wreaths of gold,
Inwove with Azteck palm, will e'er be rolled
With such sonorous hymn from trumpets hot
With fame's fresh breathing, as thy present deeds,
Baffling the blackest treason ever hatched
In the foul nests where brood the godless greeds,
Its crime foiled by a steadfast eye that watched
Thy perilled country, and in its dread needs
With duteous mastership from ruin snatched.

January 22d, 1861.