The Desolation of Eyam The Emigrant, a Tale of the American Woods: and other poems. By William and Mary Howitt |
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 | The Desolation of Eyam |  |
283
LINES FOR THE TOMB OF HOFER, THE TYROLESE PATRIOT, ON THE BRENNER MOUNTAINS.
Pilgrim, whose heart with quicker pulse doth beat
Where virtue and brave deeds make holy ground!
Thou, who hast journied with unwearying feet,
Where'er bright history of the past is found:—
Altar, nor dome, nor consecrated mound,
May kindle in thy breast diviner fire
Than this lone tomb:—the mountains wall it round;
Immortal memory guards it to inspire
From Hofer's ashes life—the Phœnix from its pyre.
Where virtue and brave deeds make holy ground!
Thou, who hast journied with unwearying feet,
Where'er bright history of the past is found:—
Altar, nor dome, nor consecrated mound,
May kindle in thy breast diviner fire
Than this lone tomb:—the mountains wall it round;
Immortal memory guards it to inspire
From Hofer's ashes life—the Phœnix from its pyre.
284
Bard, who hast twined thy lyre with living bays,
Kindling young spirits to enthusiast glow!
The deeds of these, the tales of other days
Singing, of beauty, valour, worth and woe,
Yet for awhile all lighter themes forego;
Waste not the fervour of thy song on aught
Of meaner worth:—one thoughtful lay bestow
On him the mountain-chief whose spirit caught
Lightning from Freedom's eye, unbowed, unswayed, unbought.
Kindling young spirits to enthusiast glow!
The deeds of these, the tales of other days
Singing, of beauty, valour, worth and woe,
Yet for awhile all lighter themes forego;
Waste not the fervour of thy song on aught
Of meaner worth:—one thoughtful lay bestow
On him the mountain-chief whose spirit caught
Lightning from Freedom's eye, unbowed, unswayed, unbought.
Son of thy country, whosoe'er thou art
That groanest for her, and would'st fain pluck out
The tyrant's barbed iron from her heart!
Thou that dost hear the insulting conqueror shout,
Drowning the cry of freedom,—seest the rout,
The carnage and the ruin?—Wilt thou fear?—
Shake off thy coward fetters, and thy doubt;
Stand as he stood whose name is graven here;
Thy death, like his, may be to Freedom shield and spear.
That groanest for her, and would'st fain pluck out
The tyrant's barbed iron from her heart!
Thou that dost hear the insulting conqueror shout,
Drowning the cry of freedom,—seest the rout,
The carnage and the ruin?—Wilt thou fear?—
Shake off thy coward fetters, and thy doubt;
Stand as he stood whose name is graven here;
Thy death, like his, may be to Freedom shield and spear.
| The Desolation of Eyam | |