 | Verses of a life time |  |
229
ST. MICHAEL'S TOWER.
St. Michael's spire! St. Michael's spire!
How fair thou risest to the sight,—
Now, glittering in the noon-sun's fire,
Now, softened by the “pale moonlight!”
How fair thou risest to the sight,—
Now, glittering in the noon-sun's fire,
Now, softened by the “pale moonlight!”
Dread storms have thunder'd o'er the sea,
And crush'd the low, and rent the high;
But there thou standest firm and free,
With thy bright forehead to the sky.
And crush'd the low, and rent the high;
But there thou standest firm and free,
With thy bright forehead to the sky.
Fierce fires in rolling volumes came,
But gleam'd innocuous on thy tower,
War's cannon roared with breath of flame,
Scatheless for thee career'd its power.
But gleam'd innocuous on thy tower,
War's cannon roared with breath of flame,
Scatheless for thee career'd its power.
Symmetric spire! Our city's boast,
In scientific grandeur piled!
The guardian beacon of our coast,
The seaman's hope when waves are wild!
In scientific grandeur piled!
The guardian beacon of our coast,
The seaman's hope when waves are wild!
230
Palladium! on thy lonely height,
The faithful watchman walks his round,
While rest and safety rule the night,
And stillness, as of holy ground.
The faithful watchman walks his round,
While rest and safety rule the night,
And stillness, as of holy ground.
All sleep but thee—thy tuneful bells
Hymn to the night-wind in its roar,
Or float upon the Atlantic swells,
That soften summer on our shore.
Hymn to the night-wind in its roar,
Or float upon the Atlantic swells,
That soften summer on our shore.
Soother of sickness! Oft thy chime
A gentle voice to darkness lends;
And speaks a language deep, sublime,
When love o'er dying virtue bends.
A gentle voice to darkness lends;
And speaks a language deep, sublime,
When love o'er dying virtue bends.
Thou guid'st the youth to classic hours,
The laborer to his task confin'd;
The maid, to joy's resplendent bowers,
The ambitious, to the strife of mind.
The laborer to his task confin'd;
The maid, to joy's resplendent bowers,
The ambitious, to the strife of mind.
Thy Sabbath summons, not in vain,
Calls the mixed city to their God;
Each gravely seeks his chosen fane,
And treads the aisle his sires have trod.
Calls the mixed city to their God;
Each gravely seeks his chosen fane,
And treads the aisle his sires have trod.
231
And nobly do thy pæans flow,
When patriots shout the annual strain,
That echoes from far Mexico,
To where St. Lawrence holds his reign.
When patriots shout the annual strain,
That echoes from far Mexico,
To where St. Lawrence holds his reign.
Gliding along bold Ashley's stream,
Or Cooper's, hung with mossy grace,
We turn to gaze upon thy beam,
And hospitable joys retrace.
Or Cooper's, hung with mossy grace,
We turn to gaze upon thy beam,
And hospitable joys retrace.
And tender are the thoughts that rise,
When, sea-bound from thy level shore,
The tear of parting dims our eyes
Till we can view thy point no more.
When, sea-bound from thy level shore,
The tear of parting dims our eyes
Till we can view thy point no more.
And when returning to our land,
The summer exile nears his home,
How beats his heart, and waves his hand,
As first he greets thy welcome dome.
The summer exile nears his home,
How beats his heart, and waves his hand,
As first he greets thy welcome dome.
St. Michael's spire! I close my lay,
Touch'd by the moral thou hast given,
Though duties throng my earthly way,
My look, like thine, shall be to Heaven.
Touch'd by the moral thou hast given,
Though duties throng my earthly way,
My look, like thine, shall be to Heaven.
Charleston, S. C. 1830.
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