 | My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays |  |
MONODY,
TO THE YOUNG HEROES WHO FOUGHT AND FELL UNDER GENERAL ST. CLAIR, IN A DESPERATE MIDNIGHT ENCOUNTER, AT THE MIAMI OF THE LAKES.
Descend, bland pity! from thy native sky,
Come, with thy moving plaint, and melting eye!
The muses court thee from thy blest abode;
Enthroned in light—embosomed in thy God!
With balmy voice the wayward tidings tell,
How the brave bled, and how lamented fell!
How in the earliest pride of opening bloom,
On houseless wilds demand a sheltering tomb!
Far from the social tie, the kindred tear,
Denied the relic'd urn and trophied bier.
Come, with thy moving plaint, and melting eye!
The muses court thee from thy blest abode;
Enthroned in light—embosomed in thy God!
With balmy voice the wayward tidings tell,
How the brave bled, and how lamented fell!
How in the earliest pride of opening bloom,
On houseless wilds demand a sheltering tomb!
Far from the social tie, the kindred tear,
Denied the relic'd urn and trophied bier.
In the deep horrors of the midnight shade,
In the first onset daring valour made;
Each youthful warrior wastes his wearied breath.
And woos stern honour in the grasp of death.
Scarce seen to charm, just rising to applause,
The blameless victim of a ruthless cause;
Torn like a plant beneath the early spring,
When shivering Eurus flaps his fateful wing.
In the first onset daring valour made;
Each youthful warrior wastes his wearied breath.
And woos stern honour in the grasp of death.
Scarce seen to charm, just rising to applause,
The blameless victim of a ruthless cause;
Torn like a plant beneath the early spring,
When shivering Eurus flaps his fateful wing.
Ah say! what pure libations can be paid!
What fond atonement soothe the hovering shade;
In vain from frozen age the warm tears flow,
In vain bright beauty droops in clouds of woe,
In vain the hero's laurelled wreathes decline,
In vain the minstrel swells the notes divine.
They, who afar, these bootless griefs deride,
And stain the fair Ohio's flowery tide,
Who the wrong'd Indian's scanty gatherings spoil,
Wrest his sole hope, and strip his subject soil;
Or like the rattling serpent of the heath,
On the lone sleeper pour the darts of death—
They must atone—from them the mourners claim,
Each loved associate, and each treasured name;
Their cruel hands these desolations spread,
Lost, in their cause, each martyr'd stripling bled;
Driven by their rage, the forest's children roam,
And the lorn female wants a pitying home!
As if that wild which bounteous heaven displays,
From orient Phoebus to his western rays—
Spread its broad breast in vain; to them denies,
The gifts which nature's liberal care supplies.
What fond atonement soothe the hovering shade;
In vain from frozen age the warm tears flow,
In vain bright beauty droops in clouds of woe,
In vain the hero's laurelled wreathes decline,
In vain the minstrel swells the notes divine.
They, who afar, these bootless griefs deride,
And stain the fair Ohio's flowery tide,
The War, productive of these ever-lamented disasters, was said to have been instigated by the rapacious cruelty of the more Savage White Settlers, who encroaching upon the Indian Territory, carried Desolation and Death even to the Habitation of their Women—finally exasperating the Sufferers to Deeds of reciprocated Violence, which deeds were terminated by a War, as fatal to Honour as to Innocence.
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Wrest his sole hope, and strip his subject soil;
Or like the rattling serpent of the heath,
On the lone sleeper pour the darts of death—
They must atone—from them the mourners claim,
Each loved associate, and each treasured name;
Their cruel hands these desolations spread,
Lost, in their cause, each martyr'd stripling bled;
Driven by their rage, the forest's children roam,
And the lorn female wants a pitying home!
As if that wild which bounteous heaven displays,
From orient Phoebus to his western rays—
Spread its broad breast in vain; to them denies,
The gifts which nature's liberal care supplies.
Since your own hills and widening vales demand,
The labouring ploughshare and the culturing hand,
Why must that hand pollute the ravaged heath,
That forming ploughshare wage the deeds of death.
Though wakening reason join her forceful strain,
Still shall dejected mercy plead in vain;
Or shall Columbia hear the rude behest,
And clasp her murderers to her bleeding breast,
Shall she with impious hand, and ruffian knife,
From her first offspring snatch the claims of life,
To nature's sons with tyrant rage deny,
The woody mountain, and the covering sky!
Ah no—each sainted shade indignant bends,
Bares his deep wounds, his pallid arm extends;
Return, he cries, ere every hope is lost,
Ohio claims you on his ozier coast;
Return; though late, your treacherous wish disclaim,
Awake to justice, and arise to fame;
No more with blood the blushing soil deface,
And spare the patient, suffering, injured race,
To you our lacerated spirits turn,
From you demand a monumental Urn.
For you our grievous wounds uncovered lie,
Meet the hard earth, and brave the drenching sky,
While the sick moon unveils her pensive brow,
And the drear night-bird swells the peal of woe.
Still the lorn shade its lurid vigil keeps,
And oe'r the unburied bones in hopeless horror weeps.
The labouring ploughshare and the culturing hand,
Why must that hand pollute the ravaged heath,
That forming ploughshare wage the deeds of death.
Though wakening reason join her forceful strain,
Still shall dejected mercy plead in vain;
Or shall Columbia hear the rude behest,
And clasp her murderers to her bleeding breast,
Shall she with impious hand, and ruffian knife,
From her first offspring snatch the claims of life,
To nature's sons with tyrant rage deny,
The woody mountain, and the covering sky!
Ah no—each sainted shade indignant bends,
Bares his deep wounds, his pallid arm extends;
Return, he cries, ere every hope is lost,
Ohio claims you on his ozier coast;
Return; though late, your treacherous wish disclaim,
Awake to justice, and arise to fame;
No more with blood the blushing soil deface,
And spare the patient, suffering, injured race,
To you our lacerated spirits turn,
From you demand a monumental Urn.
251
Meet the hard earth, and brave the drenching sky,
While the sick moon unveils her pensive brow,
And the drear night-bird swells the peal of woe.
Still the lorn shade its lurid vigil keeps,
And oe'r the unburied bones in hopeless horror weeps.
Nor crimson war, nor valour's glittering wreath,
To the pale corse recall the quivering breath;
'Tis the mild power of seraph PEACE alone
Can charm each grief, and every wrong atone;
Her healing hand shall waft oblivion round,
Pouring her opiates through each gushing wound,
O'er the cold ghost a mantling Olive spread,
And shade the sod that laps THE GLORIOUS DEAD.
To the pale corse recall the quivering breath;
'Tis the mild power of seraph PEACE alone
Can charm each grief, and every wrong atone;
Her healing hand shall waft oblivion round,
Pouring her opiates through each gushing wound,
O'er the cold ghost a mantling Olive spread,
And shade the sod that laps THE GLORIOUS DEAD.
| My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays | |