 | The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq |  |
274
ODE.
Hail! Hail, ye patriot spirits!
Ye chiefs of valiant deed!
To war-scarred bosoms point no more,
Your wounds no longer bleed.
Oh! ever bless the festal shrine
Your hovering shades explore!
While laurel-crowned, ye glide around,
And the Seraph Anthem pour—
It is our country's natal day,
We hail it and adore!
Ye chiefs of valiant deed!
To war-scarred bosoms point no more,
Your wounds no longer bleed.
Oh! ever bless the festal shrine
Your hovering shades explore!
While laurel-crowned, ye glide around,
And the Seraph Anthem pour—
It is our country's natal day,
We hail it and adore!
High o'er the rock of ages,
See Independence stride,
Her shield she stretches o'er the vale,
Her spear across the tide.
The harvests of her teeming soil,
She bids the waves expand,
Though tempest roars, around her shores,
It dies along her strand;
For the arm, that can the plough direct,
The trident can command.
See Independence stride,
Her shield she stretches o'er the vale,
Her spear across the tide.
The harvests of her teeming soil,
She bids the waves expand,
Though tempest roars, around her shores,
It dies along her strand;
For the arm, that can the plough direct,
The trident can command.
275
The storm, that rent her forests
A thousand ages past,
Now sweeps their branches as they fly
Along the ocean blast.
Through every clime her banners float,
And greet the Northern Wane,
Where dimly bright, with wheeling light,
He pales the freezing plain;
And sees new Stars beneath the pole,
New Pleiads on the main.
A thousand ages past,
Now sweeps their branches as they fly
Along the ocean blast.
Through every clime her banners float,
And greet the Northern Wane,
Where dimly bright, with wheeling light,
He pales the freezing plain;
And sees new Stars beneath the pole,
New Pleiads on the main.
The Sea is valour's charter,
A nation's wealthiest mine:
His foaming caves when ocean bares,
Not pearls, but heroes shine;
Aloft they mount the midnight surge,
Where shipwrecked spirits roam,
And oft the knell, is heard to swell,
Where bursting billows foam.
Each storm a race of heroes rears,
To guard their native home.
A nation's wealthiest mine:
His foaming caves when ocean bares,
Not pearls, but heroes shine;
Aloft they mount the midnight surge,
Where shipwrecked spirits roam,
And oft the knell, is heard to swell,
Where bursting billows foam.
Each storm a race of heroes rears,
To guard their native home.
But not the storm, that courses
The mountain and the deep,
Like Rapine's secret, whirling pool,
With tyrant, power can sweep:
Th' Imperial Gulf can whelm the keel,
Which tempests proudly bore;
In smooth serene, it glides unseen,
Till all its caverns roar;
Till all its hidden ledges crash,
And all its whirlwinds pour.
The mountain and the deep,
Like Rapine's secret, whirling pool,
With tyrant, power can sweep:
Th' Imperial Gulf can whelm the keel,
Which tempests proudly bore;
In smooth serene, it glides unseen,
Till all its caverns roar;
Till all its hidden ledges crash,
And all its whirlwinds pour.
276
Rise, man's immortal spirit,
Stern Independence, rise;
Mid wrecks, that choak the pirate's cave,
Your tattered banner lies.
In fierce Napoleon's midnight cells
Your gallant sailor grieves;
In chains he lies, and wistful sighs
Towards his country heaves.
Rise Independence, wear thy crown,
Or strip its oaken leaves.
Stern Independence, rise;
Mid wrecks, that choak the pirate's cave,
Your tattered banner lies.
In fierce Napoleon's midnight cells
Your gallant sailor grieves;
In chains he lies, and wistful sighs
Towards his country heaves.
Rise Independence, wear thy crown,
Or strip its oaken leaves.
| The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq | |