 | My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays |  |
137
ODE FOR MUSIC.
INSCRIBED TO GEORGE WASHINGTON, UPON HIS PUBLIC ENTRANCE IN THE TOWN OF BOSTON, DURING HIS PRESIDENCY.
The season sheds its mildest ray,
O'er the blue waves the sunbeams play;
The bending harvest clothes the plain,
The bannered vessels cheer the main;
The ruddy ploughboy quits his toil,
The pallid miser leaves his spoil.
And grateful peans hail the festive year,
Which bids Columbia's guiding chief appear.
Hence disappointment's anxious eye,
And pining envy's lingering sigh,
Let sorrow from the brow be borne,
And every heart forget to mourn,
While smiles of peace their charms display,
To grace this joy-devoted day;
For the GREAT Washington each lyre be strung,
Thy matchless deeds by every bard be sung.
O'er the blue waves the sunbeams play;
The bending harvest clothes the plain,
The bannered vessels cheer the main;
The ruddy ploughboy quits his toil,
The pallid miser leaves his spoil.
And grateful peans hail the festive year,
Which bids Columbia's guiding chief appear.
Hence disappointment's anxious eye,
And pining envy's lingering sigh,
Let sorrow from the brow be borne,
And every heart forget to mourn,
While smiles of peace their charms display,
To grace this joy-devoted day;
For the GREAT Washington each lyre be strung,
Thy matchless deeds by every bard be sung.
When Freedom raised her drooping head,
And many a suffering hero led;
When every hope to thee resigned,
Were resting on thy glorious mind;
How did that breast, to fear unknown,
And feeling for HER fate alone—
O'er peril's threatening form the falchion wield,
And tread with dauntless step the endangered field.
And many a suffering hero led;
When every hope to thee resigned,
Were resting on thy glorious mind;
How did that breast, to fear unknown,
And feeling for HER fate alone—
O'er peril's threatening form the falchion wield,
And tread with dauntless step the endangered field.
Not Decius—patriot dear to fame,
Not Cincinnatus' deathless name,—
Not HE, who led the Spartan band,
The saviour of a bleeding land—
Could more triumphant worth display,
Nor shine with such unclouded ray,
Of age the hope—of youth the leading star—
The eye of peace—the conquering arm of war.
Not Cincinnatus' deathless name,—
Not HE, who led the Spartan band,
The saviour of a bleeding land—
138
Nor shine with such unclouded ray,
Of age the hope—of youth the leading star—
The eye of peace—the conquering arm of war.
| My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays | |