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LETTER
To the Rev. D. Smith, Durham, (Ct.) with the request of a revolutionary relic.
I beg you pardon and permit
This poor effusion of my pen;
What if it lack in thought and wit—
Forgive, but do not spurn it then.
This poor effusion of my pen;
What if it lack in thought and wit—
Forgive, but do not spurn it then.
No hypocrite his thoughts would mask—
I scorn the author of a lie;
'T is filial love that bids me ask
A boon that thou wilt not deny.
I scorn the author of a lie;
'T is filial love that bids me ask
A boon that thou wilt not deny.
Not gold I crave—my aim is higher;
Not acres broad of fertile land;
Nor do I ask, most reverend sire,
Unheard-of gifts from unseen hand.
Not acres broad of fertile land;
Nor do I ask, most reverend sire,
Unheard-of gifts from unseen hand.
96
I ask my grandsire's drinking-cup,
From which he slaked his battle-thirst
When he his patriot sword took up,
In heart and hand among the first.
From which he slaked his battle-thirst
When he his patriot sword took up,
In heart and hand among the first.
And wilt thou grant it in bequest?
I'll take the gift with reverence;
And Heaven shall hear my warm request
To bless thy rich benevolence.
I'll take the gift with reverence;
And Heaven shall hear my warm request
To bless thy rich benevolence.
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