Miscellaneous poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Where the Patomac, with majestic wave,
Washes the borders of Virginia's shore;
Once the retreat of him most wise most brave,
Our sainted hero! now, alas, no more;—

Oft has my fancy took delight to stray,
Pensive, beneath the high cliff's craggy side;
List to the dashing of the foaming spray,
Or undulating murmurs of the tide.

There rapt, entranc'd, each anxious thought, each care,
And each corporeal sense would dormant lay;
While visions, ever bright and ever fair,
In airy forms would round my temples play.

Keen winter's chilling blast is never felt,
While beatific scenes the fancy throng;
The heart in Zembla's frozen clime will melt,
When Fancy leads the fetter'd soul along.

She comes! she comes! a stream of light,
Bursts on my aching wondering sight,
And a celestial band appears;
Some bearing wreaths, with cypress twin'd,
Others with measur'd step and slow,
Drest in the sad habiliments of woe,
Whose brows funereal honours bind,
And others lingering far behind,

With veils that flutter in the wind,
Conceal the mournful face, and dry the gushing tears.

First came the social Arts. A numerous band
Of little beings starting into life,
Follow'd, and rais'd the supplicating hand:
“Where is our kind protector, guardian, friend;
“Where is the man, who bade the arts increase;
“Who spoke, and hush'd a jarring world to peace;
“Whose frown repel'd the fiends, who bred domestic strife;
“Where is he now?” a deep convulsive sigh
Answer'd—“The Hero's in eternity.”

Next came Bellona on a flaming car,
Hoarse thunders echoed from each chariot wheel.
Her right hand held a torch which blaz'd afar,
And scattered desolation through the air:
A ponderous javelin of burnish'd steel
Her left sustain'd; her black dishevell'd hair

Stream'd wildly in the whirlwind, while her bare
And callous breast was scar'd with many a wound;
Her garments stain'd with floods of human gore,
Which, as she pass'd, drench'd the polluted ground.
Thousands of warriors follow'd close behind;
The brazen trump, shrill fife, and hollow drum,
Their martial clangour mingled with the wind;
Engines of death their horrid thunders pour'd,
And Death himself, amidst the legion, rode
Triumphant, calling “Come, ye warriors, come,
“Follow yon pow'r so courted, so adored;
“I lead ye on, 'tis I, prepare the road;
“Come then, nor once regret the world you leave behind.”

Wisdom approach'd; in her benignant eye,
Whose vivid sapphire emulates the sky,
A tear was seen to start.
Across her breast a sable scarf she wore,
Which partly hid her shield; her spear no more
Was held erect; inclining to the earth,

It spoke the loss of some superior worth,
Sad emblem of the pangs which rent her heart.
And thus the Goddess spoke: “Yon lawless band,
“Who rush impetuous o'er a bleeding land,
“Steeping the widow's couch with tears,
“Filling the mother's breast with fears,
“Can be restrain'd; and like th' impetuous waves
“Within due bounds confin'd;
“Be taught to spurn the name of slaves;
“Exert a free, an independent mind,
“Yet martial ardour go with wisdom hand in hand.
“There was a man who has this wonder done;
“A man! my much lamented darling son!
“Columbia's guardian genius—Washington!”
She spoke, and o'er her face her mantle spread,
Nor blush'd to weep—for Washington is dead.

Sweet Poesy came next, and though a sigh
Burst from her throbbing breast, her frenzied eye

Was upward fix'd, and beam'd intelligence
Of visions that entranc'd her every sense;
She paus'd, then eager tuned her dulcet lyre,
And “Grant,” she cried, “God of eternal day!
Oh grant one beam of thy celestial fire,
Bright as the worth that does my song inspire,
So worthy be my lay.

Heroes have liv'd in days of old,
Magnanimous, intrepid, bold;
Men, who undaunted have at all times stood,
And seal'd their country's safety with their blood.
And others, in the Senate, wise as great,
Reform'd the constitution of the state;
Sacrificed peace of mind, property, health,
Counting their riches by their country's wealth;
Turn'd from the paths with fame or honour strew'd,
Died poor and wretched for the public good.

These Heroes' deeds are told in every tongue,
And ancient poets gain'd immortal fame,
Because they have their godlike actions sung,
And on the same fair page enroll'd their name.

But all these mighty chiefs of days of old,
In wisdom, or in worth, were known to fail,
And vice steps in, when e'er their story's told,
With legends that will make the cheek turn pale.

Homer, to sing the chiefs of Greece was thine;
Let the blue concave with thy praises ring,
I envy not—a nobler theme is mine;
'Tis of the matchless Washington I sing.

While Plenty decks Columbia's plains,
Where'er the voice of Fame is heard,

While love of Liberty remains,
Washington's name shall be rever'd.

With deathless laurels were his temples bound;
Through his whole life no blemish could be found;
From stern integrity he never swerv'd;
He honour'd openly the God he serv'd;
To us who mourn he has example given,
And made more bright the path which leads to heaven.”

She paus'd, she ceas'd; her magic lyre, unstrung,
Across her shoulders pensively she hung;
While music wild, enthusiastic, fair,
Breath'd a pathetic soul-enchanting air,
In strains the Hero had not blush'd to hear,
Usher'd and ended by a grateful tear.

Sculpture and Painting, wrapt in silent grief,
Held the resemblance of the sainted chief;
The following muses bore a marble urn,
Sacred to him whose loss e'en millions mourn.

But now three virgins greet my eyes,
By whom each sorrow is subdu'd;
The first bright fav'rite of the skies
Was Gratitude.

Peace, her benignant olive branch display'd,
While Commerce pour'd her golden treasures round;
When Gratitude, pure, unaffected maid,
Spoke, and the world was silent at the sound.
For even savages, untaught and rude,
Will listen to the voice of Gratitude.

“Lamenting mortals, cease this useless grief,
“Nor longer mourn the great, the godlike Chief;
“ Let this reflection dry a nation's tears,
“He died as ripe in glory as in years;
“And tho the loss of Washington is great,
“Adams remains to guide the helm of state;
“And would you prove the hero's memory dear,
“Learn his last parting precepts to revere.
“My friends, my fellow-citizens, said He,
“Be still unanimous, be great and free;
“For know, a state may soon be rendered weak
“By foreign faction or by private pique;
“Let not corruption e'er your judgment blind;
“Preserve with care an independent mind;

“Support, revere the laws; believe me, friends,
“Your all on unanimity depends.
“By faction, all would be to chaos hurl'd;
“Be but united, and defy the world.”

As thus she spoke, a sweetly solemn strain
Stole on the ear, and from th' extended plain
This chorus rose: “Columbians, see
The man who made you great and free,
Translated to his native sky;
Of mortal excellence he reach'd the height,
And dying, left a fame so pure, so bright,
It never can be sullied, never die.”

The following sixteen lines were quoted from this Poem in manuscript, by Dr. Bartlett, of Charlestown, in his Oration on the death of Washington.