Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend Printed but not published |
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[Pilgrim, whose pious steps have led thee on] |
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 | Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend |  |
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[Pilgrim, whose pious steps have led thee on]
[_]
The following lines were originally entitled, “An Inscription for a Monument at Richmond.” The reflections, however, suggested by the subject, having extended beyond the limits usually allowed to inscriptive composition, they are now offered without a name, and may be supposed the natural effusions of every mind, on contemplating the scene of that memorable conflagration.
[1812.]
Pilgrim, whose pious steps have led thee on,To pause and ponder at this sacred shrine,
Where relics rest, of sanctifying power
Greater than Mecca or Loretto knew,
Lo! this the spot, where, at the very hour
Of social sentiment, of scenic show,
When eye met eye participant of pleasure,
As passed the varied forms of mimic life,
E'en at an hour like this, came Death's dread angel,
Shrouding his mystic form in smoke and flame,
And still dilating, till his presence filled
Rapid the dome—through blazing fires—anon
Through deepest darkness—here his mighty arms
Grasped close his victims!
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No vulgar tear! Profane not dust like this
With aught but purest griefs, with holiest sorrows,
Meet for the good, the great, the brave, the fair!
How much of worth—worth greatest at the last!
If e'er thy heart throbbed high at the remembrance
Of him who bore from Illion's heaven-doomed walls
And smoking battlements his aged sire;
Or her who sought, in Gallia's guilty hour,
Death with the friend she loved; or, later yet,
The glorious Scot, whose daring aid preserved,
Spite of the searching flames of civil war,
Hundreds of hearts—who shall attest his praise
In earth and heaven! O, if thy spirit stirred
At such exploits, look here, and it shall own
Kindred pulsations. Here Affection proved
As proud a triumph; undismayed at danger;
Strong even as death, and dearer far than life,
Embraced the fiery ordeal of her faith.
Think on't; th' admiring thought shall flush thy cheek
And dry the dews of Pity. Soothe thee, too,
To think what they were spared! Not theirs to totter
Unto the utmost verge of useless life,
And tremble on the brink, dreading to go,
Yet unallowed to stay. Not theirs to feel
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Perpetual martyrdom, incessant death;
Nor, what were even worse, if worse can be,
To witness such decay—the wasted form,
The ruined intellect, the fevered brain,
The fitful hectic of the cheek, succeeded
By pallid hollowness; and O! the eyes
That roll their wild dilated orbs around,
Imploring aid, till the beholder's heart
Hails with a kind of horrid hope the hour
That ends the being which was best beloved!
God, of his mercy, spared them sights like these,
And gave their final moment one brief pang—
That pang the first and last. “These died together,
Happy in ruin, undivorced by death.”
Their love so powerful was not left to dull
On earth's low cares its fervors, but preferred
To where its essence shall be more sublimed—
Its extacy exhaustless. And if e'er,
Stranger, the wretched havoc which the passions
Too often make, has pierced thy pride of nature,
'Twill heal thy heart to know they here asserted
Their native rank, primeval destination,
The firm allies and generous guards of virtue.
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To Him, who, when he formed our beings mortal,
Made them immortal, too—that be thy call
As sudden, thou mayst breast thee to the shock,
And buffet Fate as greatly, gallantly,
As those who perished here!
| Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend | |