University of Virginia Library

LINES TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS F. PALMER,

BURIED AT BOSTON.

[1824.]

“Thou shalt not have my bones,” the Roman said
To his ungrateful country. Then, as now,
Whoe'er put forth the patriot's voice or arm
Incurred the patriot's penalty—proscription,
Exile, or death. Then blush we not for thee,
Whose ashes here repose. The blush be theirs
Who doomed thee guilty for in freedom's cause
Uttering a freeman's voice—as Sydney erst,
And sacred Milton—doomed thee to the hulk,
And desert strand, by felons companied!
(Was not His doom, who spoke to free the world
From sin's worse thraldom, to the odious tree,
With malefactors at his side?) On them,
On them the shame, albeit thine the suffering!
And meet it was, since thou wert ne'er again
To view the white cliffs of thy sea-girt Albion,
The “mighty mother,” who, like her of Colchis,
Has sometimes slain her sons; whose fatal ire
Had driven thee from her to the wilderness,
With brutes, and men more brutish—meet at last
To rest thee in a land where Priestly rested,
Like him a witness for the truth, like him
An exile for its sake. And be thy meed
To mix thy dust with theirs, the pilgrim sires,
Men after thine own heart, and kindred spirits,
Whom persecution banished in their day.
Even here—what time all here was but a waste,
With its fell Indian and its beast of prey—
Taking their turn before thee! one in destiny,
Confessors of the same heroic faith,
Martyrs alike for the same righteous cause;
Rest thee, and rise with them!