Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend Printed but not published |
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STANZAS
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 | Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend |  |
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STANZAS
COMMEMORATIVE OF THE TWENTY-THIRD DAY OF DEC., 1815, WHEN THE BRITISH WERE REPULSED FROM NEW ORLEANS.—AN ATTEMPTED IMITATION OF SIR WALTER SCOTT'S VERSES ON MR. PITT'S BIRTHDAY.
O, dark was the cloud and more dark the foreboding,
When the conq'rors of France and the champions of Spain
Turned hither those bolts late so fatal exploding,
Far flashing the lightnings of battle again!
Now the blackness no more the horizon deforms,
Be the incense of thankfulness wafted on high,
Nor let gratitude's flower, which has flourished in storms,
'Mid the sun of security wither and die.
When the conq'rors of France and the champions of Spain
Turned hither those bolts late so fatal exploding,
Far flashing the lightnings of battle again!
Now the blackness no more the horizon deforms,
Be the incense of thankfulness wafted on high,
Nor let gratitude's flower, which has flourished in storms,
'Mid the sun of security wither and die.
When the earth with its groans joins the sea with its roaring,
In a menace that startles his tottering walls,
To his tutelar saint for protection imploring,
The terrified Lusian in agony calls;
But departs with the danger, the feeling it forms,
When nature resumes her original guise,
And gratitude's flower, that was nourished in storms,
'Neath the sun of security withers and dies.
In a menace that startles his tottering walls,
To his tutelar saint for protection imploring,
The terrified Lusian in agony calls;
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When nature resumes her original guise,
And gratitude's flower, that was nourished in storms,
'Neath the sun of security withers and dies.
Far from us be the sin of thy slaves, Superstition!
Whose ingrate sensations no ardor retain,
Till the element war that portends their perdition,
Shall shock them to feeling and phrenzy again;
More gen'rous emotions our bosoms shall warm,
Than timidity's tremor that danger is nigh;
Nor shall gratitude's flower, which we cherished in storm,
In the sun of security wither and die.
Whose ingrate sensations no ardor retain,
Till the element war that portends their perdition,
Shall shock them to feeling and phrenzy again;
More gen'rous emotions our bosoms shall warm,
Than timidity's tremor that danger is nigh;
Nor shall gratitude's flower, which we cherished in storm,
In the sun of security wither and die.
For yet hail we the chieftain commissioned to save,
We invoked as our guardian from perils at hand,
When the bellow of battle was heard on the wave,
And kindred convulsions were quaking the land.
That sea-shout he stilled, those convulsions he stayed;
Then be gratitude's fragrancy still wafted high,
And beware, lest the flower safe thro' storm and thro' shade,
In security's sunbeam be suffered to die.
We invoked as our guardian from perils at hand,
When the bellow of battle was heard on the wave,
And kindred convulsions were quaking the land.
That sea-shout he stilled, those convulsions he stayed;
Then be gratitude's fragrancy still wafted high,
And beware, lest the flower safe thro' storm and thro' shade,
In security's sunbeam be suffered to die.
But cheer we the chief, who, empowered by high Heaven,
Reduced civic chaos to order and plan,
Made to contrary forces one impulse be given,
And the mind of the many the mind of one man.
To him and his band, as returns this proud morning,
Fresh chaplets we'll culture all change to defy;
From our heart's hardy flower that, all seasons adorning,
Nor in storm nor in sunshine can wither or die.
Reduced civic chaos to order and plan,
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And the mind of the many the mind of one man.
To him and his band, as returns this proud morning,
Fresh chaplets we'll culture all change to defy;
From our heart's hardy flower that, all seasons adorning,
Nor in storm nor in sunshine can wither or die.
Sprung from Scotia,
whose sons, northern lights 'mid the nation,
Illumine the mists of her spirit-starred sky,
There beatified Moore, from his bright elevation,
Shall bend on thy valor a brother's fond eye!
Ah! haply, no tear damped the wreath that we form,
With thy palm and thy laurel no cypress we tie;
They are gratitude's flowers which, immortal through storm,
In the sun of security never shall die.
Illumine the mists of her spirit-starred sky,
There beatified Moore, from his bright elevation,
Shall bend on thy valor a brother's fond eye!
Ah! haply, no tear damped the wreath that we form,
With thy palm and thy laurel no cypress we tie;
They are gratitude's flowers which, immortal through storm,
In the sun of security never shall die.
| Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend | |