Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend Printed but not published |
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A DIRGE,
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 | Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend |  |
169
A DIRGE,
WRITTEN AT THE DECEASE OF JOHN ADAMS, JULY 4, 1826.
Praise to the virtuous dead the Heathen owed,
And funeral game, and urn, and chant bestowed;
Praise for the virtuous dead the Christian claims,
From higher motives, and with holier aims,
O, called too soon, how late soe'r thy knell,
Our earliest, longest hope, “Hail and farewell!”
That fiftieth sun who brought his faithful ray
To gild thine own, and Freedom's fav'rite day,
His noontide glories flung around thy shrine,
Nor sunk to rest till thou retired to thine;
That sacred rest attained, his parting fire
Lit the wide West as for a funeral pyre.
And funeral game, and urn, and chant bestowed;
Praise for the virtuous dead the Christian claims,
From higher motives, and with holier aims,
O, called too soon, how late soe'r thy knell,
Our earliest, longest hope, “Hail and farewell!”
That fiftieth sun who brought his faithful ray
To gild thine own, and Freedom's fav'rite day,
His noontide glories flung around thy shrine,
Nor sunk to rest till thou retired to thine;
That sacred rest attained, his parting fire
Lit the wide West as for a funeral pyre.
Survey those lineaments—that open smile,
The statesman's wisdom, not the statesman's wile—
The honest front, that knew itself sincere,
And scorned suspicion as it scouted fear;
And hence the viperous brood, that ceaseless wait
To bask beneath the fostering beams of state,
With means more facile found the unguarded way,
To sting the gen'rous heart where late they lay.
Ah, that the same high orb, whose smile so bright
Gives modest worth and loveliest hues to light,
Which calls the bee to rove, the ant to toil,
And herbs and flowers to bless and grace the soil,
By the same power the reptile race must bring,
And weeds and thorns, and every creeping thing.
The statesman's wisdom, not the statesman's wile—
The honest front, that knew itself sincere,
And scorned suspicion as it scouted fear;
170
To bask beneath the fostering beams of state,
With means more facile found the unguarded way,
To sting the gen'rous heart where late they lay.
Ah, that the same high orb, whose smile so bright
Gives modest worth and loveliest hues to light,
Which calls the bee to rove, the ant to toil,
And herbs and flowers to bless and grace the soil,
By the same power the reptile race must bring,
And weeds and thorns, and every creeping thing.
Enough for thee, that more than half an age,
Ruler or ruled, our father, saint, or sage—
Missioned from court to court—abroad approved—
At home, when most beheld still best beloved—
Vouchers of thine the meeting virtues stand,
The stern that freed, the mild that cheered the land.
Ruler or ruled, our father, saint, or sage—
Missioned from court to court—abroad approved—
At home, when most beheld still best beloved—
Vouchers of thine the meeting virtues stand,
The stern that freed, the mild that cheered the land.
If, while that long-protracted life you scan,
Say that he erred agreed; for he was man,
(Rest it with Him we Sire of mercies call,
Sent through that Son whose bosom bled for all;)
From life's first dawning to its latest end,
Who shall demand desert, or who defend?
Who boast the hands so clean, the heart so pure,
To turn Inquisitor, and turn secure?
If such there be, to play such part who dare?
Where are they found, objector? Tell me where.
Still dost thou cavil? Strike thy breast and ask,
If with his temper thou hadst had his task,
Through all his trials hadst thou never swerved?
By all his conflicts ne'er hadst been unnerved?
If such the difference, well! But, lest thou err,
Pause yet; nor call complexion, character.
His the wrought marble, rich and veined all o'er,
But time and storm its substance somewhat wore;
Thine the rough granite crag, alike unriven
Or by the damps of earth or bolts of heaven.
Say that he erred agreed; for he was man,
(Rest it with Him we Sire of mercies call,
Sent through that Son whose bosom bled for all;)
From life's first dawning to its latest end,
Who shall demand desert, or who defend?
171
To turn Inquisitor, and turn secure?
If such there be, to play such part who dare?
Where are they found, objector? Tell me where.
Still dost thou cavil? Strike thy breast and ask,
If with his temper thou hadst had his task,
Through all his trials hadst thou never swerved?
By all his conflicts ne'er hadst been unnerved?
If such the difference, well! But, lest thou err,
Pause yet; nor call complexion, character.
His the wrought marble, rich and veined all o'er,
But time and storm its substance somewhat wore;
Thine the rough granite crag, alike unriven
Or by the damps of earth or bolts of heaven.
Though weak the hand this votive wreath to bring,
And faint this voice the lay of worth to sing,
Haply its tones may wake some powerful shell,
In nobler numbers noblest deeds to swell.
With his own Themis Clio shall engage
To stamp his name on their enduring page.
Amidst the glorious circle of compeers
That crowned our perilous but proudest years,
Record the champion, whose ingenuous youth
Intrepid fought the righteous fight of truth;
Then, when, if ever, public virtue warms;
Then, when, if ever, young ambition charms;
Though all his country's wrongs the patriot claimed,
And all his country's hopes the man inflamed,
Those wrongs, those hopes, his soul refused to see,
Moved by thy higher call—Humanity!
When the cold blood our central pavement pressed,
And the hot blood beat high in every breast;
While an infuriate People's frenzied shout
Held not its peace, but bade those stones cry out;
E'en mid that madd'ning din his voice arose,
And asked for justice to our fenceless foes;
Bade Passion's surges rage not, but be still,
And Law and Reason sway the public will;
And, as the oil on ocean's subject wave
Has power to lull it, till it cease to rave,
His suasive accents dropped as charms, to bind
The hoarser tumult of tempestuous mind!
And faint this voice the lay of worth to sing,
Haply its tones may wake some powerful shell,
In nobler numbers noblest deeds to swell.
With his own Themis Clio shall engage
To stamp his name on their enduring page.
Amidst the glorious circle of compeers
That crowned our perilous but proudest years,
172
Intrepid fought the righteous fight of truth;
Then, when, if ever, public virtue warms;
Then, when, if ever, young ambition charms;
Though all his country's wrongs the patriot claimed,
And all his country's hopes the man inflamed,
Those wrongs, those hopes, his soul refused to see,
Moved by thy higher call—Humanity!
When the cold blood our central pavement pressed,
And the hot blood beat high in every breast;
While an infuriate People's frenzied shout
Held not its peace, but bade those stones cry out;
E'en mid that madd'ning din his voice arose,
And asked for justice to our fenceless foes;
Bade Passion's surges rage not, but be still,
And Law and Reason sway the public will;
And, as the oil on ocean's subject wave
Has power to lull it, till it cease to rave,
His suasive accents dropped as charms, to bind
The hoarser tumult of tempestuous mind!
Such the fair promise of his opening year,
Such the rich harvest of his ripe career;
Gathered to great and good, renowned of yore,
In classic haunts long communed with before;
With those of his own time—the wise, the brave,
Who lived to serve the state, or died to save.
What else need grateful Mem'ry ask or tell?
Once more, Illustrious Dead, “HAIL and FAREWELL!”
Such the rich harvest of his ripe career;
173
In classic haunts long communed with before;
With those of his own time—the wise, the brave,
Who lived to serve the state, or died to save.
What else need grateful Mem'ry ask or tell?
Once more, Illustrious Dead, “HAIL and FAREWELL!”
| Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend | |