 | Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems |  |
91
THE ROSE
AT THE BIRTH-PLACE OF WASHINGTON.
Bright Rose! what dost thou here, amid
These sad mementoes of the past?
The crumbling stones thy roots have hid—
The bramble's shade is o'er thee cast;
Yet still thy glowing beauty seems
Fair as young childhood's happy dreams.
These sad mementoes of the past?
The crumbling stones thy roots have hid—
The bramble's shade is o'er thee cast;
Yet still thy glowing beauty seems
Fair as young childhood's happy dreams.
The sunbeam, on the heaving surf,
Proclaims the tempest's rage is o'er;
The violet, on the frozen turf,
Breathes of the smiling spring once more:—
But, Rose, thy mission to the heart
Has not in things that change a part.
Proclaims the tempest's rage is o'er;
The violet, on the frozen turf,
Breathes of the smiling spring once more:—
But, Rose, thy mission to the heart
Has not in things that change a part.
92
The moss-grown ruins wide are spread,
Scarce rescued from the trodden mass;
The time-scathed trees, whose branches dead
Lie, cumbering o'er the matted grass,—
These tell the tale of Life's brief day,
Hope, toil, enjoyment, death—decay!
Scarce rescued from the trodden mass;
The time-scathed trees, whose branches dead
Lie, cumbering o'er the matted grass,—
These tell the tale of Life's brief day,
Hope, toil, enjoyment, death—decay!
The common record this of man,
We read, regret, and pass it by;
And rear the towers, that deck our span,
Above the grave where Nations lie;
And heroes, who like meteors shone,
Are like the meteor's flashings gone.
We read, regret, and pass it by;
And rear the towers, that deck our span,
Above the grave where Nations lie;
And heroes, who like meteors shone,
Are like the meteor's flashings gone.
But, radiant Rose, thy beauty breaks
Like eve's first star upon the night,
A fairer hue the vision takes—
The ruins shine with heaven's clear light;
His name, who placed thy root in earth,
Has holy made thy place of birth.
Like eve's first star upon the night,
A fairer hue the vision takes—
The ruins shine with heaven's clear light;
His name, who placed thy root in earth,
Has holy made thy place of birth.
93
Yet 't is not here his wreath we twine,
Not here that Freedom's Chief we praise;
The stars at rising softer shine,
Than when o'er night's dark vault they blaze;
Not here, with Washington's great name,
Blend his achievements or his fame.
Not here that Freedom's Chief we praise;
The stars at rising softer shine,
Than when o'er night's dark vault they blaze;
Not here, with Washington's great name,
Blend his achievements or his fame.
But pure as star-light is the ray
Which rests on this deserted ground,
Here passed his childhood's happy day—
Here glory's bud meet culture found,—
Maternal smiles, and tears, and prayer,
These were its light, its dew, its air.
Which rests on this deserted ground,
Here passed his childhood's happy day—
Here glory's bud meet culture found,—
Maternal smiles, and tears, and prayer,
These were its light, its dew, its air.
Bright Rose! for this thy flower has sprung,
The Mother's steadfast love to show;
Thy odor on the gale is flung,
As pours that love its lavish flow;
The Mother's lot with hope to cheer,
Type of her heart, thou bloomest here.
The Mother's steadfast love to show;
Thy odor on the gale is flung,
As pours that love its lavish flow;
The Mother's lot with hope to cheer,
Type of her heart, thou bloomest here.
| Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems | |