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And his rocks yet keep their watch by the deep,

To stay its waves of pride.
But the snow-white sail, that he gave to the gale,

When the heavens look'd dark, is gone;-
As an angel's wing, through an opening cloud,

Is seen, and then withdrawn.

The pilgrim exile-saint'd name!

The hill, whose icy brow
Rejoiced, when he came, in the morning's flame,

In the morning's flame burns now.
And the moon's cold light, as it lay that night

On the hill-side and the sea,
Still lies where he laid his houseless head ;-

But the pilgrim, where is he?

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The pilgrim fathers are at rest :

When Summer's throned on high,
And the world's warm breast is in verdure dress'd,

Go, stand on the hill where they lie.
The earliest ray of the golden day

On that hallow'd spot is cast;
And the evening sun, as he leaves the world,

Looks kindly on that spot last.
The pilgrim spirit has not filed :

It walks in noon's broad light;
And it watches the bed of the glorious dead,

With the holy stars, by night.
It watches the bed of the brave who have bled,

And shall guard this ice-bound shore,
Till the waves of the bay, where the May-Flower lay,

Shall foam and freeze no more.

1

266 SONNET ON THE REVOLUTIONARY

WAR IN AMERICA.

BY DAVID HUMPHREYS.

When civil war awaked his wrathful fire, I saw the Britons' burnings stain the sky;

I saw the combat rage with ruthless ireWeltering in gore the dead and dying lie.

How devastation crimson’d on my eye, When swoon'd the frighten'd maid ; the matron fled,

And wept her missing child with thrilling cry; Old men on staffs, and sick men, from their bed Crept, while the foe the conflagration sped !.

So broods, in upper skies, that tempest dire, Whence fiercer heat these elements shall warm:

What time in robes of blood, and locks of fire, The exterminating angel's awful form Blows the grave-rending blast, and guides the red

dening storm.

267

SONNET ON THE DEATH OF

WASHINGTON.

BY DAVID HUMPHREYS.

Hark, friends! what sobs of sorrow-moans of grief,

On every gale, through every region spread! Hark! how the western world bewails our chief,

Great Washington-his country's father-dead! Our living light expiring with his breath,

His bright example still illumes our way

Through the dark valley of thy shadow, Death,

To realms on high-of life without decay. Faint, he relied on heavenly help alone,

While conscience cheer'd the inevitable hour;

When fades the glare of grandeur, pomp of power,
And all the pageantry that gems a throne.
Then, from his hallow'd track, who shall entice
Columbia's sons, to tread the paths of vice ?

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268

AMERICAN UNION.
WHİLE Britain, with despotic sway,

Would at her feet our freedom lay,
We raised the standard—6. To arms! to arms

cried :
Our patriots fought—they bled—they died :
Independent Columbians they would be,

Resolved to perish or be free.
Great Washington did there command :

He led the bold, heroic band
They fought and conquer'd—Columbia's sons were

free,
Resolved on death or liberty.
Independent Columbians they would be,

Resolved to perish or be free.

When France her struggle first began

For liberty—the rights of man-
Glowing with ardour—with ardour in a cause-
We scorn'd that a king should give her laws.

Independent-may Gallia still be free:
They fought at first for liberty.
But, France, you now forget your friend,
Our amity is at an end.

269

WASHINGTON.
Hail! godlike Washington!
Fair Freedom's chosen son,

Born to command !
While this great globe shall roll,
Thy deeds, from pole to pole,
Shall shake Columbia's soul

With virtue's praise.
Millions, unborn, to save-
Freedom to worlds he gave-

Liberty's chief.
Terrific god of war,
Seated in Victory's car,
Fame hails him from afar,

Virginia's boast.

270 ADDRESS TO WASHINGTON.

BY GOV. LIVINGSTON, OF NEW JERSEY. Say, on what hallow'd altar shall I find A sacred spark that can again light up The muse's ardour in my wane of life, And warm my bosom with poetic fire, Extinguish'd long—and yet, 0 Washington, Thy worth unequall’d, thy heroic deeds,

Thy patriot virtues, and high-soaring fame,
Prompt, irresistibly, my feeble arm,
To grasp the long-forgotten lyre, and join
The universal chorus of thy praise.

When urged by thirst of arbitrary sway
And overweening pride, a ruthless king
Grim, spurn’d us, suppliants from his haughty

throne,
And, in the tyrant, all the father lost-
When, to our prayers with humble duty urged,
He, Pharaoh-like, his heart obdurate steeld,
Denouncing dreadful vengeance, unprovoked,
And all the dire calamities of war,
No ray of mercy beaming from his brow,
No olive-branch extended in his hand-
A sword unsheathed, or ignominous yoke,
The only sad alternative proposed :
Then, with one voice, thy country call’d thee forth-
Thee, Washington, she call'd—with modest blush,
But, soul undaunted, thou the call obey'dst
To lead her armies to the martial field.
Thee, Washington, she call’d to draw the sword,
And rather try the bloody chance of war
In virtue's cause, than suffer servile chains-
Intolerable bondage !—to enclose
The limbs of those whom God created free.
Lured by thy fame, with thy great virtues

charm’d,
And by thy valour fired, around thee pour'd
America's long-injured sons, resolved
To meet the veteran troops who oft had borne
Britannia's name, in thunder, round the world.

With warrior bands, by Liberty impellid,

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