THE POST OF HONOR.

17

Thou generous brother, guard of griefs concealed,
Matured by sorrow, deep but unrevealed,

Let me but claim, for all thy vigils here,

The noiseless tribute to a heart sincere.

Though Dryburgh's walls still hold their sacred dust,
And Stratford's chancel shrines its hallowed trust,
To Elia's grave the pilgrim shall repair,

And hang with love perennial garlands there.
And thou, great Bard of never-dying name, 10
Thy filial care outshines the poet's fame ;
For who, that wanders by the dust of Gray
While memory tolls the knell of parting day,
But lingers fondly at the hallowed tomb,
That shrouds a parent in its pensive gloom,

To bless the son who poured that gushing tear,

So warm and earnest, at a mother's bier!

Wreaths for that line which Woman's tribute gave,

"Last at the cross, and earliest at the grave."

Can I forget, a Pilgrim o'er the sea,

The countless shrines of Woman's charity?

2

In thy gay capital, bewildering France,

Where Pleasure's shuttle weaves the whirling dance,

Beneath the shelter of St. Mary's dome,

Where pallid suffering seeks and finds a home,

Methinks I see that sainted sister now

11

Wipe Death's cold dew-drops from an infant's brow;

Can I forget that mild, seraphic grace

With heaven-eyed Patience meeting in her face?

Ah, sure, if angels leave celestial spheres,

We saw an angel dry a mortal's tears.

'T was thine, Jerome, when shuddering nature cried 12 For aid and rescue from the burning tide,

'T was thine, with vigorous arm, and manly breath, To leap through danger, and to snatch from death; Though prince and peer assumed their noblest mien, Thou wert the Ocean Monarch of that scene.

Where e'er his camp-fires glistened on the sod, Humane as brave, our latest Conqueror trod; Honored not most when flying shaft and ball Swept like red hail on Buena Vista's wall,

THE POST OF HONOR,

19

But for that aid a foot-worn soldier found

When limping wounded o'er the bloody ground,

My steed is thine," the pitying hero cried,

And lifted up a brother to his side.

Slow to applaud, our pulses rarely bound

When Genius walks his own enchanted ground,
While many a son, though hailed in distant lands,
Receives no chaplet at our tardy hands.

Not thus, on other soil, true greatness pines,

Not thus old age to poverty declines;

See Worth advanced, and power-compelling Mind
On some proud hill-top gloriously enshrined,
While sterling Merit leaves his lowly plain

To found a peerage, dated from his brain.

Yet, stern old shores, still on thy rocks they stand
Who guard the portals of our native land!

Our Country first, their glory and their pride,

Land of their hopes, land where their fathers died, When in the right, they 'll keep thy Honor bright, When in the wrong, they 'll die to set it right.

Let blooming boys, from stagnant cloisters freed,
Sneer at old virtues, and the Patriot's creed,

Forget the lessons taught at Valor's side,
And all their country's honest fame deride.
All are not such; some glowing blood remains
To warm the icy current of our veins,
Some from the watch-towers still descry afar

The faintest glimmer of an adverse star.

When faction storms, when meaner statesmen quail,

Full high advanced, our eagle meets the gale!

On some great point where Honor takes her stand, — The Ehrenbreitstein of our native land,

Sec, in the front, to strike for Freedom's cause,

The mailed Defender of her rights and laws!

On his great arm behold a nation lean,
And parcel empire with the Island Queen ;
Great in the council, peerless in debate,-
Who follows Webster takes the field too late.

13

Go track the globe, its changing climes explore, From crippled Europe to the Arab's shore,

THE POST OF HONOR.

21

See Albion's lion guard her stormy seas,

See Gallia's lilies float on every breeze,

Roam through the world, but find no brighter names Than those true Honor for Columbia claims.

Pause in that aisle, with half-suspended breath,

Where sceptered England shares her realm with Death, And hear, beneath the Abbey's mouldering towers, Her hoary minstrels chime the passing hours,

Then turn from halls, where blood-stained banners wave,

To peaceful Quincy and its new-made grave,-
From Pride and Power, enshrined in regal gloom,

To patriot Virtue, and to Vernon's tomb.