Her spirit from its mortal frame,
And weight of mortal cares to free,
It was a blessed sight to see,
The parting saint her state of honor keeping,
In gifted, dauntless faith, whilst round her, weeping, Her children's children mourned on bended knee.
Is there a man, that from some lofty steep,
Views in his wide survey the boundless deep,
When its vast waters, lined with sun and shade,
Wave beyond wave, in seried distance, fade
To the pale sky;- or views it, dimly seen,
The shifting screens of drifted mist between,
As the huge cloud dilates its sable form,
When grandly curtain'd by th' approaching storm, –
Who feels not his aw'd soul with wonder rise
To Him whose power created sea and skies,
Mountains and deserts, giving to the sight
The wonders of the day and of the night?
But let some fleet be seen in warlike pride,
Whose stately ships the restless billows ride,
While each, with lofty masts and brightening sheen
Of fair spread sails, moves like a vested Queen ;—
Or rather, be some distant bark, astray,
Seen like a pilgrim on his lonely way,
Holding its steady course from port and shore, A form distinct, a speck, and seen no more,How doth the pride, the sympathy, the flame, Of human feeling stir his thrilling frame? "O Thou! whose mandate dust inert obey'd, "What is this creature man whom thou hast made?"
On Palos' shore, whose crowded strand
Bore priests and nobles of the land,
And rustic hinds and townsmen trim,
And harness'd soldiers stern and grim,
And lowly maids and dames of pride,
And infants by their mother's side, -
The boldest Seaman stood that e'er
Did bark or ship through tempest steer;
And wise as bold, and good as wise;
The magnet of a thousand eyes,
That on his form and features cast,
His noble mien and simple guise,
In wonder seem'd to look their last.
A form which conscious worth is gracing,
A face where hope, the lines effacing,
Of thought and care, bestow'd in truth,
To the quick eyes' imperfect tracing
The look and air of youth.
Who, in his lofty gait, and high
Expression of th' enlighten'd eye,
Had recogniz'd, in that bright hour,
The disappointed suppliant of dull power,
Who had in vain of states and kings desired
The pittance for his vast emprise required?-
The patient sage, who, by his lamp's faint light,
O'er chart and map spent the long silent night?
The man who meekly fortune's buffets bore,
Trusting in One alone, whom heaven and earth adore?
Another world is in his mind,
Peopled with creatures of his kind,
With hearts to feel, with minds to soar,
Thoughts to consider and explore;
Souls, who might find from trespass shriven,
Virtue on earth and joy in heaven.
"That power divine, whom storms obey,"
(Whisper'd his heart,) a leading star,
Will guide him on his blessed way;
Brothers to join by fate divided far.
Vain thoughts! which Heaven doth but ordain
In part to be, the rest, alas! how vain!
But hath there liv'd of mortal mould,
Whose fortunes with his thoughts could hold
An even race? Earth's greatest son
That e'er earn'd fame, or empire won,
Hath but fulfill'd, within a narrow scope,
A stinted portion of his ample hope.
With heavy sigh and look depress'd,
The greatest men will sometimes hear
The story of their acts address'd
To the young stranger's wond'ring ear,
And check the half-swoln tear.
Is it or modesty or pride
Which may not open praise abide?
No; read his inward thoughts: they tell,
His deeds of fame he prizes well.
But ah! they in his fancy stand,
As relics of a blighted band,
Who, lost to man's approving sight,
Have perish'd in the gloom of night,
Ere yet the glorious light of day
Had glitter'd on their bright array.
His mightiest feat had once another,
Of high imagination born,
A loftier and a nobler brother,
From dear existence torn;
And she for those, who are not, steeps
O! WHO shall lightly say that fame
Is nothing but an empty name!
Whilst in that sound there is a charm
The nerve to brace, the heart to warm,
As, thinking of the mighty dead,
The young, from slothful couch will start,
And vow, with lifted hands outspread,
Like them to act a noble part?
O! who shall lightly say that fame
Is nothing but an empty name!
When, but for those, our mighty dead,
All ages past, a blank would be,
Sunk in oblivion's murky bed,—
A desert bare, a shipless sea?
They are the distant objects seen,-
The lofty marks of what hath been.
O! who shall lightly say that fame
Is nothing but an empty name !
When mem'ry of the mighty dead
To earth-worn pilgrim's wistful eye
The brightest rays of cheering shed,
That point to immortality?
A twinkling speck, but fix'd and bright,
To guide us thro' the dreary night,
Each hero shines, and lures the soul
To gain the distant happy goal.
For is there one who, musing o'er the grave
Where lies interr'd the good, the wise, the brave,
Can poorly think, beneath the mould'ring heap,
That noble being shall forever sleep?
No; saith the gen'rous heart, and proudly swells,— "Tho' his cered corse lies here, with God his spirit dwells."
INSENSIBLE to high heroic deeds,
Is there a spirit clothed in mortal weeds,
Who at the Patriot's moving story,
Devoted to his country's good,
Devoted to his country's glory,
Shedding for freemen's rights his generous blood, —
List'neth not with breath heaved high,
Quiv'ring nerve, and glistening eye,
Feeling within a spark of heavenly flame,
That with the hero's worth may humble kindred claim?
If such there be, still let him plod
On the dull foggy paths of care,
Nor raise his eyes from the dank sod
To view creation fair:
What boots to him the wondrous works of God?
His soul with brutal things hath ta'en its earthly lair.
Oh! who so base as not to feel
The pride of freedom once enjoy'd,
Tho' hostile gold or hostile steel
Have long that bliss destroy'd?
The meanest drudge will sometimes vaunt
Of independent sires, who bore
Names known to fame in days of yore,
'Spite of the smiling stranger's taunt;
But, recent freedom lost what heart
Can bear the humbling thought-the quick'ning, mad'ning
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