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We remember-what freeman will not!
The Man of the People, whose name
Ye ages! eternize his fame.
From the toil of humanity's friend;
With WASHINGTON, FAYETTE should blend.
The land of the sceptre and slave,
Thy birth-place-is alien to thee; Yes, Europe, accursed, is the grave
Of all that is generous and free. Haste then gallant one! and repose
'Neath the peace-branch thou helpedst to rear; Not a heart but whose warmest pulse glows,
Lafayette! to welcome thee here.
OCCASIONED BY THE EXPECTED PRESENCE OF LAFAY
ETTE IN THE UNITED STATES, AT THE FORTY-NINTH CELEBRATION OF THEIR INDEPENDENCE.
He has stood in his years, on the bed of the slain,
The fields where his comrades perished; And memory, the tie has renewed again
With those his heart had cherished.
On the heights where the champions of freedom fell;
At the hour of a nation's glory,
To ages, its deathless story.
In the tent he has rested, that eltered THE CHIEF,
In the day of doubt and danger;
They were not the tears of a stranger.
He departs!—we could wish here his autumn of bliss
Might ripen-kind winter before him-
Loved clime, to his own will restore him.
Yet, ere millions who fondly love that Name,
Ingratitude ever spurning-
To their Guest, o'er the billows returning:
Ere the Great and the Good from his dear native
land Receives the Patriots greeting ; Ere he clasps to his own, on that idolized strand,
The bosom, where love is beating:
With the sons of the tried who in peril were true,
He will hallow the Day of Oblation ;
The smiles and the tears of a nation.
He will witness the rapturous homage of love,
That man is sublimely bestowing
On him, whose achievements are written above,
Whose worth in the heart is glowing.
At that board he will honour the time-stricken head
Once known ’mid the cannon's rattle; At that feast he will pledge the Valiant—the Dead
Who rest in the shroud of battle.
Then go, Friend of Man! at the shrine of whose
Our holiest love is burning ;
To its Guest, o'er the billows returning.
LAFAYETTE AT THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON.
My Father! my Father! when hosts were embattled,
The cordons beheld me, thy son, at thy side; Where freedom's flag hovered, her thunder-drums
rattled, I fought to defend her—to avenge would have
A stranger I came, yet thou didst not reject me,
share, Thou didst honour and love me, my Father! and
That love thrilled my heart's core—it still lingers
I return to the fields of the patriot's glory,
And thou, too, my Father! hast gone to the tomb.
My Father! my Father! one war-tent did shield us,
Companion in perils thy joys too were mine; In death not divided, one grave shall receive us,
I hasten to mingle my ashes with thine.
THE SLAVE SHIP.
TAE tall ship bounds across the wave,
Her canvass gaily spread;
And over ocean's dead.
And now the gale is gone;
The tall ship hurries on.
Now lessening to the weary eye,
The flying vessel seems
That mocks men in their dreams.
A bubble of the breeze;
The meteor of the seas.
And whence that speed? Her flag on high
Waves it for glory now?
Points she her daring prow?
Bears she high hearts afar?
The light of Bethlehem's Star?
The warrior treads not there;
Of bosoms in despair!
Against her forth is gone?
The Slave Ship hurries on.
His brow is stern and his cheek is cold,
In his scowl is fierce despair; His visage is sunk his eye is bold,
The deed of darkness is there.
For him affection nurtures no charm,
No tear has the ruffian shed;
His bosom is seared and dead.