His pageant is dimmed with the tears of a nation, That soothed e'en when time was receding from view. REQUIEM, Written for the 24th of July, 1826-Observed in Philadelphia as a day of mourning for Adams and Jefferson. IN glory wrapt, the Sages sleep-- They sank by nature's kind decay; We mourn the chiefs of that proud band Their mighty souls no terror knew, They blenched not at the rebel's name Alluding to a remittance of seven thousand five hundred dollars from New York, which satisfied some craving creditors, and enabled the benefactor of his country to die in peace. When, calling heaven the deed to view, They gave themselves to deathless fame. As Israel's covenant went before Her hosts, a sign and guide to them, So these the sacred charter bore, A leading and a cheering gem. And through the frequent scath and fight, That beacon led our fathers on, Till o'er Columbia's weary night In splendours broke the noonday sun. Glorious in life, to them 'twas given To future time our Jubilee, While one by one the ancient sires On us may their bright mantles fall. TO MY MOTHER IN NEW ENGLAND. MOTHER! Six summer suns have flown And though this heart has wept alone, The happy hours of infancy, Those hours unknown to careWhen sheltered in a mother's love It fondly nestled there. Mother! I well remember thou I wondered why my gladness then And memory lingers at the hour I sought her presence, from whose smiles Yet was I much to blame? For pleasure of the heart like this, I slept-but thou couldst not, for oft Of sickness stealing o'er my frame, Wouldst sooth my frequent pain with all Long years have wandered by since then, Far from New England's hills, where I And lingers oft with thee; Hast thou not, O my parent, yet Thou art not what thou wast, for age Has silvered o'er thy hair; Thy eye is dim, thy cheek is pale- How could it fail to touch my heart Knew it was care for me that paled Be it my lot to smooth the way, Before thy pilgrim feet; And cause the heart that yearned for me, Thou seek'st thy last repose; One little flower shall mark the spot- MY FATHER'S GRAVE. SINCE thou betook'st thee to thy rest, Has never from remembrance gone, When I was left, and felt alone. O, there's a throb of dreariness That mere affliction never gave; Earth seems to him a wilderness, Who bends upon a parent's grave. |