We remember-what freeman will not!- Be it joined yet with his who shrunk never The land of the sceptre and slave, 'Neath the peace-branch thou helpedst to rear; Not a heart but whose warmest pulse glows, Lafayette! to welcome thee here. VERSES 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, On the heights where the champions of freedom fell; At the hour of a nation's glory, He has bidden the column rise, and tell To ages, its deathless story. In the tent he has rested, that sheltered THE CHIEF, His tomb he has wet with the tears of grief, He departs!-we could wish here his autumn of bliss Yet, ere millions who fondly love that Name, With mingled emotions shall faulter acclaim To their Guest, o'er the billows returning: Ere the Great and the Good from his dear native land Receives the Patriot's 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, Ye manes! hover near us, and gratefully view He will witness the rapturous homage of love, On him, whose achievements are written above, 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 DeadWho rest in the shroud of battle. Then go, Friend of Man! at the shrine of whose name Our holiest love is burning; The nation that welcomed, will render acclaim LAFAYETTE AT THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON. Mr 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 died. A stranger I came, yet thou didst not reject me, In thy councils, thy thoughts, didst invite me to share, Thou didst honour and love me, my Father! and bless me, That love thrilled my heart's core-it still lingers there. I return to the fields of the patriot's glory, Those fields wave their harvests like Eden in bloom; But the deeds of the warrior live only in story, And thou, too, my Father! hast gone to the tomb. My Father! my Father! one war-tent did shield us, THE SLAVE SHIP. THE tall ship bounds across the wave, She hastens past the billowy grave, And over ocean's dead. Now tempests revel round her mast, Now lessening to the weary eye, A pigmy thing of vanity, That mocks men in their dreams. Dimly she climbs along the steep, Then flashes o'er the yielding deep, And whence that speed? Her flag on high Waves it for glory now? Where undiscovered worlds may lie Points she her daring prow? Bears she high hearts afar? The light of Bethlehem's Star? Onward she flies. Thou saw'st that deck- In gallant trim she sails, the wreck Of bosoms in despair! And who may tell what bolt of God |