0 Of change, of anarchy the lust, So spake his country's friend, with sighs, The legacy he gave, And half he feared his toils were vain, A transient gloom o'ercast his mind; Thus buoyed with hope, with virtue blest, He meets the happier hours: His skies assume a lovelier blue, MOUNT VERNON. David Humphreys. TIME! whose wing untiring sweeps the world! Still sounding onward in that stayless flight, Unseen, yet mightily, as when first unfurled In the young morning of creation's light,How hast thou shaken from thy pinion here, Over the work of man thy storm of change! Where, as around some hallowed altar-place, Years, ye are reckless, as in pomp ye pass, SO Whose ranks scarce blossom ere they meet the blow That levels them to earth! - How stern ye tread On your long pilgrimage to that far land, Where ye, in turn, bow with the shadowy dead, Of things that joy us not the voiceless band! Yet as ye pass, how marked your footsteps fall On all that circles us, from cradle to the pall! The hovel and the palace, the loud hall, Of thy unfaltering progress and thy power!- And here, where, hadst thou felt one thought of earth, Thy footsteps had fallen lightly, and thy hand Had lain with holier touch than marks the mirth With which it scars the pride of every land, Here, where - as round arches of some fane Virtue has made immortal -- dull decay Has struggled yet with memory in vain, While lesser things of earth have passed away, Here, as o'er temples of some heathen sky, Hast thou cast wide the shadow of thy revelry! Ruin is written on these sacred walls! Time! frown no more on earth, thy empirage is here! But thou rememberest while a world forgets, Look with unstartled pulse. on that decay! Nor ask what glory there may be to save The shrine to which it bows, from darkness and the grave! Great Father of thy country!-if 't is given, To gaze from the broad watch-towers of thy heaven, – To one whose life a people did redeem, First strike thy spirit? While o'er wrongs they brood, Like hoarding misers o'er some golden dream, Sparing that noble justice, which no shame Can summon to obey, and give the land to Fame? O look not, — look not from thy throne of stars so bravely won! There is a shadow that its radiance mars, Deeper than the eclipse that drowns the sun! Look not upon thy country!—she has bowed From that great pinnacle of glory down, Where thou didst place her, and a voice aloud Proclaims her loftier pride and beauty flown, Look not upon thy country! until she Recalls, with kindling thought, her destiny and thee! I stood upon the threshold of that home Though humble be the home and hearth he tread, O'er which the desolating wings of Time have sped! I stood upon that threshold. The far voice Who swept unseen on silent wings around, And lingered as about some lone and magic fount. * * * Grenville Mellen. Do New Orleans, La. THE RIVER FIGHT. you know of the dreary land, But the nightmare marsh of a dream? To die in the great Gulf Stream? |