WRITTEN DURING A VISIT TO THE HOME OF WASHINGTON.
O, TIME! whose wing untiring sweeps the world! Still sounding onward in that stayless flight Unseen, yet mightily, as when first unfurl'd 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 a whole people bends in prayer and tear, O'er mem'ries beyond words. so deep! so strange! Where, as around some hallow'd altar-place, We gather, to call back the glory of our days!
Years, ye are reckless, as in pomp ye pass,
With your dim company of Death and Wo-
Bowing a generation as the grass,
Whose ranks scarce blossom cre 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 mark'd your footsteps fall
On all that circles us
- from cradle to the pall!
The hovel and the palace — the loud hall,
Where wealth holds holiday, in feast and song;
And the gray cloister, with its echoes-all
Sound to thy pinions, as they swoop along,
Insatiate Time! - Alike on mount and vale,
On the low cottage, and the cloudy tower,
Is written still the melancholy tale,
Of thy unfaltering progress, and thy power!
That power that owns not mercy or appeal
Stamping mortality with its eraseless seal.
And here, where, hadst thou felt one thought of earth,
Thy footsteps had fall'n 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
Has struggled yet with memory in vain,
While lesser things of carth have pass'd 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!
It sounds with every foot-fall - and its tone,
Like melancholy music, through these halls.
Echoes to every whisper-low- and lone!
The voice of other years uplifts around-
And to our pilgrim spirit, as we tread,
It comes like some remember'd dream of sound
From the unfathom'd mansions of the dead!
Ruin!
no other accent meets the ear!
Time! frown no more on earth-thy empirage is here!
But thou rememb'rest while a world forgets —
Thy seal is stamp'd upon the hallow'd place,
Where, though a light is round that never sets,
And memory lingers, measur'd by no days,
With FREEDOM's children-hearts that cannot die!
Yet does A PEOPLE from its CAPITOL
Look with unstartled pulse on that decay!
Hear the unheeded fragments as they fall,
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 'tis given,
Over its picture with an angel's eye
To gaze from the broad watch-towers of thy heaven
How shall these black'ning lines of apathy
Strike on thy vision!-Shall ingratitude
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
Upon thy purchas'd world!-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 bow'd
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
Where he was gathered to his dreamless sleep!
Above me rose no tower or sculptur'd dome,
But a strange quietness that makes you weep,
Was round me like an atmosphere. I heard
That mocking of my footsteps through the hall,
And faint returnings of each whisper'd word,
Which on the listener like a trump will fall,
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
Of the low, chanting winds was in my ear,
And my heart leaped within me, as with joys,
When I bethought me of past glories here
And seem'd to read its story in that sound,
As syllabled by beings of the air,
Who swept unseen on silent wings around,
And held their ceaseless court of memory there!
Spirits that sentinel'd that quiet mount,
And linger'd as about some lone and magic fount.
And who were they the band that cluster'd here
The pilgrim pathway to that lonely grave
With eyes illum'd by recollection's tear,
As the past swept their spirits like a wave?
Who, that with quivering lip, as if in prayer,
And lifted brow, stood at that iron gate,
Within which, over spoils of glory rare,
Death, in his wonted home of victory sate
The tomb of a world's FATHER- where the son
And daughter age shall bow- from the broad land he won!
They were the children of that favor'd land,
Bending above the ashes of its SIRE!
Beauty, with marble cheek and snowy hand,
Trembling as 'mid the music of its lyre,
When pointing to those relics of decay
That round her shrinking feet oft fell and rung,
As she pursued her melancholy way,
Where memory murmur'd with her ceaseless tongue,
Like the low forest music of the trees-
Or the great harmony that dies not, of the seas!
Woman, who 'neath that mould'ring archway bow'd,
And the dank dust with cautious step did
Where death's memorials did about her crowd
Chilling decay enshrin'd with loveliness!
Woman! and at her side a gentle youth,
With dark eye and low voice, like one who feels
The stirring revelation of great truth,
That, at such shrines, through the hush'd spirit steals
And near, like a lost wand'rer 'mid the veil
Of other years, lean'd the sad bard that tells this tale.
And well they bow'd them at that holy place!
O long, with generations yet untold,
Shall here be held one Sabbath of their days
By men whom nought had tempted from their gold,
And the world's pleasures. Ilere, in bands, shall fall
The father and his children
Till the worm revels 'mid the capitol,
And dome and pillar fellow with the dust-
Till the faint echo peal along the shore
Where her veil'd sun went down - Trust Liberty no more!
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