Nonfiction > E.C. Stedman & E.M. Hutchinson, eds. > A Library of American Literature > 1821–1834
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Stedman and Hutchinson, comps.  A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes.  1891.
Vol. V: Literature of the Republic, Part II., 1821–1834
 
The Exile at Rest
By John Pierpont (1785–1866)
 
[From Airs of Palestine, and Other Poems. 1840.—Poems. 1854.]

HIS falchion flashed along the Nile;
  His hosts he led through Alpine snows;
O’er Moscow’s towers, that shook the while,
  His eagle flag unrolled,—and froze.
 
Here sleeps he now, alone;—not one        5
  Of all the kings whose crowns he gave,
Nor sire, nor brother, wife, nor son,
  Hath ever seen or sought his grave.
 
Here sleeps he now, alone;—the star,
  That led him on from crown to crown,        10
Hath sunk;—the nations from afar
  Gazed, as it faded and went down.
 
He sleeps alone;—the mountain cloud
  That night hangs round him, and the breath
Of morning scatters, is the shroud        15
  That wraps his martial form in death.
 
High is his couch;—the ocean flood
  Far, far below by storms is curled,
As round him heaved, while high he stood,
  A stormy and inconstant world.        20
 
Hark! Comes there from the Pyramids,
  And from Siberia’s waste of snow,
And Europe’s fields, a voice that bids
  The world be awed to mourn him?—No;—
 
The only, the perpetual dirge,        25
  That’s heard here, is the sea-bird’s cry,
The mournful murmur of the surge,
  The cloud’s deep voice, the wind’s low sigh.
 
 
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