| |
| “AND 1 this,” he exclaims, “is the country whose charms | |
| A tyrant’s rude fetter would mangle and mar! | |
| Where the war-demon howls forth his chilling alarms, | |
| And the death-vulture hangs o’er his slaughtering car! | |
| Columbia! a pilgrim approaches thy shrine, | 5 |
| The offerings he brings are his sword and his blood! | |
| O! make him thy champion—his life shall be thine! | |
| He seeks this high honor o’er ocean’s dark flood.” | |
| |
| Lo! the beautiful wood-nymph of freedom appears! | |
| Wreaths of blooming magnolia her forehead entwine, | 10 |
| Around her an evergreen mantle she wears, | |
| And her eyes with effusions of tenderness shine: | |
| Majestic and mild, the young Hero she meets, | |
| And accepts his devotion with smiles of delight; | |
| His heart to her wishes responsively beats, | 15 |
| And she points where her votaries sustain the dread fight. | |
| |
| Entranced by her blessing and holy embrace, | |
| His soul is uplifted on pinions of flame, | |
| And, as flies the swift steed in the emulous race, | |
| He rushes to battle, to conquest, and fame.— | 20 |
| Where danger and carnage bestride the red plain, | |
| And death’s giant arm, through the dark thundering clouds, | |
| Drives his broad lance and piles up his mountains of slain, | |
| The whirlwind of conflict our hero enshrouds! * * * * * | |
| Descending through ether on pinions of snow, | 25 |
| The angel of peace to our country returns, | |
| Stripes the concave of blue with the dyes of her bow, | |
| And enshrines here in separate and beautiful urns, | |
| The dust of the warriors who fell on our plains— | |
| Each nation’s apart—yet in nearness arranged— | 30 |
| And her olive tree planting to shade the remains— | |
| Bids it flourish and bloom there through ages unchanged. | |
| |
| She waves her white flag, and two figures advance— | |
| The elder ’s a matron commanding and proud in her port— | |
| But she meets with confusion the maiden’s sweet glance, | 35 |
| And her cheek seems of varied passions the sport:— | |
| Her head wears a crown—but its splendor is dim— | |
| For its richest and loveliest jewel is gone! | |
| On her arm hangs a banner whose emblem, so grim, | |
| And so couchant, was lately the pride of a throne.— | 40 |
| |
| But now her bold lion is humbled and lorn— | |
| And where laurel and sea-weed once form’d his proud lair, | |
| He is stretch’d on a bed that ’s dismantled and torn, | |
| And his eye is despoil’d of its conquering glare. | |
| The younger—though stately—is modest of mien, | 45 |
| And we know by her costume and aspect benign, | |
| That in her loved presence before we have been, | |
| And that she is liberty’s guardian divine! | |
