| |
| DID human eye e’er see so fair a day? | |
| Behold thy genius, freedom, lead the way. | |
| Rude kings of old did Russian armies wait, | |
| And swell with barb’rous port the pomp of state. | |
| While the proud car, bedeck’d with guilty gold, | 5 |
| On freedom’s writhing neck triumphant roll’d. | |
| The nobles proud, who led the gorgeous train, | |
| Wore slavery’s badge and drew a gilded chain, | |
| While the loud shouts which pierced the troubled air, | |
| The tongue of nations, only thrilled with fear. | 10 |
| The eye adoring, scarce could check its flow, | |
| For all their trophies swell’d but human wo. | |
| The paths of triumph thus the nations trod, | |
| And thought the sovereign power derived from God. | |
| Hence o’er the historic roll what hateful crimes | 15 |
| Were wrought, the model of succeeding times. | |
| But now fair liberty illumes the age, | |
| And reason tints renown’s recording page, | |
| Blots from her eye the fierce barbarian’s name, | |
| And even Cæsar blurs the page of fame. | 20 |
| Who wrought the wond’rous change? what power divine? | |
| The wond’rous change, O Washington! was thine. | |
| ’T is thine own era graced the radiant page, | |
| The fostering parent of a filial age. | |
| Thou too, illustrious Hancock, by his side | 25 |
| In every lowering hour of danger tried, | |
| With him conspicuous o’er the beamy page, | |
| Descend the theme of every future age. | |
| When first the sword of early war we drew, | |
| The king presaging fix’d his eye on you. | 30 |
| ’T was your dread finger press’d the sacred seal, | |
| Whence rose to sovereign power the public weal. | |
| Then, Washington! Oh dearly honor’d name, | |
| From callow youth the favorite of fame, | |
| When hovering navies, haughty Albion’s boast, | 35 |
| Pour’d her dread armies o’er our trembling coast, | |
| Your country beck’d you from the rural bower, | |
| And nerved your mighty arm with all her power. | |
| The tyrant saw, and sickening at the view, | |
| In fancy bade his frantic hopes adieu. | 40 |
| But urged by fate, still bade his armies dare, | |
| Blew the vain trump, and waged abortive war. | |
| At length you drew the tyrant from his throne, | |
| And bade his seal your course of glory crown. | |
| When polish’d wisdom seem’d her seats to fly, | 45 |
| On thee again the public cast her eye. | |
| How rose the model from your forming hand! | |
| The proud palladium of our happy land. | |
| Ah! gentle parent of the cradled states, | |
| On whose fond eye an infant nation waits, | 50 |
| While now affection seems your steps to stay, | |
| And swarming concourse checks your laboring way; | |
| Perhaps among the loud acclaiming throng, | |
| Your ear may heed the muse’s transient song; | |
| The high-born muse from adulation free, | 55 |
| Attunes, Oh chief! her haughty lyre to thee. | |
| No vulgar theme could ever tempt her strain, | |
| Perhaps the proudest of the tuneful train. | |
| Apart from busy life her hours are led, | |
| And her lone steps the shades of science tread. | 60 |
| Her years revolving roll a playful flow, | |
| Nor ever care o’erhung the muse’s brow. | |
| From the recess where her own roses twine, | |
| How oft her fancy drew a form like thine. | |
| Ere morning waked she wing’d her early way | 65 |
| To hail the dawn of this auspicious day. | |
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