Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/184

168 And like relenting Athens bless Its guiltless martyr's tomb?

Ah! no! — the stern and callous breast Sear'd by Ambition's flame, No kindlings of remorse confess'd At thy remember'd name:

Alike the Corsican abjur'd, With harsh and ingrate tone, The beauty and the love that pav'd His pathway to a throne.

Fair France! — by thy indignant zeal Were fitting honours paid, And did thy weeping fondness sooth The unrequited shade?

Bad'st thou yon breathing statue strive Her faultless form to show? But rushing on in reckless mirth, That empire answered, — No.

Then lo! — a still small voice arose Amid that silence drear, Such voice as from the cradle bed Doth charm the mother's ear;