Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/219

218 Move not the chair Where by his side she sat, the tenderest friend, The mother of his children, her fond glance Intently resting on his studious brow, And oft by looks of answering love repaid. Here, too, his little ones, fearing no chill Of pedant frown, came flocking, for he join'd Their happy sports with full hilarity. —How bright his image, in this favour'd spot, Gleams o'er the sorrowing friend. Here was his wont To pour the tides of healthful feeling forth, In social interchange; for still with him Majestic Science, in her loftiest heights, Knew no austerity, but hand in hand Walk'd with life's charities. And thus he lived, And thus, with cheerful acquiescence, met His euthanasia, and lay down in peace, His couch of pain made soft by filial hands.

—Then let this haunt be sacred. For the foot Of strangers here in future days shall turn, As to some Mecca of Philosophy; And hither, too, the aspiring youth shall come To question of his greatness, or to seek Some relic of the wondrous man, whose fame Still gathereth greenness from the hand of Time.