Page:Poems (Bryant, 1821).djvu/15



And therefore, to our hearts, the days gone by,—

When liv’d the honour’d sage whose death we wept,

And the soft virtues beam’d from many an eye

And beat in many a heart that long has slept,—

Like spots of earth where angel-feet have stept—

Are holy; and high-dreaming bards have told

Of times when worth was crown’d, and faith was kept,

Ere friendship grew a snare or love wax’d cold—

Those pure and happy times—the golden days of old.

Peace to the just man’s memory,—let it grow

Greener with years, and blossom through the flight

Of ages; let the mimic canvass show

His calm benevolent features; let the light

Stream on his deeds of love, that shunn’d the sight

Of all but heaven, and, in the book of fame,

The glorious record of his virtues write,

And hold it up to men, and bid them claim

A palm like his, and catch from him the hallowed flame.