Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/17

16 Sprung from their half-drawn furrow, as the cry Of threatened Liberty went thrilling by, Looked to their God—and reared in bulwark round, Breasts free from guile, and hands with toil embrowned, And bade a monarch's thousand banners yield, Firm at the plough and glorious in the field, Lo! here they rest, who every danger braved, Unmarked, untrophied, 'mid the soil they saved.

Round scenes like these doth warm remembrance glide, Where emigration rolls its ceaseless tide, On western wilds, which thronging hordes explore, Or ruder Erie's serpent-haunted shore, Or far Huron, by unshorn forests crowned, Or red Missouri's unfrequented bound, The exiled man, when midnight shades invade, Couched in his hut, or camping on the glade, Starts from his dream, to catch, in echoes clear, The boatman's song that charmed his boyish ear; While the sad mother, 'mid her children's mirth Paints with fond tears a parent's distant hearth, Or cheats her rustic babes with tender tales Of thee, blest River! and thy velvet vales; Her native cot, where luscious berries swell, The village school, and sabbath's tuneful bell, And smiles to see the infant soul expand With proud devotion for that fatherland.