Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/197

196 Type of the woes that soon must sweep Their blasted race away, Down to oblivion dark and deep, With none their hopeless wrongs to weep, Or mourn their sad decay. Yes, when the Old World hasting prest Her friendship on this infant West, The boon she brought, the pledge she gave, Was poison and a drunkard's grave. But thou, fair city, throned in pride, Queen of the Hudson's silver tide, Well hast thou, by thy deeds, effaced This stain upon thine annal traced— Well hast thou by thy zeal to aid Temperance, thine early trespass paid: And as the kneeling form that prest A Saviour's tear-laved feet, was blest, So hast thou shown, with victor-sway, That love which washes sin away.