Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/55

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, thou New World!—The eye of Greece is dark, Her glory waneth. When she sat enthroned On the Acropolis, and heard the lore Of Pallas echoing through the Academe, Thou wert a savage with thy hunter bow And feathery cincture. Now in dust she sits, Weary and sad of heart. She may not skill to read Her Father's book. Thou, who from her hast caught The spirit of Harmodius, and sat down Low at the feet of Socrates, and soared High with ethereal Plato, and hast knelt And thrilled, and wept, and trembled, as the lyre Of mighty Homer smote thy wondering soul— Up, pay thy debt. Restore her more than all The burning alphabet of eloquence Or the proud language of the arts could teach: Yea, give the key of knowledge, and with gems Drawn from the Gospel's everlasting mine,