Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/11

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Well may that realm confiding rest, Heroes, and mighty chiefs to see, Which finds its infant offspring blest With monitors and guides like thee.

A future age, than ours more just, With his, shall blend thy honor'd name, And rear, exulting, o'er thy dust, The monument of deathless fame.

And thither bid young mothers wend, To bless thy spirit as they rove, And learn, while o'er thy tomb they bend, For heaven to train the babes they love.

 

Hail holy clime!—where Science rear'd her throne, And kindred arts like constellations shone, Ere from her fostering wolfs caresses dread, Rome, savage infant, rear'd her rival head; Nurse of the bard, the hero, and the sage, Too long the victim of oppression's rage; Enslaved and fetter'd by the Paynim throng, Sworn foes of science, and unknown to song; In mockery crown'd with persecution's thorn, And crush'd till courage from despair was born: We see thee bursting from thy lingering trance, Snatch the dark helm, and poise the quivering lance; 