Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/135

Rh  On with a martyr's spirit to the strife Of young Thermopylæ?— In vain! In vain!— That awful hour had come which heeds no prayer Of fond companionship.—Death's angel spake Above the turmoil of the boisterous deep, And warn'd the patriot hence.— —With swimming glance, Like him who erst from Pisgah's cliff descried The unenter'd land of promise,—he survey'd That emerald shore where slept in hallow'd graves His ancestors, where rose in beauteous strength The city of his joy,—crown'd by that mount Where new-born Liberty essay'd to tread The fearful wine-press,—laving her firm foot In her sons' blood, to bless a future age.— —The scene receded,—and he saw where Peace Her seraph wing unfolded,—while the breath Of everlasting melody pour'd forth A welcome to the soul,—nor could he mourn Exchange so blest,—but sought that brighter sphere.

 

Seems life to thee, in future prospect long?— In fancy dazzling, or fruition sweet?— And wilt thou listen to a syren's song?— Though heaven and earth in unison repeat Life is the flower of grass,—a vision false and fleet. 