Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/138

138

Hail hallow'd dome, embosom'd deep in trees! The loved retreat of Freedom's glorious son, Who 'neath your shade inhaled the balmy breeze, What time the day of deathful toil was done, The din of battle o'er, the meed of victory won.

Fair terrace, where with brow serene he stray'd,    Ye groves and gardens, once his rural pride, How oft your blending beauties he survey'd,   When the spent sun, that toward his couch did glide, To sparkling silver turn'd Potomac's mighty tide.

Why hastening, lead me to yon lowly grave? Let no irreverent step imprint the sod! Dark cypress boughs in mournful homage wave, And holy seems the ground, as that where trod Once, with unsandall'd feet, the chosen seer of God.

Hero! is this thy bed? who to the ground Of blood stain'd Monmouth, led with dauntless eye, Cheer'd thy sad host at Trenton's leaguer'd bound, And woke on Yorktown's heights the clarion cry, God saves the righteous cause! God gives the victory!

Methinks the obelisk should pierce the cloud, Where low in dust those honour'd limbs recline; And far-seen banners warn a way-worn crowd Of kneeling pilgrims to surround the shrine, And pay their solemn vows with gratitude divine.

Our sons shall learn thy deeds; and o'er the page Of history bending, or the poet's lyre, To trace the godlike men of earlier age,