Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/203

Rh Where oft we roved,—now sad and lone I stray, Or hang enamour'd o'er the page sublime Of lofty bard,—or at dim twilight think Of life's uncertainty,—or waking, muse, Blending sweet visions with the thought of thee, Is it thy sigh, that through still midnight breathes "Rise!—sister spirit?”                                   —At yon humble stone Sure I should pause, with reverence justly due To him who sleeps beneath.—I knew him well; The patient teacher of our infant years.— The terror of his frown hath driven the blood From many a truant's cheek,—while his keen eye Darting like lightning to the false one's soul, Uprooted guilt.—The pale delinquent stood Trembling before him,—if the appointed task Were unfulfill'd;—nor could the rust of sloth, Corroding intellect with baleful spot, Long bear the atmosphere, his dreaded wrath Kindled around it.—But he lived in days Ere Nature's strong affinity to good Had been discover'd,—and ere Wisdom chose That more convenient rule,—to train the child Not where he should,—but where he wills to go. —I loved that man of science,—for his voice Was gentle to the youth who careful sought To stamp upon his fleeting hours, the trace Of knowledge and of truth.—I loved him more For his high sway,—which banish'd from his realm The traitor passions,—and the guileful arts. Him Education honour'd as her priest, To offer on her altar fragrant fruits