Page:Poets of John Company.djvu/77

Rh

Stupendous spirits—Ye could mould.
 * And re-create a nation's mind;

And will no whispering voice unfold,
 * Till my young heart grew old with thought

The magic art that rules mankind? Oh, I have mused on all ye taught, But never yet that sacred gleam Has reached my soul in thought or dream.

'Tis vain, the task is not for me;
 * Fly, dreamy hopes and shadowy throne,

My country's soul I cannot free,
 * I will be master of my own;

Shades of the mighty—yet, oh yet Shed o'er this heart the proud regret That throbs and thrills in every beat, A little while, and we shall meet.

Tho' ear is deaf, and voice is dumb,
 * I know the spirit dieth not;

The ocean sleeps, the storm shall come,
 * When I perchance shall be forgot;

Enough for me If freedom's eyes Shall glisten where my ashes lie, And freedom's tardy hand confer A wreath on him who died for her.