Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/334

 318 HENRY W. ELLSWORTH. [1840-50. Of the loving and loved that gathered there, Each form to the dead hath gone, Save the dog that howls to the midnight air. By the side of yon cold white stone ! He Cometh ! He cometh ! no human power From his advent dread can flee, — Nor knoweth one human heart the hour When the tyrant his guest shall be ; Or whether at flush of the rosy dawn, Or at noontide's fervent heat. Or at night, when with robes of darkness on, He treadeth with stealthy feet ! NEW ENGLAND. New England ! New England ! How beautiful thy vales, Where summer flowers are breathing forth Their sweets of summer gales ; — Where soft the wild note breaketh From out each dewy grove, Where lone the night bird chanteth Her even-lay of love ! Oh ! far beyond the surges wild That beat upon thy shore. Hath swept the psean of thy fame, Old Ocean's vastness o'er ; — And echoes far, the triumph song, Of that true-hearted band, Who gave their homes, their all, for God, And thee, my fatherland ! Majestic are thy mountains green, Uptowering to the sky ; Stern monuments that God's own hand For aye hath piled on high ! Forever may they guard thee, As now the blessed, the free ; Bright Eden-land of nations. Proud home of Liberty ! And beautiful the silver streams That ripple o'er thy breast, In thousand fonns meandering, To seek their ocean rest ; — Aye, beautiful ! and may they twine Forever bright as now, A fadeless wreath of luster round Thy clear, unrufiled brow ! We love them, for their legends tell Of deeds and daiing true. How, oft the hunter paddled there. War-led, his dark canoe ; And oft beside their flowery banks, Mid scenes that linger yet. The Indian maid — sweet nature's child — Her Indian lover met ! And these are gone ! but fairer forms Now roam beneath thy skies, Whose priceless worth, and trusting love, Gleam forth from laughing eyes ; Thy daughters ! like sweet flowers of spring. Bloom 'neath thy fostering care. Through coming time, as now, to be Thy treasures, rich and rare ! Thy sons ! what clime that knoweth not The noble and the brave ? The tamers of the stubborn earth. The rovers of the wave ? Aye! dearly do they love the land Their fathers died to gain ; Their pride, its glory fresh to keep, Its honor bright from stain ! New England ! New England ! God's blessings on thee be ; And ever on those cherished ones Fond memory links with thee ! From this fair land, whose spreading skies Like thine a glory wear. My spirit turns to breathe for thee A blessing and a prayer !