Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/459

 1850-60.] THOMAS W. HOIT. 443 ODE TO WASHINGTON. They hold a taper to the sun, And boast its glories near his shrine — "Who claim the palm for victories won, Or regal fame, compare with thine ! The gild of pride, the pomp of power, Like glittering insects, in thy rays, Dissolve and vanish in an hour — But fame prolongs thy lengthened days. Heroes and kings may deck the page With storied deeds, and trophies bright. And laureled bards in phrenzy rage, Their transient honors to requite. But fame herself adorns thy brow With honors time can never fade, And truth, eternally, as now. Shines forth in thy pure soul arrayed. Wliy doth the sage thy deeds indite. And gather trophies round thy tomb? Why weave his glowing chaplet bright. To deck that paradise of gloom ? What magic spell asserts its sway, To kindle in the souls of men Blessed visions of a brighter day ? Ah ! all shall meet as brothers then ! The golden epoch shall return. Peace guide the nations as of yore. When man thy mission shall discern, And at the shrine of truth adore. Look down. Immortal ! from thy car — The chariot of the sun restrain ! I hear thee whisper from afar, The peaceful age shall come again. THE TRUE WOMAN. I LOVE the woman! all her joy is home ; Her constant nature disinclines to roam : Her love and joy the clouds of care dispel. And angel hope, and peace, securely dwell : Our rising country's hope its tributes bring, Hence all our power, and fame, and glory spring. I love the woman ! for the starving poor Go satisfied and cheerful from her door; Her generous nature shuns the pomp of art The social virtues cluster round her heart, — Unchanged as maiden, widow, or as wife. Graced with the bland amenities of life. I love the woman ! in her tranquil soul Bright visions of the future gently roll, One manly heart, reliant and alone. Responsive knows her pleasure's all his own. So virtue crowns their days, renewed again To life immortal, in their smiling train. I love the woman ! for the smiling throng Of little loved ones Ksten to her song, And, charmed to silence, turn their laugh- ing eyes. To mark her smiles of love, with sweet surprise. And at the end of each melodious strain. Demand the song, and wake her smiles again. I love the woman ! for no sland'rous tongue Condemns her blushing cheek with bor- rowed wrong ; No tell-tale nymphs dilate upon her fame, Nor preface scandals with her honored name ; All pay her homage who delight to share Her blissful home, or copy virtue there.