Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/126

How a young cradled nation woke
    To grasp the glittering brand,
And strangely raise the half-knit arm
    To brave the mother-land.

Those stormy days! those stormy days!
    When, with a fearful cry,
The blood-stain'd earth at Lexington
    Invoked the avenging sky,
When in the scarce-drawn furrow
    The farmer's plough was stay'd,
And for the gardener's pruning-hook
    Sprang forth the warrior's blade.

The glorious deeds of Washington,
    The chiefs of other days!
Another lip is silent now
    That used to speak their praise;
Another link is stricken
    From the living chain that bound
The legends of an ancient race
    Our thrilling hearts around.

We gaze on where the patriarchs stood
    In ripen'd virtue strong,
How shall we dare to fill the place
    That they have fill'd so long?
How on the bosoms of our race
    Enforce the truths they breathed,
Or wear that mantle of the skies
    They to our souls bequeathed?