Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/174

    Lavish their sweetest charms, while pure and free
Sounds forth the wind-swept harp of his own native sea.

    His country's brave defenders, few and gray,
    By penury stricken, with despairing sighs
    He sang, and boldly woke a warning lay,
    Lest from their graves a withering curse should rise;
    Now near his bed on which the peaceful skies
    And watching stars look down, on Groton's height
    Their monument attracts the traveller's eyes
    Whose souls unshrinking took their martyr-flight
When Arnold's traitor-sword flashed out in fiendish might.

    Youth, with free hand, her frolic germs had sown,
    And garlands clustered round his manly head,
    Those blossoms withered, and he stood alone
    Till on his cheek the blushing hectic fed,
    And o'er his manly brows cold death-dews spread;
    Then in his soul a quenchless star arose
    Whose holy beams their purest lustre shed,
    When the dimmed eye to its last pillow goes,
He followed where it led, and found a saint's repose.

    And now farewell. The rippling stream shall hear
    No more the echo of thy sportive oar,
    Nor the loved group thy father's halls that cheer
    Joy in the magic of thy presence more;
    Long shall their tears thy broken lyre deplore.
    Yet doth thine image warm and deathless dwell
    With those who prize the minstrel's hallowed lore,
    And still thy music, like a treasured spell,
Thrills deep within their sails. Lamented bard, farewell!