Zinzendorff and Other Poems/On the Celebration of Washington's Birth day at Rome, by Americans
ON THE CELEBRATION OF WASHINGTON'S BIRTH DAY AT ROME, BY AMERICANS.
—Feb. 22, 1829.
There is a festive strain within the walls
Of the Eternal City, and high praise
Unto the glorious dead. Beauty doth twine
Her votive wreath, and Eloquence and Song
In eulogy burst forth. To whom, O Rome,
Mid all thy heroes, all thy demi-gods,
Thy purple-rob'd and mitred ones, to whom
Riseth this homage? But she wav'd her hand
And pointed me in silence as of scorn
Unto a stranger-band. Yes, there they stood,
The children of that Western Clime which slept
In embryo darkness, when tiara'd Rome
In all the peevish plenitude of power
Call'd Earth her footstool. There they stood serene,
True sons of that fair realm which needeth not
The faded pomp of royal pageantry
To trick her banner. Wheresoe'er they roam
Whether 'mid Andes' canopy of cloud,
Or the sunk cells of groping Labrador,
Or the broad seas, or the bright tropic-isles
Where Nature in her noon-day faintness holds
A long siesta, still their hearts enshrine
Liberty as a God. There, 'neath the shade
Of the Collisseum vaulting up to Heaven,
The time-spar'd arch, the mighty Basilic,
Palace, and pantheon, and monument,
Where throng a wondering world in pilgrimage,
They bow no knee to Cesar, but compel
The kingly Tiber to pronounce the name
Of their own Washington. Sublime they pour
Warm Memory's incense to their Country's Sire,
He, who in pliant infancy was train'd
By Spartan nurture first to rule himself,
And then a young, embattled host to lead
Through toil and terror, to a glorious seat
Among the nations. Then when every eye
Of every clime was bent on him with awe
Like adoration, from his breast he rent
The adhesive panoply of power, retir'd
From the loud peans of a world, to sleep
Uncrown'd, uncoronetted, 'mid the soil
His hands had till'd. Henceforth let none decry
The majesty of virtue, since she stands
Simply on the high places of the earth,
Her open forehead to the scanning stars,
And the pure-hearted worship her, while Pride
And tyrant power and laurell'd Victory
Do give their sculptur'd trophies to the owl,
And noisome bat, and to the shades pass on
With such memorial as ne'er wrung a tear.