MT. VERNON.
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Home of the Dead! One glance of lingering love We cast behind us, where our vessel's wake Winds, foaming, backward to Virginian hills. Home of the Dead! Retreating from thy shores We breathe a final sigh, a last farewell. The pillared mansion gleams amid the green, The sombre tomb, deserted, stands alone; While, over all, a thousand beacons burn. The West displays a canopy of sky, Woven by angels, flung across the hills, Where sleeps the silent dust of Washington. Bleak is the wind that leaps like blade unsheathed From out the silver scabbard of the East! At hide and seek, among the ruffled waves, The eerie shadows play in elvish glee. A thief, Night steals the golden glories bright Of Day. But still a flush of silken rose Colors the West, stains the broad river's breast, And casts a garland 'cross the Eastern sky. Behold, on either shore, reflected green, Dim in the dying lustre of the sun, While tips of rose, like diadems, adorn And wreathe the gracious brows of drowsy hills. Behold and marvel! See and comprehend! Amid this beauty lies the sacred dust Of one who was a hero and a man, While all the hills that sleep about his tomb Shine with the glory of God's holy light. |
MY MOTHER.
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Has she faded from my skies forevermore, Like a star that slides adown the arch of Night, Or the sunlight, swiftly paling on the shore Of my boundless sea of hopes, that glittered bright In the lustre of her smile? Is she gone forevermore? Or has she but departed for a while? Shall I never feel her hand upon my brow? Shall I never meet her lips in kisses sweet? Or is it that I am denied her now, And some day shall hear the music of her feet, And, like Proserpine, will come, with the happy winds that blow, Leap the years, and find, in her, my final home? |
THE CRADLE SONG.