Thy image, Forrest, sits enshrined in majesty and grace.
Could but the high and mighty bard, whose votary thou art,
Have seen with what a matchless power thou swayest the human heart,
He too had bowed beneath the spell and owned thy wondrous sway,
And bound thy brow with laurel, and with flowers strewn thy way.
The clouds of grief that for a time obscured thy brilliant morn,
Like to the envious shadows that would dim the rising sun,
Meridian’s fame has put to flight. Cast not thy glances back,
But in the light of fearless genius hold thine onward track.
Margaret Barnett.