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Light hearts be theirs, the Muse’s boon,
And may their suns blaze bright at noon,
And set without a cloud!

Hillhouse,⁹ whose music, like his themes,
Lifts earth to heaven—whose poet-dreams
Are pure and holy as the hymn
Echoed from harps of seraphim,
By bards that drank at Zion’s fountains
When glory, peace, and hope, were hers,
And beautiful upon her mountains
The feet of angel messengers.
Bryant, whose songs are thoughts that bless
The heart, its teachers, and its joy,
As mothers blend with their caress
Lessons of truth and gentleness
And virtue for the listening boy
Spring’s lovelier flowers for many a day
Have blossomed on his wandering way.
Beings of beauty and decay,
They slumber in their autumn tomb;
But those that graced his own Green River,
And wreathed the lattice of his home,
Charmed by his song from mortal doom,
Bloom on, and will bloom on forever.
And Halleck—who has made thy roof,
St. Tammany! oblivion-proof—
Thy beer illustrious, and thee
A belted knight of chivalry!