18
THE POST OF HONOR.
In thy gay capital, bewildering France,
Where Pleasure's shuttle weaves the whirling dance,
Beneath the shelter of St. Mary's dome,
Where pallid suffering seeks and finds a home,
Methinks I see that sainted sister now11
Wipe. Death's cold dew-drops from an infant's brow;
Can I forget that mild, seraphic grace
With heaven-eyed Patience meeting in her face?
Ah, sure, if angels leave celestial spheres,
We saw an angel dry a mortal's tears.
Where Pleasure's shuttle weaves the whirling dance,
Beneath the shelter of St. Mary's dome,
Where pallid suffering seeks and finds a home,
Methinks I see that sainted sister now11
Wipe. Death's cold dew-drops from an infant's brow;
Can I forget that mild, seraphic grace
With heaven-eyed Patience meeting in her face?
Ah, sure, if angels leave celestial spheres,
We saw an angel dry a mortal's tears.
'T was thine, Jerome, when shuddering nature cried12
For aid and rescue from the burning tide,
"T was thine, with vigorous arm, and manly breath,
To leap through danger, and to snatch from death;—
Though prince and peer assumed their noblest mien,
Thou wert the Ocean Monarch of that scene.
Where e'er his camp-fires glistened on the sod,
Humane as brave, our latest Conqueror trod;
Honored not most when flying shaft and ball
Swept like red hail on Buena Vista's wall,
For aid and rescue from the burning tide,
"T was thine, with vigorous arm, and manly breath,
To leap through danger, and to snatch from death;—
Though prince and peer assumed their noblest mien,
Thou wert the Ocean Monarch of that scene.
Where e'er his camp-fires glistened on the sod,
Humane as brave, our latest Conqueror trod;
Honored not most when flying shaft and ball
Swept like red hail on Buena Vista's wall,
