THE POST OF HONOR.
21
See Albion's lion guard her stormy seas,
See Gallia's lilies float on every breeze,
Roam through the world, but find no brighter names
Than those true Honor for Columbia claims.
Pause in that aisle, with half-suspended breath,
Where sceptered England shares her realm with Death,
And hear, beneath the Abbey's mouldering towers,
Her hoary minstrels chime the passing hours,
Then turn from halls, where blood-stained banners wave,
To peaceful Quincy and its new-made grave,—
From Pride and Power, enshrined in regal gloom,
To patriot Virtue, and to Vernon's tomb.
See Gallia's lilies float on every breeze,
Roam through the world, but find no brighter names
Than those true Honor for Columbia claims.
Pause in that aisle, with half-suspended breath,
Where sceptered England shares her realm with Death,
And hear, beneath the Abbey's mouldering towers,
Her hoary minstrels chime the passing hours,
Then turn from halls, where blood-stained banners wave,
To peaceful Quincy and its new-made grave,—
From Pride and Power, enshrined in regal gloom,
To patriot Virtue, and to Vernon's tomb.
