124
Poems.
Then, fare thee well thou ancient place,
Land where our fathers trod;
Blessed, thrice blessed be the pilgrim race,
Round the altars of their God.
Land where our fathers trod;
Blessed, thrice blessed be the pilgrim race,
Round the altars of their God.
REFLECTIONS ON THE DISASTER OF THE LEXINGTON, JAN. 13, 1840.
Methinks I see it now;
That fated barque, loosed from its moorings,
Proudly coursing o'er the heaving waves,
Bearing within its narrow confines
Many fond, confiding, joyous hearts,
Each with some treasured happiness
In view.
That fated barque, loosed from its moorings,
Proudly coursing o'er the heaving waves,
Bearing within its narrow confines
Many fond, confiding, joyous hearts,
Each with some treasured happiness
In view.
The day's departing beams,
Had softly faded into the shades
Of evening; the winds seemed hushed into
A gentle murmur, while the stars were
Smiling down in all their radiance.
Fast sped the boat and fearless, o'er the
Waters of her well known, oft-tried course;
While those who convened there in fancied
Had softly faded into the shades
Of evening; the winds seemed hushed into
A gentle murmur, while the stars were
Smiling down in all their radiance.
Fast sped the boat and fearless, o'er the
Waters of her well known, oft-tried course;
While those who convened there in fancied
