A LAMENT.
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A LAMENT.
I.
ONE from us—dead to us—he whom we worshipped so! Low lies the altar we raised to his name;Madly his own hand hath shattered and laid it low— Madly his own breath hath blasted his fame.He whose proud bosom once raged with humanity, He whose broad forehead was circled with might,Sunk to a time-serving, driv'lling inanity— God! why not spare our loved country the sight?
ONE from us—dead to us—he whom we worshipped so! Low lies the altar we raised to his name;Madly his own hand hath shattered and laid it low— Madly his own breath hath blasted his fame.He whose proud bosom once raged with humanity, He whose broad forehead was circled with might,Sunk to a time-serving, driv'lling inanity— God! why not spare our loved country the sight?II.Was it the gold of the stranger that tempted him? Ah! we'd have pledged to him body and soul;Toiled for him—fought for him—starved for him-died for him— Smiled, tho' our graves were the steps to his goal.Breathed he one word in his deep, earnest whispering, Wealth, crown, and kingdom, were laid at his feet;Raised he his right hand, the millions would round him cling— Hush! 'tis the Sassenach ally you greet.
III.Leaders have fallen—we wept, but we triumphed, too— Patriot blood never sinks in the sod;He falls, and the jeers of the nation he bent to sue Rise like accusing weird spirits to God.Weep for him—weep for him—deep is the tragedy— Angels themselves now might doubt of God's truth;Souls from their bloody graves, shuddering, rise to see How he avenges their lost, murdered youth.
IV.Tone, and Fitzgerald, and the pale-brow'd enthusiast— He whose heart broke, but shrank not from the strife;Davis, the latest loved—he who in glory passed, Kindling Hope's lamp with the chrism of life.
