Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/10

She to sublime Volumnia paid
    Her tribute of enraptured tears,
When the dread chief that voice obey'd
    Which sternly curb'd his infant years.

Thou in the days of Sparta's might,
    Had'st high on her illustrious roll
Been rank'd, amidst those matrons bright,
    Who nobly nursed the great of soul.

For disciplined in Wisdom's school,
    The lofty pupil own'd thy sway;
And well might he be skill'd to rule,
    So early nurtured to obey.

No enervating arts refined
    To slumber lull'd his heaven-born might;
No weak indulgence warp'd thy mind,
    To cloud a hero's path of light.

Say,—when upon thy shielding breast
    The saviour of his country hung,
When his soft lip to thine was prest,
    Wooing the accents from thy tongue,

Saw'st thou, prescient, o'er his brow.
    The shadowy wreath of laurel start?
Or, did thy nightly dream bestow
    High visions of his glorious part?

And when his little hands were taught
    By thee, in simple prayer to rise,
Say,—were thy own devotions fraught
    With heighten'd incense for the skies?