On with a martyr's spirit to the strife
Of young Thermopylæ?—
In vain! In vain!—
That awful hour had come which heeds no prayer
Of fond companionship.—Death's angel spake
Above the turmoil of the boisterous deep,
And warn'd the patriot hence.—
—With swimming glance,
Like him who erst from Pisgah's cliff descried
The unenter'd land of promise,—he survey'd
That emerald shore where slept in hallow'd graves
His ancestors, where rose in beauteous strength
The city of his joy,—crown'd by that mount
Where new-born Liberty essay'd to tread
The fearful wine-press,—laving her firm foot
In her sons' blood, to bless a future age.—
—The scene receded,—and he saw where Peace
Her seraph wing unfolded,—while the breath
Of everlasting melody pour'd forth
A welcome to the soul,—nor could he mourn
Exchange so blest,—but sought that brighter sphere.
"THIS YEAR, THOU SHALT DIE."
Jeremiah xxviii. 16.
Seems life to thee, in future prospect long?—
In fancy dazzling, or fruition sweet?—
And wilt thou listen to a syren's song?—
Though heaven and earth in unison repeat
Life is the flower of grass,—a vision false and fleet.
