Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/77

With men at arms, and flashing eye
Of pre-determined tyranny,
High words he spake, and stretched his hand
Young Freedom's charter to demand.
But lo! it vanished from his sight,
And sudden darkness fell like night,
While baffled still, in wrath and pain,
He, groping, sought the prize in vain;
For a brave hand, in trust to me,
Had given that germ of liberty,
And like our relative of old,
Who clasped his arms serenely bold
Around the endangered prince, who fled
The scaffold where his father bled,
I hid it, safe from storm and blast,
Until the days of dread were past,
And then my faithful breast restored
The treasure to its rightful lord.

For this, do pilgrims seek my side,
And artists sketch my varying pride,
And far away o'er ocean's brine,
An acorn or a leaf of mine
I hear are stored as relics rich
In antiquarian's classic niche.
Now if I were but in my prime,
Some hundred lustrums less of time
Upon my brow, perchance such charm
Of flattery might have wrought me harm,