Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/89

Who dauntless bore the hardships, toil and strife,
That mark the opening of colonial life.
God blessed their way,—the harvest reared its head,
And snowy flocks o'er hills and valleys spread;
God blessed their way,—and in their mansion throve
Pure hospitality, and virtuous love.

The elder parted first, the man of might,
The strong in battle, for his country's right,
Who, on her northern shore, with veteran zeal,
Endured the sharpness of the British steel;
Yet mild in peaceful age, his hoary head
Sank, full of honors, to its lowly bed.
But now, alas! the recent mourners bend,
Where sleeps in dust, the master and the friend,
Who propped my roots against the encroaching tide,
And led admiring strangers to my side,
Sweet plants of love he gathered round his breast,
And drank their fragrance, till he went to rest;
His princely wealth sustained the arts refined,
And poured rich bounties o'er the realm of mind,
For this an unborn race, with grateful prayers,
Shall bless his memory, and record his cares.

But hark! autumnal winds careering low,
Announce the coming of the wintry foe,
I bow myself, my adverse lot to take,
With such poor aid, as age and sorrow make;
Damp through my boughs the mournful breezes swell,
And sigh amid my leaves. Master and friend, farewell!