•208 CHARLES A. JONES. [1830-40. TECUMSEH. Where rolls the dark and turbid Thames His consecrated wave along, Sleeps one, than whose, few are the names More worthy of the lyre and song ; Yet o'er whose spot of lone repose No pilgrim eyes are seen to weep ; And no memorial marble throws Its shadow where his ashes sleep. Stop, stranger ! there Tecumseh lies ; Behold the lowly resting-place Of all that of the hero dies ; The Ca3sar — Tully, of his race, Whose arm of strength, and fiery tongue, Have won him an immortal name. And from the mouths of millions wrung Reluctant tribute to his fame. Stop — for 'tis glory claims thy tear ! True worth belongs to all mankind ; And he whose ashes slumber here. Though man in form was god in mind. What matter he was not like thee, In race and color ; 'tis the soul That marks man's true divinity ; Then let not shame thy tears control. Art thou a patriot ? — so was he ! His breast was Freedom's holiest shrine ; And as thou bendest there thy knee. His spirit will unite with thine. All that a man can give he gave ; His life : the country of his sires From tlie oppressor's grasp to save : In vain — quench'd are his nation's fires. Art thou a soldier ? dost thou not O'er deeds chivalric love to muse ? Here stay tliy steps — what better spot Couldst thou for contemplation choose ? The earth beneath is holy ground ; It holds a thousand valiant braves ; Tread lightly o'er each little mound. For they ai"e no ignoble graves. Thermopylae and Marathon, Though classic earth, can boast no more Of deeds heroic than yon sun Once saw upon this lonely shore. When in a gallant nation's last And deadliest struggle, for its own, Tecumseh's fiery spirit passed In blood, and sought its Father's throne. Oh, softly falls the summer dew. The tears of heaven, upon his sod, For he in life and death was true. Both to his country and his God ; For oh, if God to man has given. From his bright home beyond the skies One feeling that's akin to heaven, 'Tis his who for his country dies. Rest, warrior, rest ! — Though not a dirge Is thine, beside the wailing blast. Time cannot in oblivion merge The light thy star of glory cast ; While heave yon high hills to the sky, Wliile rolls yon dark and turbid river, Thy name and fame can never die — Whom Freedom loves, will live forever. KNOWLEDGE. The excellent in knowledge walk the earth Unlike to common men. Their gifted gaze Beholds a thousand things invisible To common eyes. Familiar spirits wait Upon their steps with new and strange re- vealings ; The air is filled with sounds that charm the sense ; The breeze has holier freshness, and the sky. With its eternity of stars, imparts Its wonders to them, till the fleshy link That binds to earth is hidden in the thought That bears the spirit nearer to its home.
