Poems (Gould, 1833)/The Revolutionary Soldier's Bequest
THE REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIER'S BEQUEST.
'Behold,' the hoary vet'ran said,'The silver scattered o' my head;A remnant of the auburn hair,That curled in sunny clusters there,When, in the land that now is thine,With bounding flock and fruitful vine,While Freedom's banner waves unfurled,The envy of a gazing world,Life was but slavery to me;And when I fought, my son, for thee.
Thy father's forehead time has bared;The few white locks, that yet are sparedAnd lonely round my temples stray,Soon from thy sight must pass away.So thinned, so scattered o'er the landIs now that valiant, patriot band,Who, when their country gave the word,"To arms! to arms! gird on thy sword!"Sprang forth, resolved her chains to break,Or earth their gory bed to make.And, gathering where their chieftain led,Thick as the hairs that clothed this head,Marched onward, where the foeman stoodWaiting to dip his foot in blood.'*******'Though many a groan was heard aroundFrom quivering lips that strewed the ground; Yet none could pause to bid farewell,When at his side his brother fell,To close alone the dying eye—To heave unheard the final sigh,With none to stay the fleeting breath,Or wipe away the damps of death.For struggling Liberty impelled,When nature's ties had fain withheld;Until the God of armies spakeThe word, that made her bonds to break.And Independence, shouting loud,Burst glorious from the fiery cloudThat rolled upon the battle-field,And scenes of blood and death concealed!'T was thus thy liberty was won,'T was thus I fought for thee, my son!'
'Yes, on the earth I've sought my rest,The hoar-frost gathering o'er my breast;And oft the freezing, midnight airThat chilled my blood, has warmed my prayer,That He, who governs all, would rideWith victory on our injured side.Through winter's cold, and summer's heat,With aching head and weary feet,And hunger's cravings I have gone;And when I saw the morning dawn,Have thought my day of life must close,Ere the first star of evening rose.'
'But now those toils have long been o'er,And Plenty spreads from shore to shore;While Peace and Freedom join to singThe praises of our heavenly king.And long his eye has sweetly slept,Who then in lonely sorrow wept,And bowed with years beneath the stroke,When his last earthly prop was broke,And his fair son, upon the plain,Lay pale, and numbered with the slain.The widow too, has made her bedLow as her soldier's, when he bled,And waning life could only spareA breath to waft the soldier's prayer,'Receive, O God, my soul—and blessThe widow and the fatherless!'
'And now, the dimpled babe that smiled,When the armed warrior clasped his child;And felt a father's parting kissDistend his little heart with bliss;Nor knew that parting kiss must severHis father's face from his forever;That infant's face is altered now,Life's Autumn rays are on his brow.While bending o'er the grave I standWaiting a few last grains of sand,To drop my clay beneath the sodAnd give my spirit back to God.'
'No glittering wealth that stored the mine,Will at thy father's death be thine.The scanty portion earth bestowsJust lasts me to my journey's close.But then, I feel I leave thee moreThan sparkling gems, or dazzling ore;Thy heritage is worth them all—Thy lines in pleasant places fall.Thou hast the land of liberty,Which I have fought to win for thee.O, keep the dear bequest I makeUnsullied, for my memory's sake!Let no usurping tyrant treadUpon my low and peaceful bed—No cringing slave retire to weepFor freedom, where my ashes sleep.But when the hand of Time shall traceHis name in furrows on thy face;When four-score years have plucked thy hair,And bowed thy form their weight to bear;When thou the minute hand shalt seePointing thy feet to follow me,To God, and to thy country true,Then, fora heavenly home in view,Thou to thy son this land resignAs blessed and free, as I to mine.'