William Bingham Tappan (1794–1849)

SON of valour! Heir of glory!

Noble by the patriot’s line;

Gallant warrior! chieftain hoary!

Immortality is thine,

Wreathe the laurel, Muses! wreathe it,

’Tis for no ignoble name;

Breathe the song, inspirers! breathe it,

Worthy of the veteran’s fame!

When a people, true to bravery,

Saw the storm-cloud gathering nigh,

Heard the manacles of slavery

Rattle in the turbid sky,—

Triumph! thou who livest to say it,

Then arose proud Victory’s son,—

Crush’d is slavery! for La Fayette

Wears the meed that valour won!

Haste! ye nobles, vainly borrow

Lustre from the scroll of peers;

While it dies, the name of warrior

Brightens with the touch of years!

And, though mingled with his fathers

In the slumbers of the tomb,

Time, who saps the palace, gathers

For the hero fresher bloom.

Go, and mark him!—shades of even

Soon shall lurk around his bed,—

Go, and mark him!—winds of heaven

Soon shall sweep that wintry head,—

Yet with flowers will we array it

Fairer than the poet’s dream;

Perish silence! when La Fayette

Is a nation’s grateful theme!