| |
| AS the rude Zemblian views with anxious eyes | |
| The sun fast rolling from his wintry skies, | |
| While gathering clouds the shaded vaults deform, | |
| And hollow winds announce the impending storm, | |
| His anguish’d soul recoils with wild affright, | 5 |
| From the dread horrors of the tedious night; | |
| Such fears alarm’d—such gloom o’ercast each mind, | |
| When Washington his sacred trust resign’d, | |
| And open’d to his much loved country’s view, | |
| The instructive page which bid the long adieu. | 10 |
| So erst Nunnides, of prophetic tongue, | |
| Chief victor seer, to Judah’s listening throng, | |
| Gave his last blessings: So long ages since, | |
| Mild Solon and the stern Laconian prince, | |
| Those boasts of fame, their parting counsels gave, | 15 |
| When worn with toil they sought the peaceful grave. | |
| Columbians! long preserve that peerless page, | |
| Stamp’d with the precepts of your warrior sage; | |
| In all your archives be the gift enroll’d, | |
| Suspend it to your walls encased with gold; | 20 |
| Bid schools recite it, let the priestly train | |
| Chant it on festal days, nor deem the task profane: | |
| When round your knees your infant offspring throng, | |
| To join the matin prayer or evening song, | |
| Those rites perform’d, invite them to attend | 25 |
| The farewell counsels of their good old friend, | |
| And say, he left you, as his last bequest, | |
| These golden rules to make a nation blest. | |
| O land, thrice blest, if to thy interest wise, | |
| Thy senates learn this precious boon to prize: | 30 |
| While guilty Europe’s blood-stain’d empires fall, | |
| While heaven incensed lets loose the infuriate Gaul, | |
| Thy states in phalanx firm, a sacred band, | |
| Safe from the mighty wreck unmoved shall stand. * * * * * | |
| Behold the man! ye crown’d and ermined train, | 35 |
| And learn from him the royal art to reign; | |
| No guards surround him, or his walks infest, | |
| No cuirass meanly shields his noble breast; | |
| His the defence which despots ne’er can find, | |
| The love, the prayers, the interest of mankind. | 40 |
| Ask ye what spoils his far famed arms have won, | |
| What cities sack’d, what hapless realms undone? | |
| Though Monmouth’s field supports no vulgar fame, | |
| Though captured York shall long preserve his name, | |
| I quote not these—a nobler scene behold, | 45 |
| Wide cultured fields fast ripening into gold! | |
| There, as his toil the cheerful peasant plies, | |
| New marts are opening, and new spires arise; | |
| Here commerce smiles, and there en groupe are seen, | |
| The useful arts and those of sprightlier mien: | 50 |
| To cheer the whole, the Muses tune their lyre, | |
| And Independence leads the white robed choir. | |
| Trophies like these, to vulgar minds unknown, | |
| Were sought and prized by Washington alone, | |
| From these, with all his country’s honors crown’d, | 55 |
| As sage in councils as in arms renown’d; | |
| All of a piece, and faithful to the last, | |
| Great in this action as in all the past, | |
| He turns—and urges as his last request, | |
| Remote from power his weary head to rest. | 60 |
| Illustrious man, adieu! yet ere we part, | |
| Forgive our factions which have wrung thy heart; | |
| Still with indulgent eyes thy country see, | |
| Whose ceaseless prayers ascend the heavens for thee: | |
| Go, ’midst the shades of tranquil Vernon stray, | 65 |
| In vain attempt to shun the piercing ray | |
| Of circumambient glory, till refined | |
| All that could clog to earth the heaven-lent mind, | |
| Then soar triumphant to the blest abodes, | |
| And join those chiefs whom virtue raised to gods. | 70 |
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