POETS in mighty strains have told, And prais'd in high heroic lays The wond'rous deeds of Chiefs of old, And crown'd the murd'rers brows with bays. But say, in Reason's sun-shine-days, Can regal pomp, or proudest name, Command the notes of honest praise, To call the Tyrant into fame? Here, far from domes of kingly state, Or proud Oppression's lofty tow'rs, When modest Merit yields to fate, Then, Virtue, then the meed is yours. The Muse, unequal to the theme, Would call her torpid numbers forth Though small the title she can claim, SUMNER, to celebrate thy worth. Bend, O Columbians o'er the urn, Where low your much lov'd Patriot lies; Great cause a nation has to mourn, When Virtue, and a Patriot, dies! When Peace her olive branch displays, When swords to reaping hooks are turn'd, Should Worth resign to Heav'n his days, With human woe the loss is mourn'd. But when War's brazen trumpets bray, And Treason's breath inspires the blast, Such Goodness seeks its native Clay, A people, trembling, shrinks aghast! Bend, O Columbians! o'er the bier, Where such exalted Merit lies! Let ev'ry patriotic tear, Confound the weak -- rejoice the wife; And tell the world, Desert alone, can crave, Such grateful tribute to bedew its grave. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOLY POEMS: 3 by GEORGE BARKER IN A LECTURE-ROOM by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH FEARS IN SOLITUDE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE SISTER HELEN by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI LITTLE BILLEE by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY |