He, of Helena's rock Hath an enduring name, Echoed in battle shock, Sculptured with blood and flame: But, when the mother at her knee Whispereth to her cradled son The alphabet of liberty, Will he not lisp of thee, Washington? Should baleful Discord steal Recal old Bunker's day, Or mad Disunion smite the tree Nurs'd so long in Glory's sun, RECOLLECTIONS OF AN AGED PASTOR. I Do remember him. His saintly voice, Comes, with the far off wing of infant years, Turning our mirth to reverence as he pass'd, At the bed of death I do remember him; when one, who bore To foil the terrors of that shadowy vale Through which she walk'd, doth linger round me still; RECOLLECTIONS OF AN AGED PASTOR. And by that gush of bitter tears, when first When Fancy's smile Gilding youth's scenes, and promising to bring Beings so frail-how oft his funeral prayer His fourscore years Sat lightly on him-for his heart was glad, -I was not with the weepers-when the hearse And other voices from his pulpit said That he was not :-but yet the requiem sigh Of that sad organ, in its sable robe, Made melancholy music in my dreams. -And so, farewell, thou who didst shed the dew Baptismal on mine infancy, and lead To the Redeemer's sacred board, a guest 121 122 RECOLLECTIONS OF AN AGED PASTOR. Timid and unassur'd-yet gathering strength OUR ABORIGINES. I HEARD the forests as they cried "Where is the red-brow'd hunter-race, Who lov'd our leafy screen? The red deer's antler'd crown, Or soaring at his highest noon, Then in the zephyr's voice replied A blight came down, a blast swept by, And where that exil'd people fled, It is not ours to tell." Niagara, of the mountains gray, |