fancy, sir, the voice of the departed ones from their desecrated homes, exclaiming that such a nation may truly say to Corruption, thou art my father; to Dishonor, thou art my mother; Vandalism, thou art my ambition.
Ode by Paul Hayne.
I.The night and its stillness were ‘round him,
And the spell of solitude bound him
With a feeling of awe, as his footsteps drew nigh
The spot where the bones of his forefathers lie,
On the island whose tropical wildwood
Had rung to the laugh of his childhood;
And he paused with a sigh where the low branches fall
From the oak, and the willow o'ershadowing the wall
Of the church-yard, that sleeps pale and hoary
'Neath the moonlighted tremulous glory!
II.He stood in the stillness, full-hearted!
For a dream of the loved and departed
Sunk deep in his soul, to the fountain of tears,
And the memories were stirred that had slumbered with years,
And while touched by these reveries tender,
He passed from the shade to the splendor,
And beheld with a start the grey tombs of his sires
All blackened with insults, and blasted with fires,
By the human hyena who lashes
His rage o'er a dead freeman's ashes!
III.There are passions too stern for full token!
There are vows far too deep to be broken!
And such was the storm of the passion, which now
Whirled up from the scout's boiling breast to his brow,
Overwhelming all gentler emotion
As calm streams are ‘whelmed in the ocean;
And such was the oath, which thrilled hot on his tongue,
From the spirit this dastardly outrage had wrung,
While the last voice of mercy that wooed him
Fled fast from the wrath that subdued him!--
IV.“By these monuments, wasted and lowly,
By the thought of my dead, the most holy,
By the strength of my arm, by the ire in my soul,
I vow wheresoever the red battle-waves roll,