28. Steam-frigate Pawnee passing Mount Vernon.
by Isaac M'Lellan.
In passing down the Potomac River, and arriving opposite Mount Vernon, a beautiful and graceful tribute was paid to the sacred remains that lie entombed in that hallowed spot. All hands were called, officers in swords and epaulets, sailors in their neat uniforms, the fine guard of the Pawnee drawn up, with belt and musket. At a given signal the large American ensign fell at half-mast; the ship's bell tolled out its muffled tones, the melancholy drums rolled their funereal salute, while the presented arms and uncovered heads of officers and men paid a sad tribute of respect to him who was ‘first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen ;’ and so the Pawnee passed on, silent and mourning; for hie by whose grave she glided was the Father of his Country.; --Morning paper.Fast down the bay the frigate pass'd,
With swelling sail and bending mast,
For the blue ocean bound.
From slender gaff and topmost spar,
The ensign of the “stripe and star”
Flung its emblazoned folds afar--
The brave flag, world-renowned!
The hundred seamen, stout and bold,
Were gathered 'neath that azure fold,
To guard it evermore;
While life should last, while heart should beat,
In Arctic ice, in Tropic heat,
That flag should be their winding-sheet,
The rugged seamen swore.
Though foemen might their hurricane
Of shot and shell around them rain,
From bastion and from wall;
Though red with gore their decks should flow,
Though mast and spar were level'd low,
Ah! never, never frozen their foe
Would they for mercy call!
On as they swept, Mount Vernon's shade
Its soaring cenotaph display'd--
Its monumental tomb;
Then with reverential tread,
With folded arms, uncovered head,
The warriors from those batteries dread
Gaz'd forth with looks of gloom.
Their ensign at the half-mast fell,
The slip-bell toll'd its solemn knell,
Sad music wail'd its strains;
With downcast, sadden'd, mournful face,
Each gaz'd upon that holy place,
That held in sorrowful embrace
Their Father's great remains!
No whisper breath'd that sailing crew,
As fast the laboring vessel flew
Fast by that sacred shore;
Each mus'd on that Great Heart that led
The armies in the years long fled,
And for the North-and-South realm bled--
United now no more!
They mus'd on him, and his stern ranks,
Whose swords blazed o'er the battle-flanks
In many a stormy year;
Whose flags along the Atlantic coast
O'er many a battle-field were lost,
Till, triumphant, the mighty host
Ceas'd from their great career!
Methinks, in Fancy's mystic haze,
As forth in dreaming mood they gaze,
They might the Dead discern;
Might see, throa salt-fogs of the deep,
Pale phantoms, such as haunt our sleep,
In spectral, vast procession sweep
O'er that memorial urn!
Might see, in each dim, moody glade,
Arm'd cohorts, in long cavalcade,
Close round that lonely tomb;
While He, the august Father, stands,
Sad musing 'mid his war-worn bands,
Lamenting that his country's lands
Are darkening now in gloom!
Lamenting that red hands are thrust
To rend above his very dust
The starry banner low!
To drag the noble standard down
By leaguer'd fort, embattled town,
Where batteries relentless frown,
As 'gainst some foreign foe.
* * * * *
On, on the noble vessel glides,
By dangerous reef, o'er raging tides,
Fleet as an eagle's sweep;
God grant no red fraternal speck
Of carnage stain her spotless deck;
Nor 'mid the battle's crashing wreck
She founder in the deep!
