Webster
by William Henry Cuyler Hosmer�(1814�1877) |
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A CLOUD is over Marshfield, and the wail
Of a vast
empire floats upon the gale;
One without peer has shaken
hands with death,
And yielded to the elements his breath:
Admonished that the last great change was nigh,
Majestic
in decline, he came to die
Back to the rural scenes he
loved so well,
Cheered by the low of kine, and pastoral
bell,�
Back, where his ear once more might catch the roll
Of the roused Ocean,�symbol of his soul!
The agony is
o'er,�the goal is won,�
Earth opens to receive her
greatest son!
The world seems poorer now, the sky less
fair,
And reigns a brooding sadness everywhere!
Mourn,
stern New England! mother of the dead!
Bow to the dust
thy richly laurelled head!
He was thy pride, the prop of
thy renown,
The brightest jewel in thy dazzling crown;
Thy battle-fields of liberty he trod,
Holding thy soil in
reverence next to God,
And the proud triumphs of his
matchless mind
Are closely with thy heart-strings
intertwined. |
By William Henry Cuyler Hosmer�(1814�1877)
Listed July 24, 2014 |
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