Like spots of earth where angel-feet have stepped-— Of times when worth was crowned, and faith was kept, Ere friendship grew a snare, or love waxed cold— Those pure and happy times-the golden days of old. III. Peace to the just man's memory,-let it grow Greener with years, and blossom through the flight let the mimic canvas show Of ages; His calm benevolent features; let the light Stream on his deeds of love, that shunned the sight Of all but heaven, and in the book of fame, The glorious record of his virtues write, And hold it up to men, and bid them claim A palm like his, and catch from him the hallowed flame. IV. But oh, despair not of their fate who rise To dwell upon the earth when we withdraw! Lo! the same shaft by which the righteous dies, Of Him who will avenge them. Stainless worth, Ripens, meanwhile, till time shall call it forth From the low modest shade, to light and bless the earth. V. Has Nature, in her calm, majestic march The plenty that once swelled beneath his sober eye? VI. Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth VII. Will then the merciful One, who stamped our race Now that our swarming nations far away Are spread, where'er the moist earth drinks the day, And leave a work so fair all blighted and accursed? VIII. Oh, no! a thousand cheerful omens give And in the abyss of brightness dares to span IX. Sit at the feet of history-through the night And show the earlier ages, where her sight Went forth the tribes of men, their pleasant lot To choose, where palm-groves cooled their dwelling-place, Or freshening rivers ran; and there forgot The truth of heaven, and kneeled to gods that heard them not. X. Then waited not the murderer for the night, And slew his babes. The sick, untended then, Languished in the damp shade, and died afar from men. XI. But misery brought in love—in passion's strife Man gave his heart to mercy, pleading long, And sought out gentle deeds to gladden life; The weak, against the sons of spoil and wrong, Banded, and watched their hamlets, and grew strong. The timid rested. To the reverent throng, Grave and time-wrinkled men, with locks all white, Gave laws, and judged their strifes, and taught the way of right; XII. Till bolder spirits seized the rule, and nailed A boundless sea of blood, and the wild air The kingly circlet rise, amid the gloom, O'er the dark wave, and straight are swallowed in its womb XIII. Those ages have no memory-but they left A record in the desert-columns strown On the waste sands, and statues fallen and cleft, Vast ruins, where the mountain's ribs of stone In the dark earth, where never breath has blown XIV. And tombs of monarchs to the clouds up-piled— Pierced by long toil and hollowed to a fane ;— Like the night-heaven, when clouds are black with rain. |