RUINS OF TICONDEROGA. WHERE dark Champlain in sullen grandeur rolls, Black sterile rocks oppose the bounded vision, Hath ample scope; naught specks the cheerless scene, Yet here was war, and once stern valour knew Now lorn and desolate, displayed its crest, Here waved the chieftain's plume, and here thy lion heart, Eccentric ALLEN, valorous and good, Beat high for fame, and glorious Liberty. Pierced the thick gloom, and saw a nation free. Now, how forgotten and how lone is all;-In honour's bed the war worn chieftains rest,Forgot the din of conflict: e'en victory's clarion Is now unheard.-They sleep, and we their offspring Blest with the boon that virtuous valour purchased,Reap the rich harvest of their blood and toil. *Mount Independence. Ye hallowed ruins! ye retreats, enwrapt For ye are dear to freedom; each patriot heart Caught from this shrine, while pondering o'er the past It yields its homage to the sacred soil, And breathes a prayer for valour now departed. JUNE, 1819. THE VIGIL. 'Tis night; from beauteous Palestine, The song and minstrelsy have flown, 'Tis night; the priest forsakes the shrine, The holy temple sits alone: Gone is the boasting Pharisee, The prayer, and daily alms are o'er, E'en the despised Sadducee For secret frailty sighs no more. Hushed are the strains that bade rejoice, Silent the weary and opprest, Lost is the maid and matron's voice But where is Jesus? where is He The object of rebuke and scorn? |