His bow, for action ready bent,
And arrows, with a head of bone,
Can only mean that life is spent,
And not the finer essence gone.
* * * * *
Here still a lofty rock remains,
On which the curious eye may trace,
Now wasted half by wearing rains,
The fancies of a ruder race.
* * * * *
By midnight moons, o'er moistening dews,
In vestments for the chase arrayed.
The hunter still the deer pursues,
The hunter and the deer--a shade.
* * * * *
=_David Humphreys, 1783-1818._= (Manual, p. 512.)
From "The Happiness of America."
=_319._= RECOLLECTIONS OF THE WAR.
I too, perhaps, should Heaven prolong my date,
The oft-repeated tale shall oft relate;
Shall tell the feelings in the first alarms,
Of some bold enterprise the unequalled charms;
Shall tell from whom I learnt the martial art,
With what high chiefs I played my early part--
With Parsons first--
* * * * *
Death-daring Putnam--then immortal Greene--
Then how great Washington my youth approved,
In rank preferred, and as a parent loved.
With him what hours on warlike plains I spent,
Beneath the shadow of th' imperial tent;
With him how oft I went the nightly round
Through moving hosts, or slept on tented ground;
From him how oft--(nor far below the first,
In high behests and confidential trust)--
From him how oft I bore the dread commands,
Which destined for the fight the eager bands;
With him how oft I passed the eventful day,
Bode by his side, as down the long array
His awful voice the columns taught to form,
To point the thunders and direct the storm.
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