Of her bright face, one glance will trace a picture on the brain,
And of her voice, in echoing hearts a sound must long remain;
But memory such as mine of her, so very much, endears
When death is nigh, my latest sigh will not be life's, but hers.
I fill this cup to one made up of loveliness alone,
A woman, of her gentle sex, the seeming paragon.
Her health! and would on earth there stood some more of such a frame,
That life might be all poetry, and weariness a name.
* * * * *
=_Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1803-._= (Manual, pp. 478, 503, 531.)
=357.= HYMN SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF THE CONCORD MONUMENT.
By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.
The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.
On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We set to-day a votive stone,
That memory may their deed redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.
Spirit, that made those heroes dare
To die, or leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raise to them and thee.
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