Classic Poem

A noble man! a man deserving trust.
A man in whom the higher elements
Worked freely. A man of dignity;
On whom the robes and badge of state sat well
Because the majesty of self-control,
And all its grace, were his.
I see him now —
Pale with the pallor of a full, proud heart —
Descend those steps and take his imminent place
Before the deadly piece, as who should say
" 'Ware ye! these people are my people; such
Their inward heat and mine at this poor deed
That scarce we can control our kindled blood.
But should ye mow them down, ye mow me too.
'Ware ye! "
O men for whose dear sake he stood
An offering and a hostage; on that scroll
Old Chronos doth unfold along the years
Are writ in gold names of undaunted Mayors,
Pepin and Charlemagne, and Whittington
And White. Did not your fathers know them?
And shall not he, your Mayor of 'Sixty-two,
Monroe, stand side by side with them?