Classic Poem

Thy blue waves, Patapsco, flow'd soft and screne,
Thy hills and thy valleys were cheerful and gay,
While the day-star of Peace shed its beams on the scene,
And youth, love, and beauty reflected its ray.

Where white-bosom'd commerce late reign'd o'er thy tide,
And zephyrs of gladness expanded each sail,
I saw hostile squadrons in dread array ride,
While their thunders reichoed o'er hill and o'er vale.

But our heroes, thy sons, proud in panoply rose,
For their homes, — for their altars, — to conquer or die;
With the lightning of freedom encounter'd their foes;
Taught the veteran to tremble, — the valiant to fly.

Now, how tranquil thy scenes when the clangors of war
Late broke the soft dreams of the fair and the young!
To the tombs of thy heroes shall beauty repair,
And their deeds by our bards shall forever be sung.

On the iron-crown'd fortress " that frowns o'er thy flood, "
And tells the sad fate of the gay and the brave,
In mournful reflection Eliza late stood,
And paid a soft tribute — a tear on their grave.

To the manes of the fallen, oh! how grateful that tear!
Far sweeter to me than the Spring's richest bloom:
Such rewards light the fire of Chivalry here,
And when the brave fall — ever hallow their tomb.