Classic Poem

Calm martyr of a noble cause,
Upon thy form in vain
The Dungeon shuts its cankered jaws,
And clasps its cankered chain;
For thy free spirit walks abroad,
And every pulse is stirred
With the old deathless glory thrill,
Whene'er thy name is heard.

The same that lit each Grecian eye,
Whene'er it rested on
The wild pass of Thermopylae —
The plain of Marathon;
And made the Roman's ancient blood
Bound fiercely as he told,
" How well Horatio kept the bridge,
In the brave days of old. "

The same that makes the Switzer's heart
With silent rapture swell,
When in each Alpine height he sees
A monument to Tell:
The same that kindles Irish veins
When Emmet's name is told;
What Bruce to Caledonia is,
Kosciusko to the Pole —

Art thou to us! — thy deathless fame,
With Washington entwined,
Forever in each Southern heart
Is hallowed and enshrined; —
And though the tyrant give thy form
To shameful death — 't were vain;
It would but shed a splendor round
The gibbet and the chain.

Only less sacred in our eyes,
Thus blest and purified,
Than the dear cross on which our Lord
Was shamed and crucified,
Would the vile gallows tree become,
And through all ages shine,
Linked with the glory of thy name,
A relic and a shrine!