Classic Poem

What matter that thy mortal dust
Be not in grand cathedral laid,
Entomb'd with all the wise and just,
In ceremonial parade?
It is the memory of the dead
That claims the solemn rites we pay
Not the poor ashes moldering
Where'er on earth they lay.
We raise the monumental shaft,
We build the great memorial shrine,
To show the depths profound of love
For lives that thro' all ages shine;
And on the spotless tablet's face
'Grave lines that Time may ne'er efface,
And though poor Herbert sleeps not here,
This votive cenotaph shall bear
The tribute of affection's tear,
The record of his genius rare,
Though Shakespeare's, Milton's mortal dust
May rest in England's stateliest dome,
They still have shrines in many a land,
In every human heart a home.

Here in this lovely spot we stand,
Brethren, to honor Herbert's name,
To decorate with wreaths the shaft
That bears the tribute to his fame.
We gaze abroad — it is the same,
The selfsame scene he lov'd to view,
The broad, extending woods of green,
The same soft skies of heavenly blue.
He lov'd to breath this spicy air
When diamond dews begemm'd the grass,
Airs blowing thro' umbrageous groves,
Fill'd with fresh odors as they pass.

Circumspice! Gaze around!
Where'er on earth may Nature spread
A more enchanting, smiling scene —
Green vales beneath — bright skies o'erhead?
No marvel he enamor'd found
Peace in this fair enchanted ground.
Pass o'er the Bellvale Mountain edge,
Pause on Point Peter's smooth plateau,
Surmounted by the jutting ledge,
Then view the landscape stretch'd below;
Gaze down the vale of Sugarloaf,
Gaze over Warwick woodlands wide,
Waving with all their tufted groves,
Like rolling billows of the tide.

Broad-spreading valleys charm the eye,
Vales dropped like emeralds of green,
Hedg'd round with great engirdling woods —
A grand, perennial screen!
Lo! here and there are lakelets fair
Like diamonds dropped by fairy spell,
And winding rivulets twinkling bright,
And bosky hedge and bushy dell.

Gaze forth where Herbert lov'd to gaze,
Far to the horizon's purple edge,
Here swimming in a gauzy haze,
There bright with splinter'd cliff and ledge,
It is a vision beautiful,
A dream of wonder and delight,
Where ridge on ridge of mountain peaks
Gleam out, then fade away from sight.
Beneath sleeps Greenwood's placid lake,
Woods, meadows, pasture, stream and plain,
White villages like sea-bird wings,
Broad corn-fields and expanse of grain;
Fair scenes so dear to poet's heart,
Dear to the painter's glorious art!

Gaze and admire! Far-off to right
Swell highland Hudson's azure hills;
Fam'd Anthony uplifts his bluff,
Channel'd and seamed with dashing rills.
Across yon rocky-cradled vale
Soars Shawangunk's mountainous ridge;
High, high in air those summits sail,
The Kaatskill's forest bridge!
— And ne'er in life, — wrote Herbert's pen,
— Have I such lovely landscape view'd; —
The pure lake cradled in the glen,
Reflecting the o'erhanging wood.