How reverend was the look, serenely aged,
He bore, this gentle Pennsylvanian sire,
Where all but kindly fervours were assuaged,
Undimmed by weakness' shade, or turbid ire!
And though, amidst the calm of thought, entire,
Some high and haughty features might betray
A soul impetuous once, 'twas earthly fire
That fled composure's intellectual ray,
As Aetna's fires grow dim before the rising day.
I boast no song in magic wonders rife;
But yet, O Nature! is there naught to prize,
Familiar in thy bosom scenes of life?
And dwells in daylight truth's salubrious skies
No form with which the soul may sympathize?--
Young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild
The parted ringlet shone in sweetest guise,
An inmate in the home of Albert smiled,
Or blessed his noonday walk;--she was his only child.
The rose of England bloomed on Gertrude's cheek:--
What though these shades had seen her birth, her sire
A Briton's independence taught to seek
Far western worlds; and there his household fire
The light of social love did long inspire;
And many a halcyon day he lived to see,
Unbroken but by one misfortune dire,
When fate had reft his mutual heart--but she
Was gone;--and Gertrude climbed a widowed father's knee.
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