. Poems . nation woke—awoke to hearRebellions war-cries in her citadel,By dark and frenzied sentinels invoked—Singing her dirge, like the volcanic bassOf -Etnas organ chiming with the seaWhen groans the Titan in immortal pangs—The trepidation of conflicting with the wild alarm of clamorous bellsThe strife—the shout—the wailing of despair. Time, by whose hands the mouldering dust of death Is shovelled in the vaults of coffined realms, What Nemesis insatiate still inspires The suicide of Empires? In her breast, Greece nursed the serpent faction, with her blood, That stung her to the
. Poems . nation woke—awoke to hearRebellions war-cries in her citadel,By dark and frenzied sentinels invoked—Singing her dirge, like the volcanic bassOf -Etnas organ chiming with the seaWhen groans the Titan in immortal pangs—The trepidation of conflicting with the wild alarm of clamorous bellsThe strife—the shout—the wailing of despair. Time, by whose hands the mouldering dust of death Is shovelled in the vaults of coffined realms, What Nemesis insatiate still inspires The suicide of Empires? In her breast, Greece nursed the serpent faction, with her blood, That stung her to the heart. Rebellions steel Pierced the fair bosom of imperial Rome By foreign foes unconquered; and the land Of Gods own people drank the fatal cup Which dark dissension pressed upon her lips. As midnights bell proclaims with double tongueOne year departed and another throng around me with imperial mienAnd godlike brow, and eyes of sad angels look in sorrow, the great dead 78. Mrs. ANNIE McRAE MERCER NEW YEAR ODE. Who walked Mount Vernons shades and Marshfields plains, And Monticellos height, and Ashlands groves Still vocal with unearthly eloquence, Statesmen and Chiefs who loved their native land And led her up to fame. With solemn air And thrilling voice they point to freedoms flag War-rent and laced with sacrificial blood, By noble martyrs shed; and thus they speak— O sons once named Americans, but now The world-mocked orphans of a nameless land, Why rush ye to destruction? Happier far Than ye the tawny tribes your fathers drove From the primeval forest—the red chiefs Who bravely perished on their hunting-grounds, Or passing oer the mountains of the West, Went down in gloom, like natures final sun, To rise no more forever. Better thus Than live the foul dishonor of your sires, Whose progeny like Lucifer of old Rebelled against the power that made them Gods, And perished in their treason. Come, ye winds, Swift-winged couriers of the tropic sk
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