Here, stranger, stay! This is the sacred spot
Which knew the patriots in the years agone.
Here trod the noblest form the land has known;
Here swelled the stateliest soul e'er form has held;
And here—nor here alone, but round the world,
And throughout heaven—my faith will have it so—
The name most loved is spoken, and rolls on
Revered by freemen, and by angels breathed,
And trembling oft upon the lips of slaves,
Brightening their dream of hope. Still to our hearts
Let the great name of Washington be dear;
And faithful as the star is to the night,

Behold the river, wide, respiring, vast,
Swelling and falling, answering to the main.
Here rise and sink the multitudinous ships,
Swaying in slumberous ease, where every flag
Known to a Christian sky salutes the air.
How the brown cordage like a net-work spreads,
A monster web entangling leafless pines!
From this same wharf, down dropping with the tide,
Went Arthur, when he bade his last adieu—
While the great bay, as usherer to the sea,
Unto the ocean's awful presence led—
There stands the maid in secret musing held,

When I recount the pleasant sights of earth—
Fair childhood blowing bubbles in the sun—
A pleasure party, in a moonlit barque;
The little sail with breeze and music swelled—
A dancing wreath of children crowning May—
A bridal group across a distant field
Returning, with gay footsteps, from the church—
I can recall no brighter, nobler scene,
Than men at labour mid the waving grain,
When summer, with its alchemy, transmutes
The crops from green to gold! The harvest sun
Burns broad and white above the yellowing world,

On yonder hill, with oak and hickory crowned,
What sight is that which draws, from far and near,
The thronging people up the dusty roads,
And through each field where'er a by-path leads?
See, where the red and new-arisen sun
Points his bright finger through the upland grove,
Flushing the white tents to a rosy hue!
And hark, the call of the resounding horn,
Which echo, from yon hill, with slumberous shell
Blows softly back! Are these the tents of war,
By some proud general pitched, where bayonets gleam,
And sentinels walk, and banners to the drum

Now comes the Muster's jovial, motley day,
Remnant of troublous times; and after this
Election follows. To the neighbouring town
The farmers flock, and gathering in crowds,
Discuss their candidates with growing warmth;
Then drop the powerful scrip into the poll—
The little weight which turns a nation's scale—
Where oft a world-wide interest is weighed
Beyond recall, and settled. Let no vote
Be dropped with careless thought; for it may be
The last strong hand which draws the lever down
Which moves the giant destiny of man

Approaches now the time to Christians dear,
Hallowed with grateful memories; the hour
Which startled Herod on his throne, and drew
The star-led Magi through the manger door,
Where lay the infant Saviour of a world,
More terrible to Eden's serpent vile—
Which now, affrighted, backward shrunk, chagrined,
Coiling upon himself—than was the boy,
The cradled Hercules, unto the snake
He strangled in his grasp. This is the eve,
Welcome to all, by childhood chiefly hailed,
Bringing that day the angels ushered in
O'er favoured Bethlehem; and every house

The-winter speeds, yet, ere the spring comes in,
On many a tree which at the cross-roads stands,
And at the village tavern and the store,
And on the blacksmith's wall—in staring print,
Or in coarse written lines—unnumbered bills
Proclaim the dissolution near at hand.
There the choice farm and stock, or household wares
Are offered, and the day of vendue set;
And, ere from off the fields the last snow melts
From crops, another than the hand which sowed
Shall in the harvest reap,—the sales begin;
While Melancholy walks from door to door,

Here, by the highway, let us stand and note
The long, slow, labouring caravan which takes,
To-day, its westward course. Like moving tents,
The laden wagons pass. Along the road
Some, who remain, collect in wayside groups,
And wave the 'kerchief, uttering heartfelt words
Of cheer; some join the pilgrimage a space,
Walking behind the wains in converse meet,
Speeding the adventurers on. Some, in advance.
Who started earlier on the way, with gaze
Cast frequent back, and leisure, mournful steps
Hold melancholy talk with those whom they,

Another morning finds them on their way:
Another still, and still another flies.
To-day beside the Susquehanna leads
Their road romantic; and to-day, the sun,
Looking betwixt the hill-tops to the vales,
Beholds, with cheerful eye, the climbing line
Which by the roaring Juniata winds;
Till lo! upon the windy mountain height,
While glows the eve above a sea of hills,
Flushing the Alleghanian peaks, the train
Hangs like a cloud that, with the coming day,
Beside the brook which takes a westward course
Shall hold its far descent. Here, from the road,

Between the hills whose perforated sides
Bleed to the watered banks, from veins of coal,
The black bituminous mass, for days they float
Delighted with the changing view. The shore,
On either hand, a lovely landscape glides:
And Beaver passed, lo, presently appear
The fields of other States. Here, on the left,
Virginia, whose historic name recalls
The scenes of chivalry and old romance—
A State which lavished heroes, as a mountain
Gives to the land its rivers. The broad home
Of Raleigh's hope and Pocahontas' love,
Of Washington and Jefferson, and him