Classic Poem

Heroic shadows dimly throng the past;
We hear their hollow voices from afar.
Some stride in ringing mail, and some there are
With graceful togas round their shoulders cast;
Scholars we see, whose eyes have pierced the vast;
Seers that have talked with sphinxes in their time;
And bards renowned, upon whose brows sublime
Sit laurel wreaths that must forever last.
But who is he, yon shade of stately mien,
That, giant-like, in such a throng appears?
We know and love thee, Freedom's greatest son!
A happy nation keeps thy memory green;
For thou art worthy of its splendid years,
And they of thee, O peerless Washington!