Classic Poem

The great are falling from us — to the dust
Our flag droops midway full of many sighs;
A nation's glory and a people's trust
Lie in the ample pall where Webster lies.

The great are falling from us — one by one
As fall the patriarchs of the forest trees,
The winds shall seek them vainly, and the sun
Gaze on each vacant space for centuries.

Lo, Carolina mourns her steadfast pine
Which towered sublimely o'er the Southern realm,
And Ashland hears no more the voice divine
From out the branches of its stately elm: —

And Marshfield's giant oak, whose stormy brow
Oft turned the ocean tempest from the West,
Lies on the shore he guarded long — and now
Our startled eagle knows not where to rest!