Classic Poem

He came from out the glowing West,
And strength and glory round him shone,
Not with the hero's glancing crest,
Not with the “spoils of victory” won.

No martial trump before him played,
No booming cannon pealed afar,
No banner flaunted o'er his head,
No shouting thousands dragged his car.

Not his the venal meed of praise,
Which servile throngs of flatterers yield;
Not his the frantic cries they raise
Triumphant on the sanguine field.

Yet o'er his brow the laurel wreath
May well be blooming fresh and fair,
And round him well the choral breath
Of myriads may be swelling there.

For his the prouder thoughts of life,
Who by his country's altars stood,
'Mid doubt and peril, fear and strife,
Victorious, but unstained with blood.

For this the freeman's harp shall ring
In freedom's halls its loftiest lay,
And honor's wreath forever fling
Its glories round the name of Clay .