Classic Poem

A WAIL is in the Capitol,
A wail of anguish deep,
That startles with a fearful sound
The night wind from its sleep.
The brave old oak hath bowed its head,
A victim to the blast;
Death holds within his conquering arm
The conqueror at last.

There's mourning in the Capitol,
With slow and solemn tread
Go hang with weeds of cypress now
The chambers of the dead.
Ye may not speak at such a time,
But gaze in mute despair;
Ye would but mock those weeping ones
Who kneel heart-broken there.

A gloom is in the Capitol,
And like a dismal pall,
It must, with melancholy hue,
On the whole nation fall.
For she will see the radiant gem
Which she so proudly wore,
Drop from her brilliant coronet,
To sparkle there no more.

Oh! Taylor! thou hast nobly won
A hero's deathless name;
But what to thee are titles now? —
What honor, rank, or fame?
Where thou did'st raise thy country's flag,
In triumph it shall wave;
But all thy glorious deeds must end
Untimely in the grave.

'Tis sweet to think that with thine own
Was breathed thy latest sigh;
What comfort in thy parting words —
" I am prepared to die. "
The storms of battle thou hast braved,
And many a conflict passed;
Now peaceful in thy native land
Thine eyes are closed at last.

A warning from the Capitol,
A deep sepulchral sound!
List to the mournful requiem
With solemn awe profound.
Nor let the turbid, restless tide
Of party feeling flow;
He was a Nation's President,
Be ours a Nation's woe.