Classic Poem

No more that lost old twain to town
Shall trot in various weather —
The broad-brimmed hat and great coat brown
And snow-white braids together;
The snug green home at Silver Springs
One hermit less shall pension,
She waits to hear the warning wings
And summons of ascension.

Scotch as the pibroch of Argyle,
Hard as the granite Highland,
Their fire domestic smoked the while,
Blue as o'er Ellen's island;
And there they nursed the loyal love
Of old Saint Andrew's story,
And deemed the Lord's high court above
Stern as his reign of glory.

Not rebel flames around their roof
New Orleans' guns could silence,
Nor Freedom's statue look reproof,
Like Jackson's grim surveillance,
Which met the traitors in their mart
And made their leader tremble,
And never bent the statesman's art
To palter or dissemble.

Van Buren's long and subtle skill
And Benton's various knowledge,
And stout Old Hickory's lofty will
And Kendall's lore of college,
And plastic grace of Silas Wright,
Their golden era bounded,
While Francis Blair, both squire and knight,
The Koran's page compounded.

Not for the bondman's smothered sighs,
Nor labor, low and humble,
He hailed the Northern columns rise,
The Southron's kingdom crumble;
He only saw the dark Calhoun
Above the thunderous action,
And Jackson's spirit, not too soon,
Ride forth to smite the faction!

The long revenge of stubborn years —
The private vindication —
He heard above the cannoneers,
When others hailed a Nation.
And scarce had victory struck her tents, —
The feudal code revising, —
He felt, in hardening heart and sense,
The old reaction rising.

The grass-grown forts that to his door
Brought bloody retrospections,
A less irreverent echo bore
Than Freedom's full elections;
Yet neither back nor forward halt
The rival waves of passion;
Alack! the times were all at fault —
The Blairs were out of fashion!

And so, in bootless intrigue pressed
His clannish boys their mettle;
And one, most gallant, passed to rest,
The other lived to fettle,
Till darkness fell on Silver Springs —
Death's oft-deferred intention! —
But one awaits the warning wings
And summons of ascension.

Rest there, thou loyal advocate
And undissembled Hector!
Where o'er the sward the dome of State
Throws its impartial spectre!
Not less than thou we littler pens
Forget in one devotion,
Time's infinite circumference,
And history's boundless ocean.