Classic Poem

This was a merchant, and that was a belle,
There lies a statesman — you know how he fell.

Under that monument fronting the street
Rests the young sailor, who, spurning defeat,

In a lost battle, and with his last prayer
Gave us a watchword to challenge Despair.

Tory and Patriot camp side by side;
Truce of the turf to their rancor and pride!

Look toward the river. The stone at your feet
Shelters a blade of his Majesty's fleet,

Gallant and gay, when the red-coated leaven
Troubled our city, in 'seventy-seven.

What of his ending? — (the daisies may know
More that is silence) — a word and a blow!

Then, a locked room in the tavern, the gloom
Flickered with candles; the whisper of doom;

Bicker and ring of encountering steel,
Panting of bosoms, the stamp of the heel,

Feint, circle, parry, lunge, counter, and carte! —
Dead! like a man, with a thrust through the heart!

What was the cause? Ah, you question in vain!
Dorothy, Annabel, Phyllis, or Jane,

Queen of assemblies and toast of the bold,
Somewhere she slumbers in Trinity's mold.

Search in your heart if you seek to descry
That which is hidden! — the passions that lie

Buried in Earth with her grasses above —
Sorrow and Ecstasy, Hatred and Love.