Alexandria Gazette & Daily Advertiser

POETRY.
From the Connecticut Mirror.

FOR FEBRUARY, 22d, 1822

Behold the moss'd corner stone drop'd from the wall
And gaze on its date—but remember its fall,
And hope that some hand may replace it
Think not of its pride when with pomp it was laid,
But weep for the ruin its absence has made.
And the lapse of the years that efface it.
Mourn Washington's death when ye think of his birth,
And far from your thoughts be the lightness of mirth,
And far from your cheek be its smile.
To day he was born— 'twas a loan—not a gift,
The dust of his body is all that is left.
All that's left—but his funeral pile.
Flow gently Potomac, thou washest away
His sands where he trod and the turf where he lay.
When youth brush'd his cheek with her wing;
Breathe softly ye wild winds that circle around.
That dearest, and purest and holiest ground,
Ever press'd by the foot-prints of spring
Each breeze be a sigh, and each dew-drop a tear;
Each wave, be a whispering monitor near
To remind the sad shore of his story:
And darker, and softer, and sadder the gloom
Of that evergreen mourner, that bends o'er the tomb,
Where Washington sleeps in his glory.
Great God! when the spirit of freedom shall fan
And the sons of the Pilgrims in sorrow bewail
Their Religion and Liberty gone,
O! send back the soul that can stand where he stood.
Unsubdued by the tempest—unmoved by the flood,
And to THEE be the glory alone.