Virginia Argus

ODE.
THE SONS OF BOWDOIN.
By W. B. Walter.

All hail ye sons of Bowdoin!
Ye offspring of the free!
The golden morn has beam'd again,
That glar'd our chivalry:--
Swell high the festive choral strain
And fling the paean high!
Bear along your song
For grateful spirits soar
To Him who bursts the lightning cloud--
And quells the thunder's roar.
We boast our nation's valor!
Mark high yon fleeting sign:--
Her crag nest reft—an eagle's wing
Bright gleaming battle storm!
And who would wish that wing to cower
Before the tempest roll?
O'er the steep of the deep
Fierce glares her vengeful eye!
With ruffled breast and fearful scream,
She beats the troubled sky.
Past is the shriek of terror.
That sigh'd along the gale:--
The crested helm and warrior's lance—
And orphans' piercing wail!
The crimson banner waves no more!
The throbbing heart is still:--
Yet the grave of the brave
The laurel wreath shall wear--
Entwin'd with mournful cypress leaf
And wet with woman's tear!
Oh plant the peerless olive
These classic groves among!
We tell not now the wrathful hour
Of proud ambition's throng!
Chaste Serena here shall trim her flowers
The Muse shall twine her shade:--
While around, blithe shall bound
Fair Fancy's light array; --
And rosy love and pleasure bright,
Their frolic feats display!
Forget we not our Fathers—
Though dark their lonely way—
Who bore aloft the battle flag
And brav'd oppression's sway!
They pass'd—that on the whirlwind's blast
Their spirits now they rear!
From the throne where they shone
They mount the car of time:
Wild sweeping o'er the wreath of wind—
And whirls their course sublime!