Death of Ashmun
Dublin Core
Title
Death of Ashmun
Description
Whose is you sable bier
The hoarse wave murmur'd low,
Ah! well I know the now,
Bent o'er the lowly tomb
Spirit of power, - pass on!
Why move the throng so slow?
Why doth that lonely mother's tearIn sudden anguish flow?
Why is that sleeper laidTo rest in manhood's pride?
How gain'd his check such pallid shade?I spake, - but none replied.
The hoarse wave murmur'd low,
The distant surges roar'd:
And o'er the sea in tones of woeA deep response was pour'd
I heard sad Afric mournUpon her billowy strand,
A shield was from her hand.Ah! well I know the now,
Through foreign suns would trace
Deep lines of death upon thy brow,Thou friend of misery's race.
Their leader when the blastOf ruthless war swept by,
Their teacher when the storm was pastTheir guide to worlds on high.
Bent o'er the lowly tomb
Where thy soul'd idol lay,
I saw thee rise above the gloom,And hold thy changeless way;
Stern sickness woke a flameThat on thy vigour fed,
But deathless courage nerv'd the frameWhen health and strength had fled.
Spirit of power, - pass on!
Thy homeward wing is free,
Earth may not claim thee for her son,She hath no chain for thee:
Toil might not bow thee down,Nor Sorrow check they race,
Nor pleasure win thy birthright crown,Got to thy own blest place!
HARTFORD CON 1828 L.H.Creator
L.H., Hartford, Conn 1828
Source
3:40, p. 322
Date
1829.01.09
Contributor
From the African Repository
Collection
Citation
L.H., Hartford, Conn 1828, “Death of Ashmun,” Periodical Poets, accessed July 27, 2024, https://periodicalpoets.com/items/show/190.
Comments