But who is he, that through the mists of Time Beams nobly forth, in look and port sublime, Announc’d with benedictions on his name? And title, fairest on the scroll of fame? Before whom tyrants quake?--and conq’rors bow? And haughty fav’rites sink their greatness low? It is the Patriot! who when Danger frown’d, And cruel foes his country hover’d round; Whilst hearts grew faint,--and hands sunk weak with fear, As, stain’d with blood, the Conq’ror shook his spear, And men, like herds of deer, when on the plain A tiger darts, in terror sought to gain The wood’s dark fastness, or the mountain’s side,-- Rallied their hopes; and taught them to abide With manly courage the invader’s blow, And back the bolts of war hurl on th’ astonish’d foe:-- It is the Patriot!--he who nobly dar’d, (When Tyranny his iron sceptre rear’d, And millions crouch’d,) to spurn his fierce command, And rouse the spirit of his native land. Intent to rescue, treading in the dust The spite of factions,--rage of Kings,--and lust Of haughty nobles, as the vineyard’s waste Is trodden down, by him, whose hopes are plac’d On gath’ring a rich vintage,--firm he stood; And sav’d his suffering Country by his blood. Valiant to suffer! though his robe be red With crimson spots, from those dark stains is shed An odor, fragrant as the morning breeze Wafted at spring time o’er the blossom’d trees; Yea! sweeter far! for a great nation lives, In joy and freedom, by the life it gives. A Patriot’s blood can make a holy shrine Of meanest earth: with pow’r, as though divine, Can melt the heart,--can blanch the cheek, or fire The ardent spirit with exalted ire. No spot so barren, by such life blood fed, ’Midst snow-capt rocks,--or where dull marshes spread,-- In forest glooms,--or splendid city’s bound, But hence is hail’d as consecrated ground. Country, endear’d, assumes a lovelier hue, And man, enfranchis’d, starts his race anew: The pilgrim, wand’ring through some foreign clime, Pensively led to mark the spoil of Time; Beholds some widow’d city on the plain, Who once led nations in her glorious train, Espous’d of princes:--in whose days of mirth, Kings sought her favor, from the ends of earth. Whose armies, like thick clouds, around her throne Waited, to make her royal mandates known: And ships, shadow’d the sea--floating sublime Like ocean demons:--linking clime to clime, And land to land, in one vast, boundless sway, They bade the world their lofty queen obey: And at her feet laid down the gather’d spoil, For which an hundred realms were doom’d to toil. Now childless homes,--cold hearths,--forsaken halls, Where ruin echoes to destruction’s calls,-- Alone remain: the wand’rer asks, in grief, Why widow’d ages, close the years of brief