Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/219

                                Move not the chair
Where by his side she sat, the tenderest friend,
The mother of his children, her fond glance
Intently resting on his studious brow,
And oft by looks of answering love repaid.
Here, too, his little ones, fearing no chill
Of pedant frown, came flocking, for he join'd
Their happy sports with full hilarity.
—How bright his image, in this favour'd spot,
Gleams o'er the sorrowing friend. Here was his wont
To pour the tides of healthful feeling forth,
In social interchange; for still with him
Majestic Science, in her loftiest heights,
Knew no austerity, but hand in hand
Walk'd with life's charities.
                                              And thus he lived,
And thus, with cheerful acquiescence, met
His euthanasia, and lay down in peace,
His couch of pain made soft by filial hands.

—Then let this haunt be sacred.
                                                    For the foot
Of strangers here in future days shall turn,
As to some Mecca of Philosophy;
And hither, too, the aspiring youth shall come
To question of his greatness, or to seek
Some relic of the wondrous man, whose fame
Still gathereth greenness from the hand of Time.