Poems Sigourney 1827/The Misletoe at the Tomb of Washington
THE MISLETOE AT THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON.
Dark plant of Superstition's shade.
Why dost thou lift thy cheerless eye
Where reeks no Druid's purple blade,
To stain fair Freedom's chosen glade,
And dim her sun-bright sky?—
Sacred to orgies blind and base
Where human blood was sternly spilt,
How dar'st thou seek this holy place?—
Rude parasite! whose foul embrace
Has wreath'd the murderer's hilt.
Where Mona's ancient foliage wept
Or drear Stonehenge appall'd the gloom,
Thy earthless root had fitter crept,
Thy mystic garland better slept
Than near a christian's tomb.
What though in tuneful Maro's lore*[1]
To Troy's sad chief thine aid was lent,
Who dauntless trod the infernal shore
Where proud and frowning shades of yore
Their date of anguish spent,
Yet we, to Pluto's dreary coast,
Passport to ask of thee, disdain,—
We seek our hero mid the host
Where wails no grim or guilty ghost,
On heaven's unclouded plain.
See!—watchful o'er his honour'd clay,
A nation sheds the filial tear,
And pilgrims kneel, and patriots pray,
And plants of glory drink the day,
Why should 'st thou linger here?
In war, the laurel wove his crest,
The olive deck'd his sylvan dome,
The mournful cypress marks his rest,
Rude Misletoe!—the Druid's guest,
Hence!—find some fitter home.
- ↑ * The Viscum Album of Linnæus, or sacred Misletoe of the Druids, is the same plant which was the passport of Æneas to the infernal regions.—See Æneid, Book 6th.