Poems Sigourney 1827/The last Surviver of the Signers of our Declaration of Independence

by Lydia Sigourney

THE LAST SURVIVER OF THE SIGNERS OF OUR DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.

Assyria boasted him who humbled Tyre,
Her warrior monarch. Greece the clarion swell'd
For him of Macedon, whose sick'ning tear
Flow'd o'er the narrow limits of a world,

Though in a wine-cup's narrower round his soul
Dissolving sank. Stern Carthage too was proud
Of old Hamilcar's son, when from the height
Of Alpine cliffs, with vengeful eye she scann'd
Her haughty rival. Rome beset the heavens,
Even while her veins were bursting, with the shout
Of "Io Cæsar!"—On red Sweden's sky
A meteor glared, till dire Pultowa quench'd
The wild-fire flame. France trembled as she took
Her idol on her shoulders, and compell'd
Tribute from mightier climes, but the cold blast
That swept Siberian pines breathed o'er his brow,
Proving he was but clay.—
                                        —Behold they died!
Those demigods of earth,—and left their fame
To ravaged realms, and slaughter'd hecatombs,
And widow's tears. But in this western world
Which nature in her bosom long conceal'd,
As her last, precious gem, a band arose
Of nobler heroes. They, no conquest sought,
No throne usurp'd, nor vassal homage claim'd,
But bade the sceptre, and the crowned head
Bow to the righteous cause. Time laid his hand
Upon their silver'd brows, and summon'd all
Save one, who in the dignity of age
Linger'd amid the blessings they had wrought,
Crown'd by a nation's thanks.—
                                              —To honour's tomb
He saw his brethren gather'd, one by one,
Yet found they might not die.
                                                Amid the haunts
Of industry, who o'er his harvest sings,

Of letter'd knowledge, liberty and wealth,
They move illustrious in the gifts they gave.
When to the woodman's axe the forest groans
Brief answer, and the new-born city springs,
It bears their name. Those mighty streams that roll
The tide of commerce o'er our cultured vales,
And ocean's thundering wave which proudly bears
The star-clad banner on its course sublime,
Speak forth their praise.
                                       The husbandman who guides
His caravan far from his father's fields.
On toward the setting sun, and boldly rears
A cell upon the frontiers, makes their deeds
His text-book nightly to his list'ning sons
Who throng the winter fire. Their pictured forms
Look down from halls of taste and wake the soul
Of the young student to heroic deeds.
Babes learn to name them in their murmur'd prayer,
And as Penates, at each household hearth,
Where freedom smiles, they dwell.
                                                        Say not 't is death
When this clay fabric falls, and weary yields
Each element a part. Is it not life
To prompt heroic thought, to cheer the toil
Alike of statesman and of labouring swain,—
To prop the columns of a nation's strength,
And soar on gratitude's unresting wing
Around the earth?—Such glorious life they live.

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