John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892). The Poetical Works in Four Volumes. 1892.
Personal PoemsFitz-Greene Halleck
A
Thy civic wreaths belong,
O city of his love, make room
For one whose gift was song.
Nor his the helm of state,
Nor glory of the stricken field,
Nor triumph of debate.
He served his race and time
As well as if his clerkly pen
Had never danced to rhyme.
The Muses found their son,
Could any say his tuneful art
A duty left undone?
Men found their homes more sweet,
And through a tenderer atmosphere
Looked down the brick-walled street.
The Red King walked Broadway;
And Alnwick Castle’s roses blew
From Palisades to Bay.
His veil with reverent hands;
And mingle with thy own the praise
And pride of other lands.
Above her hero-urns;
And Scotland, with her holly, wreathe
The flower he culled for Burns.
Thy tall ships ride the seas;
To-day thy poet’s name recalls
A prouder thought than these.
Nor less thy tall fleets swim,
That shaded square and dusty street
Are classic ground through him.
The echoes of his song;
Too late the tardy meed we bring,
The praise delayed so long.
The living man, to-day
Before his unveiled face, how few
Make bare their locks of gray!
Our grateful eyes be dim;
O brothers of the days to come,
Take tender charge of him!
New voices challenge fame;
But let no moss of years o’ercreep
The lines of Halleck’s name.