William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
Departed PatriotsW
When cruel tyrants fall a prey to death,
Their actions may employ a venal pen,
Their praise may sound upon the venal breath:
(Heroes and patriots must submit to fate,)
Then may the mournful verse their virtues tell,
And elegy their fame may celebrate.
In baleful cypress and in yew array’d;
Meet me, O meet me by the marble tomb
In which some hero, or some patriot’s laid.
Some great preserver of his country’s peace:
Or where the pious Randolph’s dear remains
Lie bound by death’s insatiate, cold embrace.
Sadness and Sorrow will support thy train—
Ye sheeted phantoms, from your grave ascend,
And add a horror to the awful scene.
The brave M’Pherson’s fate we’ll also mourn;
And Cheeseman, to his country no less dear,
Nor great, nor brave—from her forever torn.
Could piercing sighs recall the once-lost breath,
Then would our briny torrents ceaseless flow,
Until we’d draw them from the arms of death.
Their fate we mourn in vain—in vain we weep:
Our fears will not avail—our boundless grief
Can ne’er awake them from their deadly sleep.
Their mortal eyes are closed in endless night:
But, then, their souls are fled to endless day,—
Methinks I see them near the world of light!
The glorious gates of heaven open wide:
Millions of seraphs, clothed in robes of gold,
Enclose the heroes in on every side.
Sweetness ineffable beams in his face:
Piercing his eyes—though piercing, still serene—
Awful his looks—yet, in each look a grace.
A crown of glory does adorn his head;
And on his breast is seen the purple wound
Through which, from earth, his soul with honour fled.
To him the lovely, gentle task is given
Safe to conduct them where joy never ends,
And bid them welcome to the bliss of heaven.