Poems by James Barron Hope

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We sat beneath tall waving trees that flung
Plain men have fitful moods and so have Kings,
Oft when pacing thro' the long and dim
"I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done
"He that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord."
High-perch'd upon the rocky way,
He chastens us as nations and as men,
The Brave young Marquis, second but to one
Of their great names I may record but few;
O'er town, and works, and waves amain
Superb in white and red, and white and gold,
Achilles came from Homer's Jove-like brain,
Full-burnished through the long-revolving years
On the night air there floating comes, hoarse, war-like, low and deep,
And here France came one hundred years ago!
Brave was the foeman! well he held his ground!
As some spent gladiator, struck by Death,
Behind the town the sun sinks down
The fountain of our story spreads no clouds
In hunting shirts, or faded blue and buff,
I see his Shape who should have led these ranks -
Before this thought the present hour recedes,
My harp soon ceases; but I here allege
And as the allied hosts advance
Troops late by Williamsburg's brave palace walls,
At Plymouth Rock a handful of brave souls,
Oaks multiplied apace, and o'er the seas
Midway between the orange and the snows
This on the water: on the land a scene
An ancient Chronicle has told
Then sweeping down below Virginia's Capes,
Turned back my gaze, on Spain's romantic shore
Next came the closing scene: but shall I paint
Two chieftains watch the battle's tide and listen as it rolls
At last our Fathers saw the Treaty sealed,
But, in that fiery zone
A yeoman born, with patrimony small,
Fools laugh at dreamers, and the dreamers smile
My Lady's rest was calm and deep:
I turn aside; and, in the pause, might start
"In pace decus, in bello praesidium." - Tacitus.
Her story, sure, was fashioned out above,
Whether in velvet white, slashed, and be-pearled,
The cock hath crow'd. I hear the doors unbarr'd;
Over the farm is brooding silence now -
That solitary cloud grows dark and wide,
Behind me purplish lines marked out the town,
Their sleep is made glorious,
Nolan halted where the squadrons,
In those vast forests dwelt a race of kings,
"Great Mother of great Commonwealths"
Oh the women of Old Portsmouth in their patience were sublime,
Two little children toddled up to me,
Certain events, like architects, build up
Virginia in her proud, Colonial days
Alas! he's cold!
Himself I read beneath the words he writes ...
The sun went down in flame and smoke,