Wlliam Gilmore Simms
The Simms Review (Vol 16: No 2) >> Monody, on the Death of Gen. Charles Cotesworth Pinckney >> Page 18

image of pageExplore Inside

Page 18

Poetry | 1825
Transcription 9

Thy soul still tracks the bosom of the sky,
Like memory's hues that fade not, tho' they fly.

Thy Morning Sun was glorious; and the brave
Who bore thine honor'd relics to the grave--
Compatriots of thy soul! can well proclaim,
Thy Ev'ning worthy of they Morning fame.
When care and anguish press'd thy fev'rish hand,
And Time had changed with mournful brow, the sand
That mark'd thy term of being, and thine eye
Had lost its bright ecpression, whilst the sigh
That pain extorts, foretold th' approaching hour
Of lonely desolation, when the power
That life imparts, inclining to its end
Calls deep attention from each anxious friend,
Say, did remembrance give thy ling'ring thought
One tone, which, dying, thou would'st have forgot?
Did pale conviction from her pilgrim cell
Pourtray one scene, thy heart remember'd well;
Harrowing thy soul to madness, whilst the tear
Stole to thy burning cheek, and wither'd there?

Searcher of Hearts! that still omniscient views
Each flowret's birth and water'st it with dews;
Thou who still scan'st as equal lord of all,
An Empires ruin, and a sparrow's fall;
Was he, who bore the warrior's Patriot's name,