Thou, stranger, that shalt come this way,
No fraud upon the dead commit;
Yet, mark the swelling turf, and say,
'They do not _lie_, but here they _sit_'
Here still a lofty rock remains,
On which the curious eye may trace
(Now wasted half by weiring rains)
The fancies of a ruder race.
Here still an aged elm aspires,
Beneath whose far projecting shade
(And which the shepherd still admires)
The children of the forest play'd.
There oft a restless indian queen,
(Pale Marian, with her braided hair)
And many a barb'rous form, is seen,
To chide the man that lingers there.
By midnight moons, o'er moist'ning dews,
In vestments for the chace array'd,
The hunter still the deer pursues -
The hunter and the deer - a shade.
And long shall tim'rous fancy see
The painted chief, and pointed spear,
And, _Reason's self_ shall bow the knee
To shadows and delusions here.
* * * * *
_Philadelphia, September 22d, 1795._
DEAR SIR,
I find from a perusal of the english papers, that fencibles are raising in
all parts of the country, and every precaution taking, to put the kingdom
in the best state of defence, in case of an invasion. I have for some
years thought a few regiments of riflemen would much contribute to this
desirable end.
