Classic Poem

H USH'D was the air, the howling winds were still,
And icy fetters bound each silver rill;
Old Night her raven mantle cast around,
And Spectres rose from consecrated ground;
The full orb'd moon a pallid lustre shed,
And o'er each scene a livelier horror spread.

'Twas then aside the frozen Delaware,
(To the bleak north, her bosom, heaving, bare)
Revolving various troubles in her mind,
Fair Pennsylvania's genius sad reclin'd,
Her olive crown, scarce cleans'd from reeking gore,
She dash'd, indignant, on the flinty shore;
Then, sorrowful, she turn'd her briny eyes
To where her Capital's proud turrets rise.

Thus, as she rested on a bank of snow,
Breathing deep sighs, and lost in speechless woe;
Sudden, a solemn murmur fill'd the air,
And rous'd the Goddess from her trance of care. —