COLONEL SAMUEL COLT,

And hath he fallen,— whom late we saw

In manly vigor bold?

That stately form,— that noble face,

Shall we no more behold?—

Not now of the renown we speak

That gathers round his name,

For other climes beside our own

Bear witness to his fame;

Nor of the high inventive power

That stretched from zone to zone,

And‘ neath the pathless ocean wrought,—

For these to all are known;—

Nor of the love his liberal soul

His native City bore,

For she hath monuments of this

Till memory is no more;

Nor of the self-reliant force

By which his way he told,

Nor of the Midas-touch that turn'd

All enterprise to gold,

And made the indignant River yield

Unto the ozier'd plain,—

For these would ask a wider range

Than waits the lyric strain:

We choose those unobtrusive traits

That dawn'd with influence mild,

When in his noble Mother's arms

We saw the noble child,

And noted mid the changeful scenes

Of boyhood's sport or strife,

That quiet, firm and ruling mind

Which marked advancing life.

So onward as he held his course

Through hardship to renown,

He kept fresh sympathy for those

Who cope with fortune's frown,

The kind regard for honest toil,

The joy to see it rise,

The fearless truth that never sought

His frailties to disguise,

The lofty mind that all alone

Gigantic plans sustain'd,

Yet turned unboastfully away

From fame and honors gained;

The tender love for her who blest

His home with angel-care,

And for the infant buds that rose

In opening beauty fair.

Deep in the heart whence flows this lay,

Is many a grateful trace

Of friendship's warm and earnest deed

Which nought can e'er replace;

For in the glory of his prime

The pulse forsakes his breast,

And by his buried little ones

He lays him down to rest.

And thousand stand with drooping head

Beside his open grave,

To whose industrious, faithful hands,

The daily bread he gave,

The daily bread that wife and babe

Or aged parent cheer'd,

Beneath the pleasant cottage roofs,

Which he for them had rear'd.

There's mourning in the princely halls

So late with gladness gay,

A tear within the heart of love

That will not dry away;

A sense of loss on all around,

A sigh of grief and pain —

“The like of him we lose to day,

We ne'er shall see again.”