To The Memory of George Washington:
General of the Armies, and First President of
The United States of America.

by Thomas Blanchard, 1 January 1800

To The Memory of George Washington: General of the Armies,
and First President of The United States of America.
"Procul, O procul! ests profani."

Let no obtrusive, no unhallowed eye,
On which the rays of virtue dimly beam,
Let no cold mind, fashioned by common themes,
No breast, that glows with a patriot zeal,
Presume to violate the peaceful verse,
The pious offering to a Hero's shade.

I dare (since some must dare) to send abroad,
On every saddened breeze that sweeps the earth,
The plaintive accents of a general grief.
Then rising upwards from the vale of tears,
Essay, with rapid step, to mount on high
To the raised summit of the hill of praise.
But e'er the task begins, I lowly bow
Not to some storied Muse or fabled God,
But with raised mind, fixed eye, and eager thought,
I bend to Him,
Who from the mountains of omniscient light,
Drew a strong ray, and lent it to the earth.
I ask some pitying spirit of the sky,
To bend in silence o'er the honoured theme,
To guide the pencil and direct the strain.

For thee, lost Washington, the new-born Babe
Wears on its tender form the dress of woe;
For thee, the Infant shows its feeble arm,
Bearing, for thee, the emblem of the tomb;
The Child, spurning the sports of early life,
Weeps, while its mother reads the tale of death;
For thee, the Virgin rends her sunny robe,
And veils from day the radiance of her eye;
Pensive along the pebbled beach, the Youth
Muses in thought profound on deeds of thine;
For thee, the Matrons pour the piercing strain,
And tell the stranger, their great Son is dead;
For thee, the Warrior piles his useless arms,
And waits in silence, for the word -- Depart!
For thee, great Chief, the Fathers of the land
Suspend their labours, and their minds unstring;
And sad Columbia sits, her bow unbent,
Her darts all scattered, and her quiver broke,
And sends incessant on the passing winds,
The sorrowing tidings on to distant worlds.

* * * * *

Ye blest companions of his early years,
Who saw the youth fast ripening into man,
Lend your glad praises to his spotless morn.
Virgins and youths, if e'er you hope to lay
Your hearts, high beating, to the breast of love,
Join in the chorus of my grateful verse.
Ye veteran bands, brave partners of his toil!
Who drove through frost and fire at his command,
Through all the changes of eventful war,
Sound the loud clarions to your General's praise,
The great "conductor" of your lightning arms.
Ye Sires! who frame the law, and ye who judge,
Rise from your seats, and on the Hero's tomb
Plant with your reverend hands the honoured wreath,
Rich decked and woven by a Virgin train;
And let the land, from all its mountains, send
A general echo, to the great applause,
Till the long peal of praise, America,
Rolls o'er thy cloud-topped hills -- sounds through thy woods --
Floats onward with thy streams -- surrounds thy shores --
And, sweeping o'er the wide Atlantic waves,
Resounds the plaudit through the Eastern World!

Whether thy spirit, Washington, sits high
In the full centre of a dazzling orb,
Or risen far beyond the roll of stars,
Rests in the radiance of eternal light;
Whether it wanders through celestial space,
Or sits with seraphs on the hills of heaven,
Deign, with propitious eye, to view the land
That bears with reverence every mark of thee,
And from the "unknown regions of the sky,"
With wonted kindness, shield Columbia's sons.

Note: This text is a transcription of Blanchard's Ode as it appears in William S. Forrest's Historical and Descriptive Sketches of Norfolk and Vicinity (1853). While Forrest reproduced only selected portions of the Ode, it is this selection, and not a more complete text, to which Rev. Squire refers in "Norfolk in By-Gone Days."