'Tis the hope of the noble defeated; <br />The aim of the marksman is vain; <br />The wish of destruction completed, <br />The soldier eternally slain. <br /> <br />When winter succeeds to the summer, <br />The bird is too chilly to sing; <br />No music is play'd for the drummer, <br />No carol is heard on the wing. <br /> <br />The court of a nation forsaken, <br />An edifice stripp'd of its dome, <br />Its fame from her pinnacle shaken, <br />Like the sigh heaving downfall of Rome. <br /> <br />Fall'n, fall'n is the chief of the witty, <br />The prince of republican power; <br />The star-crown of Washington City <br />Descends his political tower. <br /> <br />The gold-plated seat is bespoken, <br />The brave of the west is before; <br />The bowl at the fountain is broken, <br />The music of fame is no more. <br /> <br />No longer a wonderful story <br />Is told for the brave whig to hear, <br />Whose sun leaves his circuit of glory, <br />Or sinks from the light of his sphere.<br /><br />George Moses Horton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/clay-s-defeat/
