我们的第一个公民冬天的寒流在他的胸前闪烁;对他来说，没有春天能让叶子绽放，爱情在突如其来的悲伤压抑下，能说出的话，迅速唤起的记忆，都被说出了。正如钟声，在一个一致的钟声中，充满了甜蜜的振动，在整个空气中，在这悲伤的时刻，所有的声音都在一起，宣告他的天才、智慧和美德。只有冷静的历史，用她的铁笔，在亘古不变的岩石上刻下最后的字句，在人们的灵魂中形成他的形象，才有地方留给有分寸的赞美之词呢?然而，当回声还在重复着他的名字，当无数的语言在他那充实的生命中排练，爱，被他的跳动的脉搏所教导，将要求诗歌的呼吸，诗歌的优美的悸动——诗歌，在千变万化的潮起潮落中，像劳苦的心一样，跳跃和休息，或在庄严的韵律中摇摆，悲伤而缓慢，像一个被悲伤磨损的胸膛的疲倦的起伏。她的头脑是那么圆润，那么完整，没有什么天生的天赋是多余的，就像一条溪流，许多人汇流在一起，每一种天赋都显得少了一些。一座小小的小山，如果它孤零零地矗立着，就会在田野上拥有无可争议的统治地位;而辽阔的高原之巅，带着云带，仿佛是平坦的平原。他的一切力量的仆人，那忠实的奴隶，唤醒了沉睡的记忆，用他的辛劳，加强了他肩上的每一项粗糙的任务，每天装载着金色的战利品。秩序，即上天的法则，凌驾于行动、本能、冲动、感情和思想之上; True as the dial's shadow to the beam, Each hour was equal to the charge it brought. Too large his compass for the nicer skill That weighs the world of science grain by grain; All realms of knowledge owned the mastering will That claimed the franchise of its whole domain. Earth, air, sea, sky, the elemental fire, Art, history, song,--what meanings lie in each Found in his cunning hand a stringless lyre, And poured their mingling music through his speech. Thence flowed those anthems of our festal days, Whose ravishing division held apart The lips of listening throngs in sweet amaze, Moved in all breasts the selfsame human heart. Subdued his accents, as of one who tries To press some care, some haunting sadness down; His smile half shadow; and to stranger eyes The kingly forehead wore an iron crown. He was not armed to wrestle with the storm, To fight for homely truth with vulgar power; Grace looked from every feature, shaped his form, The rose of Academe,--the perfect flower! Such was the stately scholar whom we knew In those ill days of soul-enslaving calm, Before the blast of Northern vengeance blew Her snow-wreathed pine against the Southern palm. Ah, God forgive us! did we hold too cheap The heart we might have known, but would not see, And look to find the nation's friend asleep Through the dread hour of her Gethsemane? That wrong is past; we gave him up to Death With all a hero's honors round his name; As martyrs coin their blood, he coined his breath, And dimmed the scholar's in the patriot's fame. So shall we blazon on the shaft we raise,-- Telling our grief, our pride, to unborn years,-- 'He who had lived the mark of all men's praise Died with the tribute of a Nation's tears.'