Ohio History Journal

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220 Ohio Archaeological and Historical Quarterly

220 Ohio Archaeological and Historical Quarterly.

One alone unto thy shades, Mount Vernon,

Called the Chieftain with himself to dwell.

Proud to serve the Father of the Nation,

Glad to hear the voice that bade him stay

Year by year upon the broad plantation,

Unto ripened manhood toiled John Gray.

Sowed and reaped and gathered to the garner

All the Summer plenty's golden sheaves,-

Sowed and reaped, till Time, the ruthless warner,

Whispered through the dreary Autumn leaves:

"Wherefore tarry? Freedom's skies are o'er thee;

Winter frowneth ere the blush of May:

Lo! Is not a goodly land before thee?

Up and choose thee now a home, John Gray."

Thus he heard the words of duty's warning,

And he saw the rising Empire-star

Dawning dimly on the Nation's morning-

Guiding westward Emigration's car.

Heard and saw and quickly rose to follow.

He bore his rifle for the savage prey,

Bore his axe, that soon in greenwood hollow

Timed thy sylvan ballads, bold John Gray.

Blessed with love, his lonely labors cheering,

Blithe the hearthstone of that forest nook,

Where arose his cabin in the "clearing,"

Near the meadow with its purling brook;

Where his children from their noonday laughter

Turned at eve and left their joyous play,

Hushed and still, when the great hereafter

Spake the Christian father, meek John Gray.

Oh, the years of mingled joy and sadness!

Oh, the hours-the countless hours of toil,

Shared alike through sorrow and through gladness

By loved hands now mouldering in the soil;

Oh, the anguish stifled in the shadow

Of the gloom that bore her form away!

'Neath yon mound she slumbers in the meadow,

Waiting, meekly waiting thee, John Gray.

All day long upon the threshold sitting,

Where the sunbeams through the bright leaves shine--

Where the zephyrs, through his white locks flitting,

Softly whispers of "the auld lang syne."

How he loves on holy thoughts to ponder;

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JOHN GRAY, WASHINGTON'S LAST SOLDIER

JOHN GRAY, WASHINGTON'S LAST SOLDIER.

BORN NEAR MT. VERNON, VA., JANUARY 6TH, 1764; DIED

NEAR HIRAMSBURG, O., MARCH 29TH, 1868.

BY PRIVATE DALZELL.

[Read at the Marietta Centennial Celebration.]

One by one the severed links have started

Bonds that bound us to the sacred past;

One by one, our patriot sires departed,

Time hath brought us to behold the last;

Last of all who won our early glory,

Lonely traveler of the weary way,

Poor, unknown, unnamed in song or story,

In his western cabin lives John Gray.

Deign to stoop to rural shades, sweet Clio!

Sing the hero of the sword and plow;

On the borders of his own Ohio,

Weave a laurel for the veteran's brow;

While attuned unto the murmuring waters

Flows the burden of our pastoral lay,

Bid the fairest of Columbia's daughters,

O'er his locks of silver crown John Gray.

Slaves of self and serfs of vain ambition-

Toilful strivers of the city's mart,

Turn a while, and bless the sweet transition

Unto scenes that soothe the careworn heart;

Turn with me to yonder moss-thatched dwelling,

Wreathed in woodbine and wild-rose spray,

While the muse his simple tale is telling,

Tottering on his crutches, see John Gray.

When Defeat had pressed his bitter chalice

To the lips of England's haughty lord,-

Bowed in shame the brow of stern Cornwallis,

And at Yorktown claimed his bloody sword;

At the crowning of the siege laborious-

At the triumph of their glorious day,

Near his chieftain, in the ranks victorious,

Stood the youthful soldier, brave John Gray.

While he vowed through peace their love should burn on-

While he bade his tearful troops farewell,

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