• To O - S. C. by Annie Eliot Trumbull

    Spirit of “fire and dew,”
      Whither hast fled?
    Thy soul they never knew
      Who call thee dead.

    Deep thoughts of why and how
      Shadowed thine eyes:
    Thou hast the answers now
      Straight from the skies.

    Thrilled with a double power,
      Nature and Art,—
    Dowered with a double dower,
      Reason and heart,—

    ...

  • John Trumbull

                                  This was he

    Whose shaft of wit had touch'd the epic strain

    With poignant power. The Father of the Harp

    In his own native vales. He seems to muse

    As if those loved retreats did spread themselves

    Again before his eye. The sighing wind

    Through the long branches of those ancient...