Home
About Our School
Classrooms
Featured Programs
Parent Resources
PTSA & CSC
From Kids
History
BROMWELL ELEMENTARY SCHOOL (214)
2500 East
Fourth Avenue,
80206-4214
(Columbine Street at East Fourth Avenue)
Telephone:
(303) 388-5969
Fax: (720) 424-9355
E-mail: Bromwell@dpsk12.org
Mr. Jonathan Wolfer, Principal
|
|
| |
|
Selected Poems of H.P.H. Bromwell
LINCOLN'S BURIAL
They laid him in the low-arched tomb,
Between the brook and curving hill;
The slender oaks stand silent all,
The sunlight and the shadows fall
Around him sweet and still.
The brook a tale in symbols told,
Repeats along the winding dell
The story of his humble birth,
The constancy and manly worth
Which made him lived so well.
The May flowers gem the circling crest
As jewels of his martyr crown,
Or like fond eyes with tear-drops dim -
The human eyes that weep for him;
Their azure discs look down.
Oh, tiny stream of all on earth,
Mayst thou with lullabies draw near?
Oh, simple flowers of all that shine,
Were ye alone ordained to twine
A garland for his bier?
Oh, holy hours pass stilly o'er
That silent city of the dead;
That angels catch the softest sigh
Of Pilgrim mourners kneeling by
The patriot martyr's bed.
ON BUENA VISTA'S FIELD
Bright rose the morn, the glorious morn,
And light the standard best revealed
Which soon should be in triumph borne
O'er Buena Vista's bloody field.
The orient beams serenely fell
Where the serried hosts in order lay:
While rang the trumpet's tuneful swell
Precursory of the coming fray.
The hills resound the strains of war,
The hoary rocks repeat the note;
O'er tangled dells and mountains far
The strains of rival clarions float.
Awake Columbia's deathless bands!
The Mexic hosts are on ye now!
With murderous hearts and gory hands
Their legions shade the mountain's brow.
Loud shouts the van, the charging shout
Is borne along the distant flanks;
The tones of savage joy ring out,
From all their thousand boasting ranks.
They charge! The trumpet's tones are lost
Amid the conflict's deeper roar,
While shattered plumes are wildly tossed
And rival banners float before.
Columbia's braves unfaltering stand
And still their deadly missiles hurl,
Their thunders shake the solid land,
Their sulph'rous clouds sublimely curl.
Then mid the din, and tempest's wrath,
Two warriors urged their arduous way:
Till meeting on th' ensanguined path,
Each paused his comrade to survey.
Nor friends were they, for deep and long
Had hatred in each bosom burned;
With rankling passion deep and strong
Had each the other's friendship spurned.
They met, but 'neath the cannon's blast,
The soul's ennobling passions rose;
Reviving memories o'er them passed -
They met, but could not part as foes.
They sprang - with more than friendship's clasp,
Each seized the proffered hand once more;
Each, each returned that sinewy grasp
With fervor all unknown before.
From eyes by toil and vigil dim
Affection's gentler currents roll -
Ah! Who shall say what lies within
That deep recess, the human soul.
But hark, the shouts of victory rise,
The stripes and stars in triumph wave -
The foe on wings of terror flies,
He yields the soil he vowed to save.
Columbia's sons her fame prolong;
They bear the palm of valor well -
Their name shall rouse the notes of song
While freedom wakes the sounding shell.
And long may pleasure bloom for those
Who in that hour their friendship sealed,
Who parted friends tho' met as foes
On Buena Vista's bloody field.
TO THE PEARL VESTED SPIKENARD
Gem of the Prairies and Queen of the fair,
Brightest of Jewels that Autumn may bear;
Spread to the morning thy beauties serene -
Joyful the sunbeam shall sport in thy sheen.
Bland are the breezes that make thy perfume,
Soft are the blue skies that witness thy bloom:
Beauties unnumbered around thee are thrown,
Gem of the wild Prairies
Lovely and lone.
What are the splendors that India can boast,
Blooming perennial on Lanca's bright coast?
What are the glories displayed on the bowers
Clothed with the verdure of tropical flowers?
Those but the Despot or minion behold,
Panting for glory, or thirsting for gold;
Those have not power to wake in the heart
Thrills of the rapture thy beaties impart.
Only the beings who flit thro' the groves
Where the bright Peri of Paradise roves,
Find in their regions of beauty divine
Beauties or odors outrivaling thine.
Thine is a language which speaks to the soul,
Waking the feelings no art may control -
Speaking in beauty truly thine own,
Gem of the wild Prairie,
Lovely and lone.
Here the bright sunbeam is thrown from the skies,
On the soil where the altars of freemen arise,
And honor and virtue alike may be found,
Where the footstep of slavery imprints not the ground.
Then gladly I bid thee thou fairest of flowers,
To bloom round my cottage, and shine in my bowers;
Thy short life while passing shall gladden my own,
Gem of the wild Prairie,
Lovely and lone.
THE ROSE
In the hour when the dew drops pearly,
Shone on every tufted bough.
Young Lucillius rising early,
Blithely turned the shining plow.
Soft the lark through ether flying,
Carolled to the rising morn,
Breezes balmy, gently sighing,
Whispered through the mazy corn.
On the rose the dew drop burning,
Glittered in the ambient light;
But the furrow roughly turning,
Crushed the bud from human sight.
Then the sad Lucillius stooping,
Raised from earth the fallen gem,
But its snowy petals drooping,
Withered on the broken stem.
Thus, he cried, o'er bosoms lighted,
Dark misfortunes soonest lower;
And the hopes that shine the brightest,
Wither first beneath their power.
from SPRING:
The sunset hour is loveliness,
For Spring is passing by;
With tints of light and rosiness,
Adorning Earth and sky;
And sounds of rural melodies
Are born on every breeze,
And thrillingly
Their minstrelsy
Reechoes through the trees.
from VISIONS:
When the shadows dim and dreary
Gather round the worn and weary,
And in Slumber's silken pinions
Half the rolling world is bound;
In the silence, holy visions,
As from bright domains Elysian,
Far beyond the terrestrial beauties
Unseen spirits shed around.
from SONG:
There were days when my spirit in lightness
Exulted in bouyance and youth,
And the world seemed a vision of brightness,
Illumed by the halo of truth;
Like the days when the Halcyon's bright pinion
Is spread o'er the calm rolling sea,
They have passed 'neath the dark night's dominion,
But alas, to return not to me.
from TO ADA:
Ada, now he pensive hours move slowly,
Around Night's sable car;
And thy spirit roves through regions holy
Of the dreamland far.
I, too, might well dream of all things gentle
Such as the poets tell,
Far beyond the shadows occidental,
In Elysium dwell.
from HYMN:
Around this whirling sphere,
Commingle sounds of Earth, and air, and sky;
The boom of thunder shakes the welkin here,
While mountain height and sheltered vale reply
Around this whirling sphere.
In majesty profound,
The billows swell and heave their ceaseless roar;
While rolls the mighty diapaso round,
Deep calling unto deep, and shore to shore,
In majesty profound.
from TO CRUTCHFIELD:
O Crutchfield, long has been the while
Since last I met thy friendly smile,
Since last thy converse did beguile
My pensive hours, mon ami.
Where hast thou gone -- and whither flown,
Say, dost thou wander far and lone
Uncheered by Friendship's soothing tone
In exile sad, mon ami?
from EVENING PASSING:
Now light recedes, and evening's sombre veil
Is thrown o'er mountain, forest, lake and rock;
Dim silence reigns in the sequestered vale;
Where maples, moaning, to the breezes rock.
The wandering herds that ram the plain at will
Have laid them down beside the mossy well,
While from the forest dell the whippoorwill
Pours forth his plaintive accents known so well.
from ABDUL OF TIMBUCTOO:
Alone where the stretching desert's way
Lay wild and hard in the shimmering heat;
Where the jagged rocks in the scorching ray
Pressed hot and sharp on the blistering feet;
Alone by the Niger's endless flood,
Where the fell hyena doth fiend-like howl,
With reeling step and shrinking eye,
Where the sand glare flashed to the brazen sky,
Athirst, and fainting with hunger and pain,
Toiled a wildered youth on the African plain.
The sun did smite him with a blinding glare,
Like the glow of a furnace thro' the stifling air;
No screen, or shadow of rock or cloud,
Relief and rest to his limbs allowed;
The sun must sink in his course at length,
Yet sink must also his failing strength;
And the night hours bring with fresher air
But wasting vigils and chill despair;
When the sun shall whelm not with seary blaze,
The stars shall mock with their quiet gaze.
MERRY NEW YEAR
Merry New Year, cousin "Evvie,"
Tho' the clouds are dark and heavy,
Merry New Year, cousin "Carrie,"
While the festive moments tarry;
Though for you the golden day
Cheers a landscape far away;
Tho' your sounds of careless mirth
Mingle round a distant hearth;
Thinking not that fancy's eye
Brings your smiles and pleasures nigh;
And to picture all your joys
Magic pencilings employs;
Tracing as with lines of light
Every faultless feature bright
Every sunny glance and smile,
Every tone and artless wile,
Charms which still the heart will tell
Round the loved and gentle dwell.
Tho' with you I mingle not,
Memory's glass reveals the spot -
Bright each hill and field appears,
In the light of other years,
As the rainbow colors flow,
O'er the days of long ago.
Now another year has passed,
Mingling with the shadowy past;
Vernal hues and summer flowers
Perished with the scented bowers;
And the tempests, howling, sweep
Where the withered lilies sleep.
Yet not alone they lie;
Blooming cheek and beaming eye,
Fairest of all human flowers,
In this changing world of ours,
Low in dreamless slumber rest,
In the Earth's maternal breast.
But the vernal tints again,
Shall enliven vale and plain;
When the golden sun shall bring
Rosy vested, buoyant Spring.
While the winter hours are drear,
Hopes of brighter days shall cheer;
Thus may coming pleasures still
All your future changes fill;
Sunlight's glance, and rainbow hues
All your sky of life suffuse;
And when evening's shadows fall,
O'er life's transient beauties all
Hope shall light her beacon star
On the eternal heights afar,
Guiding to the sapphire gate
Where sweet Mercy's seraphs wait,
Where shall meet the good and true
And the year be ever new.
|
