An Oration Delivered by John Tyler at Yorktown, Oct. 19, 1837 [pp. 747-752]

SOUTHERN LITERARY lESSENGER.
But lo! a still more fearful sight
Succeeds the horrors of the night!Gory, and grim, and heaped on high,
In dark relief against the sky,
A huge and reeking mount arose,
Reared with the heads of slaughtered foes!
The morning shuddered to unveil
A scene which turned each gazer pale,
While war and carnage smile,
And those fierce legions shout, to hail
The victors' trophied pile.
The infant's head, pale, mangled, fair,
And that of age, with hoary hair,
And woman's too-where yet we trace
Her speechless terror in the face A prayer upon the lips,
Amidst those lineaments of grace,
W,hich death could not eclipse,
And manhood's sterner visage, where
Wrath struggles still with grim despair —
All smoking in their blood, were blent,
To make a warrior's monument!
Come ye, who laud the conq'ror's name,
And swell the pwan of his fame Come, at his Moloch altar bow!
Come, gaze upon his trophy now!
Come, with fond hands to twine
Your wreaths of glory for his brow,
And worship at his shrine!
Huntsville, ala.
Williarnsbutrg, Oct. 21st, 1837.
To THE HoN. JOHN TYLER:
Dear Sir,-The undersigned, a committee on behalf
of the "WVilliamsburg Guards," have unanimously determined to tender you, for themselves, and the body
they represent, their acknowledgments for the eloquent
oration delivered before them on the 19th inst. at York
Town, and to request a copy for publication.
The committee cannot withhold an expression of the
pleasure they received from this truly eloquent and philosophical oration. They believe that a general dissemination of the truths therein contained, may have a
beneficial tendency to stop the onward course of corruption, ere we rush into that maelstrom where nought
is heard but the continual death-song of nations.
The committee hope that you will yield to their request, and accept the sentiments of their high respect
and esteem.
LIEUT. JNO. M. GALT,
LIEUT. W. H. PIERCE,
MOREAU BOWERS,
SERGEANT TYLER,
WM. S. PEACHY.
October 21st, 1837.
GENTLEMEN,-Whilst I fear that the oration which
I delivered at York Town on the 19th inst. can lay no
claim to the merits which you have been so kind as to
ascribe to it, I nevertheless yield it to your wishes, to
be disposed of in such manner as you may deem proper. Take it, therefore, gentlemen, with all its imperfections on its head, and be assured that I am in nothing
more sincere than in subscribing myself
Your friend and servant,
JOHN TYLER
To Lieut. Galt, Lieut. Pierce, Moreau Bowers, Sergt.
Tyler, and Private Peachy.
AN ORATION,
DELIVERED BY JOHN TYLER,
At York Town, October 19th, 1S37.
FELLOW-CITIZENS:
The Pilgrim plods his weary way, to prostrate
himself in adoration before some distant shrine:his offerings are of the heart-full of gratitude
and love to his Creator, for numberless blessings
bestowed upon him. Would you know why he
thus journeys far from his kindred and much
loved home? He seeks to look upon some memoral)le relic-the sight and touch of which, restores
the innocence of his youth, and renovates his life.
There is, to him, an undying holiness about that
shrine; and its very airs are fiee of the noxious
vapors of the earth. The grountd on which he
treads, is hallowed; and the ennobling objects
around him, picture to his mind deeds there
enacted in days long gone by, for the good of mankind. What though there be around him nought
but the remains of what was, in its day, a crowded
and an active mart?-what though the city once so
busy with its ships and its traffic, its gay merchants, and busy artisans, shall have almost passed
away?-what though there be no sound to awaken
the deep silence of the hushed streets?-there is yet
a voice proceeding from each ruin-it speaks from
each broken stone-from each crumbling mound.
It is heard in the ripple of each wave; which tells
that it has borne to distant shores the glory of
other days, and now bears back upon its foamy
crest the applause of other lands.
And why stand we here, my countrymen, on
this almost deserted spot, this day? Have we come
but to pass an idle hour, in gazing on these mounds
of earth-this village in decay-that noble river,
and yon more distant sea? There are other lands
more fair-other mounds more lofty-other ruins
more splendid-other streams more heavily bur thiened with rich cargoes and valuable freights other prospects which, to the mere lover of the
picturesque, are equally captivating. No! we
are here for a far nobler purpose. Each object
which this scene presents to the sight, is conse crated in the memory as a proud memento of a
glorious past: they speak to us of other times, and
of other men. They tell us a tale of heroic for titude-of patriotic devotion-and of majestic tri uimph. Behind those intrenchments, the last ever
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