Robert Stevenson Coffin (1797–1827)

THE HERO of Erie hath gone to his rest,

Renown’d on the pages of story;

And the sun of his fame that rose in the west,

Hath set in the blaze of its glory.

No more shall the billow of Erie’s dark shores,

As it rolls in the silence of sadness,

Re-echo the words, “We have met; they are ours!”

Inspiring the freemen with gladness.

No more shall the friend of his bosom behold

The lord of her love and her spirit:

But she’ll find in the heart of his country enroll’d

His courage, his zeal, and his merit.

The stranger was kind, and Perry was blest,

For friendship made smooth the rough pillow;

He breathed but one sigh, it was breathed to the west,

And the breeze bore it safe o’er the billow.

The hero of Erie is sleeping afar,

Columbia, he’s lost to thee ever;

The spirit that walk’d on the whirlwind of war

Returns to thee never, O, never!

Farewell to the hero of Erie’s dark shores;

Columbia, his valour remember;

Engrave on his tomb, “We have met; they are ours!”

And hallow the month of September.