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WRITTEN IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

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WRITTEN IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.36

OCTOBER 10, 1806.

WHOE'ER thou art, approach, and, with a sigh,
Mark where the small remains of Greatness lie.37
There sleeps the dust of Fox forever gone;
How near the place where late his glory shone!
And, though no more ascends the voice of prayer,
Though the last footsteps cease to linger there,
Still, like an awful dream that comes again,
Alas! at best, as transient and as vain,
Still do I see (while through the vaults of night
The funeral-song once more proclaims the rite)
The moving pomp along the shadowy aisle,
That, like a darkness, filled the solemn pile;
The illustrious line, that in long order led,
Of those, that loved him living, mourned him dead;
Of those the few, that for their country stood
Round him who dared be singularly good;
All, of all ranks, that claimed him for their own;
And nothing wanting- but himself alone! 8

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O, say, of him now rests there but a name;
Wont, as he was, to breathe ethereal flame?
Friend of the absent, guardian of the dead!
Who but would here their sacred sorrows shed?
(Such as he shed on NELSON's closing grave;
How soon to claim the sympathy he gave!)
In him, resentful of another's wrong,
The dumb were eloquent, the feeble strong.
Truth from his lips a charm celestial drew -
Ah! who so mighty and so gentle too?

What though with war the madding nations rung, "Peace," when he spoke, was ever on his tongue! Amid the frowns of power, the tricks of state, Fearless, resolved, and negligently great! In vain malignant vapors gathered round; He walked, erect, on consecrated ground. The clouds, that rise to quench the orb of day, Reflect its splendor, and dissolve away!

When in retreat he laid his thunder by, For lettered ease and calm philosophy, Blest were his hours within the silent grove, Where still his godlike spirit deigns to rove; Blest by the orphan's smile, the widow's prayer, For many a deed, long done in secret there. There shone his lamp on Homer's hallowed page. There, listening, sate the hero and the sage; And they, by virtue and by blood allied, Whom most he loved, and in whose arms he died. Friend of all human-kind! not here alone (The voice, that speaks, was not to thee unknown) Wilt thou be missed. — O'er every land and sea Long, long shall England be revered in thee! And, when the storm is hushed- - in distant yearsFoes on thy grave shall meet, and mingle tears!

WRITTEN AT DROPMORE,

JULY, 1831.

GRENVILLE, to thee my gratitude is due
For many an hour of studious musing here,
For many a day-dream, such as hovered round
Hafiz or Sadi; through the golden East,

WRITTEN AT STRATHFIELD SAYE.

251

Search where we would, no fairer bowers than these,
Thine own creation; where, called forth by thee,
"Flowers worthy of Paradise, with rich inlay,
Broider the ground," and every mountain-pine
Elsewhere unseen (his birth-place in the clouds,
His kindred sweeping with majestic march
From cliff to cliff along the snowy ridge
Of Caucasus, or nearer yet the moon)
Breathes heavenly music. Yet much more I owe
For what so few, alas! can hope to share,
Thy converse; when, among thy books reclined,
Or in thy garden-chair that wheels its course
Slowly and silently through sun and shade,
Thou speak'st, as ever thou art wont to do,
In the calm temper of philosophy;

-Still to delight, instruct, whate'er the theme.

WRITTEN AT STRATHFIELD SAYE.

THESE are the groves a grateful people gave
For noblest service; and, from age to age,
May they, to such as come with listening ear,
Relate the story! Sacred is their shade;
Sacred the calm they breathe-O, how unlike
What in the field 't was his so long to know!
Where many a mournful, many an anxious thought,
Troubling, perplexing, on his weary mind
Preyed, ere to arms the morning-trumpet called;
Where, till the work was done and darkness fell,
Blood ran like water, and, go where thou wouldst,
Death in thy pathway met thee, face to face.

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For on, regardless of himself, he went; And, by no change elated or depressed, Fought, till he won the imperishable wreath, Leading the conquerors captive; on he went, Bating nor heart nor hope, whoe'er opposed; The greatest warriors, in their turn, appearing; The last that came, the greatest of them allOne scattering hosts as born but to subdue, And even in bondage withering hearts with fear. When such the service, what the recompense? Yet, and I err not, a renown as fair, And fairer still, awaited him at home; Where to the last, day after day, he stood,

The party-zeal, that round him raged, restraining; His not to rest, while his the strength to serve.*

WRITTEN IN JULY, 1834.

GREY, thou hast served, and well, the sacred cause
That Hampden, Sydney died for. Thou hast stood,
Scorning all thought of self, from first to last,
Among the foremost in that glorious field;
From first to last; and, ardent as thou art,
Held on with equal step as best became
A lofty mind, loftiest when most assailed;
Never, though galled by many a barbed shaft,
By many a bitter taunt from friend and foe,
Swerving or shrinking. Happy in thy youth,
Thy youth the dawn of a long summer-day;
But in thy age still happier; thine to earn
The gratitude of millions yet unborn;

Thine to conduct, through ways how difficult,
A mighty people in their march sublime

From Good to Better. Great thy recompense,

When in their eyes thou read'st what thou hast done;
And may'st thou long enjoy it; may'st thou long
Preserve for them what they still claim as theirs,
That generous fervor and pure eloquence,
Thine from thy birth and Nature's noblest gifts,
To guard what they have gained!

WRITTEN IN 1834.

WELL, when her day is over, be it said
That, though a speck on the terrestrial globe,
Found with long search and in a moment lost,
She made herself a name

a name to live While science, eloquence, and song divine, And wisdom, in self-government displayed, And valor, such as only in the Free,

Shall among men be honored.

Every sca

Was covered with her sails; in every port

Her language spoken; and, where'er you went,
Exploring, to the east or to the west,

Even to the rising or the setting day,

Her arts and laws and institutes were there,

Moving with silent and majestic march,
Onward and onward, where no pathway was;
There her adventurous sons, like those of old,
Founding vast empires"-empires in their turn

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