And may'st thou long enjoy it; may'st thou long WRITTEN IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.* OCTOBER 10, 1806. WHOE'ER thou art, approach, and, with a sigh, Of those, that loved Him living, mourned Him dead; * After the Funeral of the Right Hon. CHARLES JAMES FOX. Venez voir le pen qui nous reste de tant de grandeur, &c.-Bossuet Oraison funèbre de Louis de Bourbon. Of those the Few, that for their Country stood All, of all ranks, that claimed him for their own; Oh say, of Him now rests there but a name; The dumb were eloquent, the feeble strong. What tho' 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 vapours gathered round; The clouds, that rise to quench the Orb of day, ⚫ Et rien enfin ne manque dans tous ces honneurs, que celui à qui on les rend.-Ibid. When in retreat He laid his thunder by, Blest were his hours within the silent grove, There shone his lamp on Homer's hallowed page. Whom most He loved, and in whose arms He died. |