"As through this thorny Vale of life we run, "Great CAUSE of all Effects, THY WILL BE DONE!" Now had the Grecians on the beach arrived, The generous Natives, moved with social pain, 140 OCCASIONAL ELEGY, IN WHICH THE PRECEDING NARRATIVE IS CONCLUDED. THE Scene of Death is closed! the mournful strains Dissolve in dying languor on the ear; Yet PITY weeps, yet SYMPATHY complains, And dumb SUSPENSE awaits o'erwhelm'd with fear: But the sad MUSES with prophetic eye At once the future and the past explore; Their harps Oblivion's influence can defy, And waft the Spirit to th' eternal shore Then, O PALEMON! if thy Shade can hear The voice of Friendship still lament thy doom, Yet to the sad Oblations bend thine ear, That rise in vocal incense o'er thy Tomb: 3 From young ARION first the news received And from her cheek the rose of beauty fled; In vain, alas! the gentle Virgin wept, A longer date of woe, the widowed WIFE Yet both were rescued from the chains of life The FATHER unrelenting Phrenzy stung, He languished, groaned, and perished in Despair. Ye lost Companions of distress, adieu! Your Toils, and Pains, and dangers are no more; The Tempest now shall howl unheard by you, While Ocean smites in vain the trembling Shore; On you the Blast, surcharged with rain and snow, In Winter's dismal nights no more shall beat; Unfelt by you the vertic Sun may glow, And scorch the panting earth with baneful heat: No more the joyful Maid, with sprightly strain, When far from Scenes of social joy you roam; No more on yon wide watery Waste you stray, No more you feel CONTAGION'S mortal breath The thundering Drum, the Trumpet's swelling strain Unheard, shall form the long embattled Line : Unheard, the deep foundations of the Main Shall tremble, when the hostile squadrons join: Since Grief, Fatigue, and Hazards still molest Than we who still survive to wake, and weep: What though no funeral pomp, no borrowed tear, Your hour of Death to gazing crowds shall tell; Nor weeping Friends attend your sable bier, Who sadly listen to the passing bell; The tutor❜d Sigh, the vain parade of woe, And oft, alas! the Tear that Friends bestow, Belies the latent feelings of the Heart: What though no sculptured Pile your name displays, Like those who perish in their Country's cause; What though no Epic Muse in living lays Records your dreadful daring with applause,— Full oft the flattering Marble bids Renown With blazoned trophies deck the spotted name; And oft, too oft, the venal Muses crown The Slaves of Vice with never-dying fame. |