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And may'st thou long enjoy it; may'st thou long Preserve for them what still they claim as theirs, That generous fervour and pure eloquence, Thine from thy birth and Nature's noblest gifts, To guard what They have gained !
OCTOBER 10, 1806.
Whoe'er thou art, approach, and, with a sigh,
* After the Funeral of the Right Hon. CHARLES JAMES Fox.
Venez voir le pen qui nous reste de tant de grandeur, &c.— Bossuet Oraison funebre de Louis de Bourbon.
of Him now rests there but a name;
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; He walked, erect, on consecrated ground. The clouds, that rise to quench the Orb of day, Reflect its splendour, and dissolve away!
* 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, For lettered ease and calm Philosophy, Blest were his hours within the silent grove, Where still his god-like 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
land and sea Long, long shall England be revered in Thee! And, when the Storm is hushed—in distant years— Foes on Thy grave shall meet, and mingle tears !