EPITAPHS. I. IN deep submission to the will above, Yet with no common cause for human tears, This stone to the lost partner of his love, And for his children lost, a mourner rears. One fatal moment, one o'erwhelming doom, Tore, threefold, from his heart the ties of earth: His Mary, Margaret, in their early bloom, And HER who gave them life, and taught them worth. Farewell, ye broken pillars of my fate! My life's companion, and my two first-born! Yet while this silent stone I consecrate To conjugal, paternal love forlorn, O, may each passer-by the lesson learn,— II. He pointed out to others, and he trod The Christian's practice and the preacher's zeal Their friend, their pastor, mourn for him; but most The hearts that knew him nearest, deepest, feel. And yet, lamented spirit! we should ill The sacred precepts of thy life fulfil, Could we III. Man! shouldst thou fill the proudest throne, The grave-stone-the amulet of trouble- Calls glory but a bubble, And life itself a dream. The grave's a sealed letter, That secrets will reveal Of a next world, worse or better,— --- And the gravestone is the seal! But the seal shall not be broken, THE BRITISH GRENADIERS. UPON the plains of Flanders, Beneath brave Marlborough ! And still, in fields of conquest, Our valor bright has shone Our plumes have waved in combats In charges with the bayonet Once boldly, at Vimiera, They hoped to play their parts, To cheer their drooping hearts: And the French soon turned their backs To the British Grenadiers! At St. Sebastiano's And Badajos's town, Where, raging like volcanoes, The shot and shells came down, With courage never wincing, We scaled the ramparts high, And waved the British ensign In glorious victory! At Vimiera, the French ranks advanced singing; the British only cheered.-T. C. And what could Bonaparté, With British Grenadiers? Then ever sweet the drum shall beat TRAFALGAR. WHEN Frenchmen saw, with coward art, The assassin shot of war That piercéd Britain's noblest heart, Their shout was heard, they triumphed now, And thought the British oak would bow, Since Nelson was no more. But fiercer flamed old England's pride, "So perish ye for Nelson's blood! LINES WRITTEN IN SICKNESS. O, DEATH! if there be quiet in thine arms, But strike me, ere a shriek can echo, dumb, But whither? - Holy Pity! hear, O, hear! And lift me to some far-off skyey sphere, Where I may wander in celestial light: Might it be so then would my spirit fear To quit the things I have so loved when seen,- LINES ON THE STATE OF GREECE, OCCASIONED BY BEING PRESSED TO MAKE IT A SUBJECT OF POETRY, IN Greece's cause the Muse, you deem, That wakens thought too deep for song? The Christian world has seen you, Greeks, 1827. |