ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETER PARKER, ᏴᎪᎡᎢ .

THERE is a tear for all that die,

A mourner o'er the humblest grave;
But nations swell the funeral cry,
And triumph weeps above the brave.

For them is sorrow's purest sigh

O'er ocean's heaving bosom sent:

In vain their bones unburied lie,

All earth becomes their monument!

A tomb is theirs on every page,
An epitaph on every tongue,
The present hours, the future age,

For them bewail, to them belong.

For them the voice of festal mirth

Grows hush'd, their name the only sound;
While deep remembrance pours to worth
The goblet's tributary round.

A theme to crowds that knew them not,
Lamented by admiring foes,

Who would not share their glorious lot?
Who would not die the death they chose?

And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined

Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be; And early valour, glowing, find

A model in thy memory.

But there are breasts that bleed with thee

In woe, that glory cannot quell;

And shuddering hear of victory,

Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.

Where shall they turn to mourn thee less? When cease to hear thy cherish'd name? Time cannot teach forgetfulness,

While grief's full heart is fed by fame.

Alas! for them, though not for thee,
They cannot choose but weep the
Deep for the dead the grief must be,

more;

Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.

PAINFUL REMINISCENCE.

WHEN We two parted

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted

To sever for

years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken.
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well:-
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met

In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears.

1808.

INSCRIPTION

ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.

WHEN Some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,

The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below;
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been:
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth,

Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
While man, vain insect, hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,

Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,

Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!

By nature vile, ennobled but by name,

Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn:
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise,
I never knew but one, and here he lies.

VOL. VII.

Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808.

26

LINES

INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL

START not-nor deem my spirit fled:
In me behold the only skull,
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.

I lived, I loved, I quaff'd, like thee;
I died; let earth my bones resign:
Fill up thou canst not injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.

Better to hold the sparkling grape,

Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood; And circle in the goblet's shape

The drink of gods, than reptile's food.

Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
In aid of others' let me shine;

And when, alas! our brains are gone,
What nobler substitute than wine?

Quaff while thou canst-another race,
When thou and thine like me are sped,
May rescue thee from earth's embrace,
And rhyme and revel with the dead.