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. And when in death my peaceful ashes lie,
If e'er some tongue congenial speaks my name, Friendship shall never blush to breathe a sigh, And great ones envy such an honest fame.
THE CHELSEA PENSIONER.
BENEATH that mouldering turret's gloomy shade,
Where yonder pines their wide-spread branches A gallant veteran rests his weary head, (wave,
And with him sleep his sorrows in the grave. No breathing art adorns the sacred ground,
Points the tall spire, or bids the trophy rise, A scanty turf, with twisted osier bound,
Scarce marks the spot where buried honour lies, Ah, what avails him, that in youth's gay prime,
Each unremitting toil of war he bore, Each sickly change of every varying clime,
From Europe's strand, to Asia's sultry shoré ? How short the glory of the poor man's deeds!
How slight the fame he fondly thinks his own! In vain he triumphs, or in vain he bleeds, -Alike unwept, unpitied, and unknown. Yet though no plumed steeds, no sable car,
_Call forth the hireling's mercenary tear, No blazon'd banners streaming from afar
Flaunt their vain honours o'er thine humble bier ; Yet on the margin of the path-worn green,
Near the lov'd spot where thy cold relics rest, Fair Virtue's angel-forni shall oft be seen
To bid the turf lie lightly on thy breast.
The thoughtless many, the misjudging crowd, · Whose glance scarce beams beyond the present May idolize the follies of the proud, [hour,
Or bend submissive at the shrine of pow'r;
But with the chosen band, the manly few,
Whose sober approbation far outweighs,
And the vain tumult of their fleeting praise
There hearts shall pay the tributary sigh
Tow'rd the proud columns that insult the sky. Though she, whose beauty's all-enchanting pow'r
Could every sterner care of life beguile, [hour, Whose charm could sooth reflection's sickening
Or bid the cheerless brow of sorrow smile ;
Far from these dreary scenes for ever torn,
No more shall animate each rapturous strain, Now sweetly smiling, now with looks of scorn,
Hiding her heart, that sunk at giving pain :Yet when emerging from the giddy throng,
When every eye but mine is seald in rest, Pensive I walk these time-mark'd walls among, And kiss the hallow'd ground her footsteps
Here while the scenes of former bliss arise, [flow)
(Sad source from whence these tears of anguish Far from the sneering fool, or censuring wise,
I nurse in solitude the seeds of wo-
Yet not from pity's milder influence free,
Sir J. H. Moore.
O haste and free me from this dungeon's gloom;
Sink my gray hairs with sorrow to the tomb !
With clamorous din wake Charity's dull ear,
To view of bliss, to scenes of affluence born;
And every blessing hail'd my youthful morn.
And sorrow clos'd the evening of my day.
Such is the lot of human bliss below!
Fond hope awhile the trembling flow'ret rears; Till unforeseen descends the blight of wo,
And withers in an hour the pride of years. In evil hour, to specious wiles a prer,
I trusted :-(who from faults is always free) And the short progress of one fatal dar
Was all the space 'twixt wealth and poverty. Where could I seek for comfort, or for aid ?
To whom the ruins of my state commend ? Left to myself, abandon'd, and betray'd,
Too late I found the wretched have no friend! E'en he amid the rest, the favour'd youth,
Whose vows had met the tenderest warm return, Forgot his oaths of constancy and truth,
And left my child in solitude to mourn. Pity in vain stretch'd forth her feeble hand
To guard the sacred wreaths that Hymen wove, While pale-eyed Avarice, from his sordid stand,
Scowl'd o'er the ruins of neglected love. Though deeply hurt, yet sway'd by decent pride,
She hush'd her sorrows with becoming art, And faintly strove with sickly smiles to hide
The canker-worm that prey'd upon her heart. Nor blam'd his cruelty-nor wish'd to hate
Whom once she lov’d--but pitied, and forgave: Then unrepining yielded to her fate,
And sunk in silent anguish to the grave.
BOOK VI. ELEGIAC AND FUNEREAL. 199
Children of Afluence, hear a poor man's prayer!
O haste and free me from this dungeon's gloom!
Sir J. H. Moore.