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Thy portrait and thine eulogy,
Traced by some artist hand,
And all that now remains of thee,
Dragged to a distant land,
Must be a thing for girls to know,
A jest, a marvel, and a show !
Hail, happy one!—but not for me,
So poor, so little worth,
May such a spacious temple be;
Nor let my mother Earth,
When I am laid in my cold bed,
Lie heavy on my slumbering head :-
Give me a low and humble mound
In some sequestered dell!
Where Zephyr shall make music round
My buried dust shall dwell.
There shall the turf with dew be wet ;
And while one natural rivulet
Shall wander on its way, and sing
Beneath the twilight beam,
Cypress and myrtle both shall spring
Beside its bubbling stream;
And Memory shall scatter there
The laurel I have longed to wear.
And one fond form shall often glide,
When tolls the evening bell,
To whisper o'er that tomb and tide
One echoless “farewell !”
And shed one tear in that dim grove,
The silent tear of parted love.
Raise not for me a Pyramid |
Carve not a stone for me !
The tear that gleams in that pale lid
Shall be mine elegy;
And in thy breast, thy tender breast,
My shade shall find a home of rest
IN OBITUM VIRI ADMoDUM REVERENDI DOCTISSIMIQUE THOMAE FAN SHAWE MIDI) LETON, EPISCOPI CALCUTTENSIS.
i:RANSLATION OF A GREEK ODE TO THE MEMORY OF THE WERY REVEREND AND LEARNED THOMAS FANSHAWE MIDDLETON, BISHOP OF CALCUTTA, RECITED AT THE GAMBRIDGE COMMENCEMENT, A. D. 1823.
FATHER of rivers, Ganges, hail to thee!
Thou, in the joy of thine unfading day,
Goest thy wonted way,
Unwearied, to the sea;
And, ever gazing with a steadfast gaze
On the huge canopy of sunny heaven,
Singest from morn to even
Thy changeless song of praise.
So thou art happy: for thy hymn is loud
Eternally to Him, th’ eternal King :
Doubt flaps her murky wing,
Dim Ignorance spreads her cloud
Around thee; and wild fancies, wild and vain,
Hither and thither thread the lurid air:
Darkness, Sin's mother, there
Holds her unlovely reign;