AN ELEGY ("O may I ever, like the Saints…)

"O may I ever, like the Saints above, "Adore my Maker with seraphic love! "I ask not earthly treasures to obtain: "Be poverty my lot, if Christ's my gain!" Thus spoke the loveliest child, that e'er the sound Of the last trump shall summon from the ground. Heav'n heard, and yielding to the warm request, Receiv'd with open arms the longing guest. But ah! how much that dread compliance cost, Say ye, who mourn a Son, a Brother lost? Nor think, though anguish should the voice restrain, Ye cannot tell your agonizing pain. More than the pomp and majesty of song, Or words, that move in solemn state along; More than the deep-ton'd, melancholy knell, The big-swoln eye, and heaving bosom tell.

What, though from care and sorrow far away, He shines for ever in the realms of day, Still sigh we must—but sigh, alas! in vain: No sighs, no tears, no wishes can regain. Can tears or sighs recall the fleeting breath, Or move the bosom of relentless death? What force of words, what pathos can prevail, Where beauty, innocence, and ROBERT fail? Lamented ROBERT! thou, whose spotless breast No sin polluted, no remorse oppress'd! Bless'd with the art affection to engage; Fond without flatt'ry, arch above thy age; Manly in voice and look, of heart sincere, Stranger alike to ev'ry vice and fear! Oft, as returning, this lov'd school I see, Once bless'd with joy, and liveliness, and thee, Still from my bosom steal unbidden sighs, And thoughts of former happiness arise. What gen'rous pity in thy bosom glow'd, Thy ev'ry action, ev'ry gesture shew'd! What strong emotions fill'd thy tender breast, To see a babe by sad disease oppress'd! Eager to pity, though you durst not greet, You flew to kiss the wretched infant's feet. Though, from the gloomy mansions of the grave, Thee, nor thy virtue, nor thy form, could save, Can we forget the beauties of thy face, The seat of dignity and manly grace? What pow'r of song those auburn locks can tell, Which down thy back in graceful ringlets fell? What, though a total dimness has o'erspread The noblest eyes that ever grac'd a head, Still on their former lustre dwells the mind, Where lively sense and sweetness shone combin'd.

No farther pow'rs fond Nature could unite To raise our admiration and delight: Oh! had she stopp'd, content with the display, Nor rais'd their value by their shorten'd stay! But Faith perform'd what Nature could not do: Still other virtues Faith held forth to view: Faith ev'ry anxious thought and wish suppress'd, And warm'd with firm belief his youthful breast. Ev'n when some truth to question he inclin'd, Reflection brought this moral to his mind: "Man was not made to question, but adore!" He stopp'd, submissive stopp'd, nor added more. At that black hour, the cause of ev'ry sigh, When Death, remorseless conqueror, drew nigh, His soul, while here his tortur'd body lay, Aspiring said, "Lord, teach my heart to pray!"

For me, who, mindful of my absent friend, Have paid this mournful tribute to his end, It still appear'd some solace, some relief, To tell how great HIS merits and MY grief.

Thus the poor bird, who mourns her plunder'd nest, With plaintive notes by fond concern oppress'd, Sounds through the wood sequester'd from the throng, And vents her grief in melody and song.