EPITAPH ON ROBERT SOUTHEY.

Christian! for none who scorns that holy name Can gaze with honest eyes on Southey's fame; Christian! bow down thy head in humble fear, And think what God-given powers lie silenced here: Wit, judgment, memory, patience unsubdued, Conception vast, and pious fortitude. Learning possessed no steeps, and truth no shore, Beyond his step to tread, his wing to soar; His was the historian's pen, the poet's lyre, The churchman's ardour, and the patriot's fire; While fireside charities, Heaven's gentlest dower, Lent genius all their warmth and all their power. O Church and State of England! thine was he In living fame, thine be his memory! Thou saw'st him live, in faith expire, Go, bid thy sons to follow, and admire!