’Tis o’er—that lamp is quench’d in endless night,
Which Nature kindled at her purest flame,
By Science fann’d,—if Science could enhance
A genius from which Science caught new rays—
No, ’tis not quench’d; the spark ethereal lives,
And it shall blaze along the track of time,
While we, who ’joy’d beneath the radiant beam,
Shall mix unheeded with our kindred clay.
That star is set, on earth to shine no more,
On which admiring nations wond’ring gaz’d:
That pow’rful stream of eloquence is dry,
Which with commanding force o’erwhelm’d the mind.
O mourn for this, that from a barren world
Such excellence is fled!—But public care
Apart, in pensive solitude retir’d,
Lamenting friendship drops the silent tear.
There tender recollection calls to mind
The sweet benevolence which marked that mien;
That mien which unadmiring who could view?
’Tis her’s, with soft regret and pleasing pain,
To trace the social and domestic scene,
Where, ever shining, most of all he shone.
She saw the liberal hand the healing balms
Dispense unboasting; and to haggard eyes,
Bedimm’d with poverty, and pain, and care,
The vivid rays of health and hope restore.
Th’ unvarying friendship, and the candid mind,
Prompt to forgive and ready to atone,
Were his.—And O, how close the tender ties
Of father, husband, brother, bound his heart!
Why droops that noble soul? Alas! he mourns
A brother’s fate, companion of his youth,
By death relentless sever’d from his side.
Yet still remain’d that son, the only pledge
Of a long happy union; and on whom
Paternal love had fix’d the ardent gaze
Of fond presaging hope, from infant years
To manhood’s ripen’d bloom, and now retir’d
Th’ illustrious father from the public scene,
And onward mov’d the son to fill his sphere
On life’s conspicuous stage.—Ah, what avail,
Fame, youth, and health! for Febris’ fiery dart
The throbbing temple smote, and soon dislodg’d
From the frail tenement the spark divine.
O blasted hope! O bitter streaming tears!
O childless parents! mourning o’er the tomb
Where duteous love, cold and unconscious lies
Of pangs that filial heart had bled to heal!—
The blow was struck, and life’s delights were o’er.
Three suns roll’d joyless o’er that honour’d head:
Yet trembling hope, with lowly fear, survey’d
The op’ning scenes of hope and rest secure,
Where sorrows cease, and tears are wip’d away:
For well that meek, that noble spirit knew
This meed, which fame nor genius dare demand:
Though great his claim on both, a higher claim,
DIVINE PHILANTHROPY, he held on thee.
Farewell, O ever honour’d, ever dear,
And long lamented: map thy matchless voice,
Which never move shall charm terrestrial ears,
Th’ immortal choirs of Hallelujah join!