ELEGY THE FOURTH.
If, fighting for his dear paternal soil,
The soldier in the front of battle fall;
'Tis not in fickle fortune to despoil
His store of fame, that shines the charge of all.
But if, opprest by penury, he rove
Far from his native town and fertile plain;
And lead the sharer of his fondest love
Is youth too tender, with her infant train;
And if his aged mother—his shrunk sire
Join the sad groupe; see many a bitter ill
Against the houseless family conspire,
And all the measure of the wretched fill.
Pale shivering want, companion of his way,
He meets the lustre of no pitying eye,
To hunger and dire infamy a prey:
Dark hatred scowls, and scorn quick passes by.
Alas! no traits of beauty or of birth—
No blush now lingers in his sunken face!
Dies every feeling (as he roams o'er earth)
Of shame transmitted to a wandering race.
But be it ours to guard this hallow'd spot,
To shield the tender offspring and the wife;
Here steadily await our destin'd lot,
And, for their sakes, resign the gift of life.
The valorous youths, in squadrons close combin'd,
Rush, with a noble impulse, to the fight!
Let not a thought of life glance o'er your mind,
And not a momentary dream of flight.
[illeg.] your hoar seniors bent by feeble age,
Whose weak knees fail, tho' strong their ardour glows;
[illeg.] leave such warriours to the battle's rage,
But round their awful spirits firmly close.
Base—base the sight, if, foremost on the plain,
In dust and carnage the fall'n veteran roll;
And ah! while youths shrink back, unshielded, stain
His silver temples, and breathe out his soul!
