Ode to the Duke of Wellington, and other poems by Robert Charles Dallas ... Written between the ages of eleven and thirteen years |
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ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF HIS BROTHER GEORGE,
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 | Ode to the Duke of Wellington, and other poems |  |
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ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF HIS BROTHER GEORGE,
Who mortally wounded himself while crossing a Hedge, in shooting, on the 19th of January, 1816, and died under the agonies of a lock jaw, on the 14th of February following, Ætat. XVIII.
BY R. C. DALLAS. Ætat. XI. Years.
Weep Science, weep! O, Virtue, shed the tear!
With crystal drops bedew thy George's bier:
Let cypress wreaths thy clouded sorrow show:
Sad mournful emblem of dejected woe!
With broken sighs lament the early doom
That snatch'd thy fav'rite to the marbled tomb:
Bid thy sad mem'ry his dear image trace,
His noble feeling, his embellish'd grace;
His fond affection, his exalted mind,
For ever virtuous, and for ever kind!
Let weeping willows bend their drooping shade
O'er the sad spot where now his corse is laid;
While streaming eyes, with tears o'erflowing, lave
The death-cold marble of his hallow'd grave.
With crystal drops bedew thy George's bier:
Let cypress wreaths thy clouded sorrow show:
Sad mournful emblem of dejected woe!
With broken sighs lament the early doom
That snatch'd thy fav'rite to the marbled tomb:
Bid thy sad mem'ry his dear image trace,
His noble feeling, his embellish'd grace;
His fond affection, his exalted mind,
For ever virtuous, and for ever kind!
126
O'er the sad spot where now his corse is laid;
While streaming eyes, with tears o'erflowing, lave
The death-cold marble of his hallow'd grave.
But though, stern Tyrant! thy unerring dart
With aim too fatal pierc'd his gen'rous heart;
With firm resolve the sharpest pangs to bear,
Thy dread approach he nobly scorn'd to fear:
To Heav'n's great Ruler still devoutly pray'd,
Implor'd his blessing, his celestial aid,
To prop his spirit 'gainst its adverse fate,
Its ills enduring as the truly great.
To bleeding wounds, to racking pain resign'd,
Still was unalter'd, still unbent his mind:
A radiant smile, with sweet celestial grace,
Beam'd through the torture o'er his angel face:
To earthly bliss his youthful soul was dead:
Far from his heart terrestrial hopes had fled:
On Heav'n were centred all his thoughts alone,
His eye was fixed on Heaven's Almighty Throne:
Serene he view'd it in the hour of death,
And blest his Maker with his parting breath!
Now, in the happy mansions of the blest,
His gentle spirit meets eternal rest;
From all its troubles, all its suff'rings freed,
To boast Religion's bright and glorious meed:
From all its troubles, all its suff'rings freed,
To boast Religion's bright and glorious meed:
His earthly frame on airy pinions flies,
And soars triumphant to the glad'ning skies;
Where Seraph Hosts, who sing with hallow'd lays
Their mighty King's, their great Jehovah's praise,
Bid their new Brother join the Heavenly choir,
And strike with joy the soft and living lyre;
Where constant faith, where martyr'd virtue know
No racking anguish, or corroding woe;
Where thron'd amid a happier world than this,
The soul receives the boon of endless bliss;
Where sense, where honour, meet their just reward,
Stamp'd by the hand of Heav'n's Almighty Lord;
Where pain, where suff'ring, sorrow, anguish cease,
And, crown'd with blessings, reigns Seraphic Peace!
Oh! deign, blest shade! though now enshrin'd on high,
My muse to favour from th' ethereal sky:
Let one kind glance, one heav'nly smile approve
This frail memorial of a Brother's love;
Whose numbers, weak, in mournful cadence flow,
To soothe the anguish of Parental woe;
To dry the drops that dim a Father's eyes,
And hush a Mother's deep bewailing sighs;
To ease the pang that rends thy Brother's heart,
From whence, till death, thy image ne'er shall part;
To shrine thy mem'ry with his early lays,
And stamp thy virtue deathless as thy praise!
With aim too fatal pierc'd his gen'rous heart;
With firm resolve the sharpest pangs to bear,
Thy dread approach he nobly scorn'd to fear:
To Heav'n's great Ruler still devoutly pray'd,
Implor'd his blessing, his celestial aid,
To prop his spirit 'gainst its adverse fate,
Its ills enduring as the truly great.
To bleeding wounds, to racking pain resign'd,
Still was unalter'd, still unbent his mind:
A radiant smile, with sweet celestial grace,
Beam'd through the torture o'er his angel face:
To earthly bliss his youthful soul was dead:
Far from his heart terrestrial hopes had fled:
On Heav'n were centred all his thoughts alone,
His eye was fixed on Heaven's Almighty Throne:
127
And blest his Maker with his parting breath!
Now, in the happy mansions of the blest,
His gentle spirit meets eternal rest;
From all its troubles, all its suff'rings freed,
To boast Religion's bright and glorious meed:
From all its troubles, all its suff'rings freed,
To boast Religion's bright and glorious meed:
His earthly frame on airy pinions flies,
And soars triumphant to the glad'ning skies;
Where Seraph Hosts, who sing with hallow'd lays
Their mighty King's, their great Jehovah's praise,
Bid their new Brother join the Heavenly choir,
And strike with joy the soft and living lyre;
Where constant faith, where martyr'd virtue know
No racking anguish, or corroding woe;
Where thron'd amid a happier world than this,
The soul receives the boon of endless bliss;
Where sense, where honour, meet their just reward,
Stamp'd by the hand of Heav'n's Almighty Lord;
Where pain, where suff'ring, sorrow, anguish cease,
And, crown'd with blessings, reigns Seraphic Peace!
128
My muse to favour from th' ethereal sky:
Let one kind glance, one heav'nly smile approve
This frail memorial of a Brother's love;
Whose numbers, weak, in mournful cadence flow,
To soothe the anguish of Parental woe;
To dry the drops that dim a Father's eyes,
And hush a Mother's deep bewailing sighs;
To ease the pang that rends thy Brother's heart,
From whence, till death, thy image ne'er shall part;
To shrine thy mem'ry with his early lays,
And stamp thy virtue deathless as thy praise!
| Ode to the Duke of Wellington, and other poems | |