University of Virginia Library

Throughout that troubled province yet again
Ramp dock and thistle where they choke the corn;
Stray torrents rut the road; the watercourse,
Checked by accumulated tangle, spreads,
And overflowing meadows soak to swamp;
Men frown and leave their useful husbandry,
The silent plough, the music of the flail;
Dark herds that teem increasing opulence,
The bleating cries from fields and pasture lands,
They leave and swelter in the fields of war;
Where they, instead of sweet productive showers,
Meet showers that carry grisly wounds and death;
Instead of milk, that quenches thirsting toil,
Comes the fell thirst is only quenched in blood.
He, my Pylaon, gentle, learned, wise;
Whose dearest pastime was the work ordained;
Who lived to shape, augment, and purify;
By clamour driven from his usefulness
Into an empty name! Ingratitude
From those he served had chilled the hero's soul,
And curdled thro' his frame the generous blood,
Beating no more attuned to high resolve,
But shrunken as a brook, when after drought
No longer singing on its wonted way.
He left us while that furious tempest raged,
“Killed by the sudden cold,” the mourners said:
But he was slain by shameful cowardice,
And broken-hearted our Pylaon died.