 | Lays for the Dead |  |
82
ON SEEING THE STATUE
OF MY LATE UNCLE, DR. ALDERSON, OF HULL.
'T is he! through tears the long-lov'd form I trace,His manly bearing, his expressive face!
Those eager eyes which spoke the active mind
Intent on plans to benefit mankind.
Yes—every feature in the marble lives,
And all the comfort art can yield it gives.
But there 's a balm for fond survivor's hearts
Beyond what sculpture's utmost power imparts;
For faithful memory paints the general woe
On the wide shores where Humber's waters flow.
When he, the kind physician, father, friend,
In vigorous age was hurried to his end.
She paints the thousands thronging round his bier,
All ranks, all ages, equal mourners there;
83
When, by no shrinking selfishness appall'd,
He cross'd the dangerous tide at midnight's hour,
To yield the treasures of his healing power:
Alike to him, if rich or poor requir'd,
The welcome aid by suffering pain desired.
What! though full oft the threat'ning wintry gale
Blew loud and fearful through the moaning sail;
Undaunted still, he cross'd the wintry wave,
His dearest aim to succour and to save.
Then raise the statue! raise the breathing bust!
Let the proud marble guard the precious dust;
Let learning's pen inscribe his honor'd name,
And on the stone engrave his civic fame.
But know, such worth requires no sculptor's art,
It lives recorded on the grateful heart.
| Lays for the Dead | |