 | A Tribute To The Memory of Lord Nelson |  |
When ev'ry Briton feels his country's cost,
Protector, Patriot, Friend, in Nelson lost—
When mingled sounds discordant rend the sky,
The sighs of grief, and shouts of victory—
Where can the Muse take up her broken song?
Should strains of triumph grace the funeral throng,
Sweet Gratitude shall strike the trembling lyre,
And faithful Memory the fair theme inspire,
Wake, with recording touch, the grateful lays,
And sooth her sorrows by the debt she pays.
Protector, Patriot, Friend, in Nelson lost—
When mingled sounds discordant rend the sky,
The sighs of grief, and shouts of victory—
Where can the Muse take up her broken song?
Should strains of triumph grace the funeral throng,
Sweet Gratitude shall strike the trembling lyre,
And faithful Memory the fair theme inspire,
Wake, with recording touch, the grateful lays,
And sooth her sorrows by the debt she pays.
6
Let gorgeous marble, deck'd with venal verse,
The empty titles of a name rehearse,
Proclaim the praises which no readers feel,
And unknown worth to listless ears reveal;
Sound Nelson's name, from ev'ry Briton's eyes
Admiring gratitude and wonder rise—
From the same eyes that view his passing bier
Spontaneous starts the tributary tear.
His soul's great aim was excellence alone,
Yet ever striving to surpass its own:
Whose brave associates with his ardour glow'd,
While from esteem their large obedience flow'd;
Whose piercing eye did so outstrip command,
That the prompt heart could not fore-run the hand.
Judgment might thence experienc'd lessons read,
And youthful courage learn its temper'd heed.
Nor youth alone: let hoary veterans tell,
They lost their guiding-star when Nelson fell.
Then let a nation's tears his worth embalm,
And twine the cypress round the victor's palm.
Nor can we less than ev'ry tribute give
To thee, by whom ourselves and country live.
The empty titles of a name rehearse,
Proclaim the praises which no readers feel,
And unknown worth to listless ears reveal;
Sound Nelson's name, from ev'ry Briton's eyes
Admiring gratitude and wonder rise—
From the same eyes that view his passing bier
Spontaneous starts the tributary tear.
His soul's great aim was excellence alone,
Yet ever striving to surpass its own:
Whose brave associates with his ardour glow'd,
While from esteem their large obedience flow'd;
Whose piercing eye did so outstrip command,
That the prompt heart could not fore-run the hand.
Judgment might thence experienc'd lessons read,
And youthful courage learn its temper'd heed.
Nor youth alone: let hoary veterans tell,
They lost their guiding-star when Nelson fell.
Then let a nation's tears his worth embalm,
And twine the cypress round the victor's palm.
7
To thee, by whom ourselves and country live.
| A Tribute To The Memory of Lord Nelson | |