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 | My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays |  |
171
LINES TO MRS. MONTGOMERY.
WIDOW OF THE HERO WHO FELL BEFORE THE WALLS OF QUEBEC.
Widow of him, a nation's boast,
In life's meridian summer lost;
Beloved of him, an empire's pride,
With whom an hero's genius died.
Montgomery, o'er whose tranquil brow,
Collected honours seem to flow.
In life's meridian summer lost;
Beloved of him, an empire's pride,
With whom an hero's genius died.
Montgomery, o'er whose tranquil brow,
Collected honours seem to flow.
Yet not to thy illustrious name,
Thy lineal, thy connubial fame,
Do the instructed muses raise,
Their tribute of unflattering praise.
Thy lineal, thy connubial fame,
172
Their tribute of unflattering praise.
To thee, the great Creator gave,
Each boon that fortune's children crave—
Gave taste, and talent, formed to charm,
The judgment clear, the temper calm,
The soul sublime, the generous breast,
Where all the kindred mercies rest;
That when with soft and timid eye,
The child of grief and penury—
From the bold front of insult turns,
And life's appalling lesson learns.
Thy tender accent, nature taught,
Steals from her sense the torturing thought,
How once her youth attractive shone,
And friends, and fortune were her own.
These all are thine—and rank and name,
But more than these thy virtues claim,
Those winning virtues which impart,
The cultured mind, the feeling heart.
Each boon that fortune's children crave—
Gave taste, and talent, formed to charm,
The judgment clear, the temper calm,
The soul sublime, the generous breast,
Where all the kindred mercies rest;
That when with soft and timid eye,
The child of grief and penury—
From the bold front of insult turns,
And life's appalling lesson learns.
Thy tender accent, nature taught,
Steals from her sense the torturing thought,
How once her youth attractive shone,
And friends, and fortune were her own.
These all are thine—and rank and name,
But more than these thy virtues claim,
Those winning virtues which impart,
The cultured mind, the feeling heart.
While yet a nation's vows proclaim,
How dear her lost Montgomery's fame:
Yet to that fame, new honours give,
And bid them with her freedom live;
Nor till that freedom feels decay,
Shall their least lustre fade away.
Still the ne'er parted pang will turn,
To HIM who fills yon gifted urn;
As if but yester's mournful eve,
Had taught the severed heart to grieve.
How dear her lost Montgomery's fame:
Yet to that fame, new honours give,
And bid them with her freedom live;
Nor till that freedom feels decay,
Shall their least lustre fade away.
Still the ne'er parted pang will turn,
To HIM who fills yon gifted urn;
As if but yester's mournful eve,
Had taught the severed heart to grieve.
While yet thy country's pitying praise,
Would the remembering marble raise,
While yet her people's graceful tear,
Is sparkling on the glorious bier,
Shall not thy griefs some solace find,
In DEEDS that move a nation's mind?
Deeds, through the earth's bright orbit known,
Making that nation's BOAST thy own!
Would the remembering marble raise,
While yet her people's graceful tear,
Is sparkling on the glorious bier,
Shall not thy griefs some solace find,
In DEEDS that move a nation's mind?
Deeds, through the earth's bright orbit known,
Making that nation's BOAST thy own!
| My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays | |