The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
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LINES ON THE DEATH OF MR. P*RC*V*L. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
73
LINES ON THE DEATH OF MR. P*RC*V*L.
In the dirge we sung o'er him no censure was heard,
Unembitter'd and free did the tear-drop descend;
We forgot, in that hour, how the statesman had err'd,
And wept for the husband, the father, and friend.
Unembitter'd and free did the tear-drop descend;
We forgot, in that hour, how the statesman had err'd,
And wept for the husband, the father, and friend.
Oh, proud was the meed his integrity won,
And gen'rous indeed were the tears that we shed,
When, in grief, we forgot all the ill he had done,
And, though wrong'd by him, living, bewail'd him, when dead.
And gen'rous indeed were the tears that we shed,
When, in grief, we forgot all the ill he had done,
And, though wrong'd by him, living, bewail'd him, when dead.
Even now, if one harsher emotion intrude,
'Tis to wish he had chosen some lowlier state,
Had known what he was—and, content to be good,
Had ne'er, for our ruin, aspired to be great.
'Tis to wish he had chosen some lowlier state,
Had known what he was—and, content to be good,
Had ne'er, for our ruin, aspired to be great.
74
So, left through their own little orbit to move,
His years might have roll'd inoffensive away;
His children might still have been bless'd with his love,
And England would ne'er have been cursed with his sway.
His years might have roll'd inoffensive away;
His children might still have been bless'd with his love,
And England would ne'er have been cursed with his sway.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |