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The bard, and minor poems

By John Walker Ord ... Collected and edited by John Lodge
  

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LINES ON THE DEATH OF THE EARL OF DURHAM.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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LINES ON THE DEATH OF THE EARL OF DURHAM.

I

Splendour, and power, and greatness pass away.
All things that dwell on earth, or haunt the air,

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Like gaudy insects of a summer day,
Disport awhile, then glide, we know not where;
Yea all must fade—the brightest and most fair.
The Lord of lordly Lambton is no more!—
The narrow bier is now his sole domain;
He shall not hear again old Ocean's roar,
Nor view with pride the castellated plain.
Wealth, station, lineage, nor the pomp of place,
Can daunt dread Azrael in his fell career;
The winged chargers sweep their viewless race,
Nor reck of weeping wife, nor children dear,
Nor sorrow's lengthen'd groan and sad lamenting tear.

II

What though obsequious vassals own'd his thrall,
And liveried menials tended at his nod;
What though he ruled proud Lambton's princely hall,
And own'd the acres where his footsteps trod;—
They could not save—their lord is but a clod!
Death spares nor sceptred kings, nor houseless poor;
Prince, peer, and peasant own alike his sway;
He tramps the palace roof, and cottage floor,
And rules as Conqueror over human clay!
Then pine not, ye of low and mean estate,
Nor grudge the penalties by Heaven decreed;
Though girded round by tyranny and hate,
Ye all are equal—sprung of heavenly seed,—
The grave a nurturing urn, from whence your souls are freed.

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III

And thou, sad widow, in thy mourning pall,
Lament not, though thy early dreams are o'er:
Christ is thy husband—He will hear thy call,
Though earthly hope and solace be no more:—
What use for tears, why needlessly deplore?
And you that largely tasted of his love,
And basked in joy and beauty at his side,
Grieve not too wildly in each silent grove,
Though once adored, and once your father's pride:—
Wife, children, orphans, who in love and choice,
Like trees of summer, blossom'd 'neath his eye,
O, mourn not, that ye hear no more his voice,
Whose sainted spirit walks the realms on high,
Shrived of his mortal sins, a dweller of the sky!
 

This and several of the other poems arranged in this part of the work, first appeared in the Northern Times—a paper which the author established and conducted in the North of England, after retiring from the Conservative Journal.