University of Virginia Library

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70

An ELEGY.

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JOSIAH MARTIN, Esq. Jun. WHO DIED IN THE ISLAND OF ANTIGUA, JUNE 1762.

'Twas evening mild—the sun's declining ray,
No longer flamed from the western sky;
But stars contended with the fading day,
And creeping twilight boded darkness nigh.
With wand'ring step, slow pace and pensive look,
I sought the silence of the darksome grove;
Where weeping sorrow swells the murm'ring brook,
And contemplation, lonely, loves to rove:
In the deep gloom the sudden sounds I hear
Of dulcet prelude from the warbling lyre;
The voice of woe stole plaintive on my ear,
And thus accorded to the trembling wire:
“Let proud ambition with her faithless throng,
As int'rest points, address the venal song;
Still in the paths of labour'd flattery toil,
And seek for virtue in a barren soil.

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71

Let it be thine, my artless muse, to raise,
To modest merit, well deserved praise;
For goodness lost, to bid thy numbers flow,
In the smooth strains of unaffected woe,—
From blossom'd hopes, and life's most flow'ry height,
See Martin's spirit wings eternal flight;
Not wisdom, truth, and innocence combin'd,
A graceful person, an informed mind
Prevent the stroke—he meets a hasty doom;
Death shrouds his rising glories in the tomb:
Mourn then, my muse, in strains elegiac mourn,
And deck with cypress his untimely urn.

In vain for thee, beloved youth, in vain,
We strove the heights of science to attain;
Say, can I e'er forget those blissful days,
When hand in hand we trod the flow'ry maze?
Say, can I e'er forget the warmth divine
That from thy heart did in each action shine?
Each winning grace, and all thy pow'r to move
By soft persuasion, undissembled love:
Thy strength of reason passion to controul,
And the sweet temper of thy yielding soul;
Thy steady friendship, sentiments refin'd,
With all the gentle virtues of thy mind.
Oh! fate severe! just to o'ercome the toil
Of early life, and see the prospect smile
With dawning bliss;—but never to enjoy—
Too sudden shades the rising scene destroy.

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72

'Twas thus the Prophet, by divine command,
From Pisgah's top beheld the promis'd land:
He saw—and died; for so did Heav'n ordain—
But God is just, and let not man complain.