University of Virginia Library


205

EPITAPH ON MR. MORTIMER.

O'er Angelo's proud tomb no tear was shed;
Pleas'd was each Muse, for full his honours spread;
To bear his genius to its utmost shore,
The length of human days could give no more.
Oh Mortimer, o'er thy untimely urn,
The Arts and all the gentle Muses mourn;
And shades of English heroes gliding by,
Heave o'er thy shrine the languid hopeless sigh.
Thine all the breathing rage of bold design,
And all the poetry of painting thine,
Oh! long had thy meridian sun to blaze,
And onward hov'ring in its magic rays,
What visions rose!—Fair England's patriots old,
Monarchs of proudest fame, and Barons bold,
In the fir'd moments of their bravest strife,
Bursting beneath thy hand again to life!
So shone thy noon—when one dim void profound,
Rush'd on, and shapeless darkness clos'd around.
Alas! while ghosts of heroes round thy tomb,
Robb'd of their hope, bewail the artist's doom;

206

Thy friend, oh Mortimer, in grief sincere,
Pours o'er the man sad memory's silent tear;
And in the fond remembrance of thy heart,
Forgets the honours of thy wond'rous art.