Life and Songs of the Baroness Nairne With a Memoir and Poems of Caroline Oliphant the Younger: Edited by the Rev. Charles Rogers ... With a Portrait and Other Illustrations |
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FELL HE ON THE FIELD OF FAME. |
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 | Life and Songs of the Baroness Nairne |  |
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FELL HE ON THE FIELD OF FAME.
Fell he on the field of fame,
Glory resting on his name?
O'er his young and dauntless breast,
Does the sculptur'd marble rest?
Sad and silent passing by,
Ask not where his ashes lie;
Blooming gay, in manly prime,
Lowly laid before his time.
Glory resting on his name?
O'er his young and dauntless breast,
Does the sculptur'd marble rest?
Sad and silent passing by,
Ask not where his ashes lie;
Blooming gay, in manly prime,
Lowly laid before his time.
Smiling on the parent knee,
Beaming hope was linked with thee;
Grown at last her pride and boast,
Hope itself in joy was lost.
Where his youthful footsteps roved,
Thro' the woodland bowers he loved;
Once her dear delight and care—
Mother say what now they are.
Beaming hope was linked with thee;
Grown at last her pride and boast,
Hope itself in joy was lost.
Where his youthful footsteps roved,
Thro' the woodland bowers he loved;
Once her dear delight and care—
Mother say what now they are.
Honour's laws have dealt the blow;
Fear of man has laid him low;
Bound by human maxims vile,
Braving highest Heaven the while.
Fear of man has brought the snare,
Deathless souls entangled there,
Scorning mandates from on high,
Rush into eternity!
Fear of man has laid him low;
Bound by human maxims vile,
Braving highest Heaven the while.
149
Deathless souls entangled there,
Scorning mandates from on high,
Rush into eternity!
Christian hope, tho' high she spring,
Here must stoop the soaring wing;
Murderous laws, which men approve,
Pass not Heaven's courts of love!
O! might dark oblivion's power,
Shadow o'er this anguished hour,
And aid the wretched hope forlorn,
To forget he e'er was born!
Here must stoop the soaring wing;
Murderous laws, which men approve,
Pass not Heaven's courts of love!
O! might dark oblivion's power,
Shadow o'er this anguished hour,
And aid the wretched hope forlorn,
To forget he e'er was born!
| Life and Songs of the Baroness Nairne | |