Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn :: :: University of Virginia Library

In Fancy-land there is a burst of wo,
The spirit's tribute to the fallen; see
On each scarr'd front the clouds of sorrow grow,
Bloating its sprightly shine. But what is he
For whom grief's mighty butt is broach'd so free?

Were his brows shadow'd by the awful crown,
The Bishop's mitre, or high plumery
Of the mail'd warrior? Won he his renown
On pulpit, throne, or field, whom death hath now struck down?

He won it in the field where arms are none,
Save those the mother gives to us. He was
A climbing star which had not fully shone,
Yet promised in its glory to surpass
Our champion star ascendant; but alas!
The sceptred shade that values earthly might,
And pow'r and pith, and bottom, as the grass,
Gave with his fleshless fist a buffet slight;—
Say, bottle-holding Leach, why ends so soon the fight?

What boots t' inquire?—'Tis done. Green mantled Erin
May weep her hopes of milling sway past by,
And Cribb, sublime, no lowlier rival fearing,
Repose, sole Ammon of the fistic sky,
Conceited, quaffing his blue ruin high,
Till comes the Swell, that come to all men must,
By whose foul blows Sir Daniel low doth lie,
Summons the Champion to resign his trust,
And mingles his with Kings, Slaves, Chieftains, Beggars' dust!