University of Virginia Library


35

EPITAPH ON DAVID BARCLAY,

CHURCH-WARDEN IN ANSTRUTHER EASTER.

Here sleeps, from noisy mirth and laughter free,
The happiest man o' th'eighteenth century;
One who sat merrier on his cobbler's stool,
Than Louis Capet on his throne of rule;
He, who more harmless and with greater glee,
Made graves for corpses at the digger's fee,
Than proud Napoleon, for th'imperial spoil,
Made graves for millions o'er all Europe's soil;
What bliss heroic crown'd poor Barclay's state!
His very littleness did make him great!
Day chased day with pregnant laughter fraught,
Or some new joke, or some new old-shoe brought;
Night chased night with cheek-relaxing mirth,
And with fresh frolic made resound his hearth;
When brain-mad Europe reel'd from shore to shore,
And kings and peoples battl'd long and sore,
He on his stool, which no commotion shook,
Sat imperturb'd, nor of the rage partook;
What day the head of murder'd Capet fell,
And kingdoms shudder'd at the tocsin's knell,
He, in his cobbler's chamber fearing nought,
Sat whistling to his shadow as he wrought;
What day Napoleon from his height renown'd,
Was shook by Europe's earthquake to the ground,
His bloodless awl with unconcern he plied,
And sung his ditty by his ingle-side!
What day reformless Wellington was chas'd
Home to his barricaded house in haste
By England's men, that banded far and wide
To beat him down that beat Napoleon's pride,
Our Barclay, unannoy'd by earthly thing,
Cock'd in his clean snug chamber like a king;
He, rather as a cobbler blythe and free,
And as himself, chose sapiently to be,
Than, as the prop of kings and man of pride,
To terrify and to be terrified.
Peace, peaceful David, to thy shade, I say;
And, when thou com'st forth at the judgment day,
Whilst conqu'rors rise with shudd'ring and with pain,
Afraid to face the ghosts of those they've slain,
Thou shalt uprise with gladness in thy face,
To claim the prize of innocence and peace!