The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott Edited by his Son Edwin Elliott ... A New and Revised Edition: Two Volumes |
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ELEGY ON WILLIAM COBBETT. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott |  |
ELEGY ON WILLIAM COBBETT.
O bear him where the rain can fall,
And where the winds can blow!
And let the sun weep o'er his pall
As to the grave ye go!
And where the winds can blow!
And let the sun weep o'er his pall
As to the grave ye go!
71
And in some little lone churchyard,
Beside the growing corn,
Lay gentle Nature's stern prose bard,
Her mightest peasant-born!
Beside the growing corn,
Lay gentle Nature's stern prose bard,
Her mightest peasant-born!
Yes! let the wild-flower wed his grave,
That bees may murmur near,
When o'er his last home bend the brave,
And say—“A man lies here.”
That bees may murmur near,
When o'er his last home bend the brave,
And say—“A man lies here.”
For Britons honour Cobbett's name,
Though rashly oft he spoke;
And none can scorn, and few will blame,
The low-laid heart of oak.
Though rashly oft he spoke;
And none can scorn, and few will blame,
The low-laid heart of oak.
See, o'er his prostrate branches, see,
E'en factious hate consents
To reverence, in the fallen tree,
His British lineaments!
E'en factious hate consents
To reverence, in the fallen tree,
His British lineaments!
Though gnarl'd the storm-toss'd boughs that braved
The thunder's gather'd scowl,
Not always through his darkness raved
The storm-winds of the soul.
The thunder's gather'd scowl,
Not always through his darkness raved
The storm-winds of the soul.
Oh, no! in hours of golden calm,
Morn met his forehead bold;
And breezy evening sung her psalm
Beneath his dew-dropp'd gold.
Morn met his forehead bold;
And breezy evening sung her psalm
Beneath his dew-dropp'd gold.
72
The wren its crest of fibred fire
With his rich bronze compared,
While many a youngling's songful sire
His acorn'd twiglets shared.
With his rich bronze compared,
While many a youngling's songful sire
His acorn'd twiglets shared.
The lark, above, sweet tribute paid,
Where clouds with light were riven;
And true-love sought his blue-bell'd shade,
“To bless the hour of heav'n.”
Where clouds with light were riven;
And true-love sought his blue-bell'd shade,
“To bless the hour of heav'n.”
E'en when his stormy voice was loud,
And guilt quaked at the sound,
Beneath the frown that shook the proud
The poor a shelter found.
And guilt quaked at the sound,
Beneath the frown that shook the proud
The poor a shelter found.
Dead Oak, thou liv'st! Thy smitten hands,
The thunder of thy brow,
Speak, with strange tongues, in many lands;
And tyrants hear thee NOW!
The thunder of thy brow,
Speak, with strange tongues, in many lands;
And tyrants hear thee NOW!
Beneath the shadow of thy name,
Inspired by thy renown,
Shall future patriots rise to fame,
And many a sun go down.
Inspired by thy renown,
Shall future patriots rise to fame,
And many a sun go down.
| The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott | |