University of Virginia Library

TO THE MEMORY OF JAMES MERRISHAW A VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER

Remem'brance paints the scene of backward days
Prompting my Mem'ry to begin the lays;
But ah! a pause—the subject makes me grieve
And sorrowing sadness bid my bosom heave.
—Methinks the Muse in angry tone replys,
‘Clown, with thyself no more apologize,
‘Go search the churchyard were thy master lies,
‘There seek the friendless grave without a stone,
‘There find his mouldering dust that lies alone
‘Near where a bending walnut fans the grave
‘With sweeping branches “idly bid to wave”
‘There press the sod and muse upon the spot
‘That once had kindred now by all forgot,
That once had learning worthy highest fame
‘Yet still liv'd friendless and to die the same
‘Think on all this—and tho more cold than clay
‘'T'will surley warm the[e] to begin the lay.’
—The Muse is right—I feel the kindling fire
Of indignation and a fond desire;
Ah! injur'd shade, this bosom felt for thee
Tho it was absent in thy misery.
I've often sought thy grave without a stone,
I've often strove to make thy memory known,
But all in vain—the spot was still unknown,
The simple lay no sooner made than flown,
My weak attempts seem'd all in vain to try;
Declining weakness—all was born to die.
But now I will attempt the promis'd lay,
And tho rough language points the vulgar way
It still shall boast this honorable part
Of having its origin from the heart.
Flattry shall never tempt my homley lays,
I neither want reward nor yet the praise,
Can only one succeed then alls repaid;
—To snatch thy memory from oblivions shade,
If in this single point my muse succeeds
‘T'will be the whole reward her labour needs.
Ah! tho thy injur'd grave's without a stone
And nothing left to make thy memory know[n]
Tho no neglecting muse to force the tear
Mourn'd one soft strain oer thy unnotic'd bier
With me thy precious worth shall never die
While life remains to aid the feeling sigh.
O! then dear shade accept this rural lay
A Pupil brings thy kindnes to repay.
Tho weak his genious which would fain attone
To make thy memory and thy virtues known,
Tho mean the lay to what thy worth requires,
‘Yet naught is vain which gratitude inspires;’
Tis she that bids my artless muse pursue
Her lowley flight and give the tribute due,
Due to thy worth thy memory and thy grave,
For thou it was dear injur'd man that gave
This little learning which I now enjoy;
A Gift so dear that nothing can destroy.
Twas thou that taught my infant years to scan
The various evils that encompas man,
Thou Also taught my eager breast to shun
Those vain pursuits where thousands are undone.
And if such choise Examples I decline,
Then shame belongs to me—the praise is thine.
All this he's done for me—then ris[e] my soul
Above the littlenes of lifes controul;
Mind not what Booklearnt men or critics say,
Thine is the debt and be it thine to pay
Then muse arise—but first repeat the tone,
‘A friendless grave that lies without a stone.’
Here sons of Learning candidates for fame
Whose Labouring toils a deathles merit claim;
Here see the wreck that poverty regards
A son of Learning yet theres no rewards.
He who pursue'd that ardorous task to rear
Young tender shoots to blossom and to bear
And in that labour did so strictly rule
As provd the man sufficient for a school
He who so skilld in arts would yield to none
And Science own'd him for her darling son
On Music's farthest shore he'd safley land
Touching her magic notes with powerful hand.
Thro Mathematics hidden depths he'd pry,
Trace all her windings with a skilful eye.
And in Geometry his searching view
Could draw a figure admirably true.
Figures or symbols either at his will
Would fetch the answer with uncommon skill.
Either to sing or plan or write or read
In each his powerful genius would succeed
Now he where all this ellegance was shown
‘Lies mouldring in the grave without a stone.’
Ah! think on this ye sons to learning dear
And on his fate bestow a single tear.
Had he been rich possesing wealthy power
Ah! then the scene as changeful as the hour
Would turn another way—the flatt'rers verse
Must sing his praises and his worth rehearse.
His death would find the elegiac reed,
And ‘Lines’ and ‘odes’ would numberles succeed.
Granduer must now their once fine man reliefe
A Herse to carry and a Coach to grieve.
Next oer his grave the marbles taught to shine
Exact in features animatley fine:
And now the polishd muse must fondly give
Her last adieu and bid his memory live.
The verse must flourish round the collumns base
Enrich'd with each good deed and namless grace,
Such as perhaps he never did possess
(For splendid basenes never fails address)
Had he been rich this surley would be shown,
But he was poor and poverty his own
Which nipt his Genius on the learned stage
And held his labours from a thankles age
‘Ah! think on this ye sons to learning dear’
‘And on his fate bestow a single tear’
When press'd with poverty you muse alone,
‘Think on the friendles Grave without a stone.’