Classic Poem

Each flatt'ring Hope—each anxious wish is o'er
No never, Henry , shall we see thee more!
In conscious Honour—in thy Country's cause—
The busy world is quitted with applause!
Honour, that splendid name, that envy'd breath
'Tis thine, for ever, in the bed of Death!
But oh! can splendid names one gleam impart,
One gleam of comfort to a Sister's heart?
One that has known thy virtues and thy truth,
The native elegance that grac'd thy youth!
Those tender feelings, silently possess'd,
Those gen'rous sentiments which warm'd thy breast;
The pity, gratitude, and friendly zeal,
Which few of those who feign are form'd to feel.
What matchless candour! noble and sincere!
Not such as faintly speaks thro' servile fear,
Such as the Christian Faith alone inspires,
For him who grants the pardon he requires.
This—this was thine—for ah! I knew thee well,
My conscious heart thy excellence can tell!
This heart which now records each moving scene,
Paints what thou wert—and what thou mightst have been!
How, when thy judgment, polish'd and refin'd,
Had claim'd its empire o'er a yielding mind,
Reflecting Prudence, with a Guardian's care,
Had warn'd thy steps from each inviting snare;
With Heaven's diviner pow'r, had check'd the course,
And bade thy virtues shine with double force.

But oh! thy doom was seal'd—thy lot was cast
That sad farewell, oh Henry ! was the last;
How did thy struggling soul its pangs restrain,
And feeble Nature claim her part in vain!
No hard inhuman heart didst thou conceal,
But one most exquisitely form'd to feel;
And whilst thine air a Stoic firmness shew'd,
There all the Son, and all the Brother glow'd
And many a tender wish and kind farewell,
Thou cou'dst not trust thy trembling lips to tell
Oh, dearest youth! methought I saw thee, still
Expos'd to toils and cares, and ev'ry ill!—
I saw thee, fir'd by danger, still proceed,
And many a gallant youth around thee bleed,
And many an honour'd vet'ran sink to rest,
But still my fancy spar'd that valued breast.
Fate spar'd thee not—but Heaven's Almighty Pow'r
Must best ordain th' irrevocable hour!
And oft it breaks the tender stalk we prize,
To plant the beauteous blossom in the Skies.