Classic Poem

Oh ! bury him quickly, and utter no word
Of the memory sadden'd by sorrow so long;
But when the cold stranger shall say that he err'd,
Then tell the dark tale of his crueller wrong.
We may not approve, but when others condemn,
'Twere crime that defence of his heart to forbear,
And show that his faults were all prompted by them,—
They could goad him to danger, then fly from him there.

You saw him for many long days ere he fell,
In chains and in solitude, sad but serene;
'Tis grateful to know that he battled it well,
While his spirit grew strong in the gloom of the scene.
They thought him all callous to feeling and shame,—
Ah! little they knew him;—the spirit he bore
Once aim'd at, and sigh'd for, as lofty a fame
As shines on the pages of history's lore.

But pile the dank sod which no stone shall adorn,
NOhand ever freshen with shrub or with flower;
We bury him coldly—we leave him forlorn—
And midnight was never more dark than this hour.
It is but a year since all proudly he stood,
Brave, bright, unassuming—the sought, the preferr'd—
Upheld by the strong, and beloved by the good—
Now—bury him quickly, and utter no word!