Classic Poem

Eugenio's dead! and Malice now may own,
A franker, warmer heart, was never known!
A firm unshaken friend—and if a foe,
Still greatly, openly, and nobly so!
He scorn'd the art of hiding what he thought,
Sincere and lib'ral, almost to a fault.
He knew not how his passions to disguise—
In vain 'twas told him men must stoop to rise.
To gain the world, or what he dearest priz'd,
He cou'd not fawn on him his soul despis'd;
And deem'd it infamy a friend to shun,
Tho' poor, neglected, useless, and undone!
Tho' hackney'd in misfortune, never yet
Pain taught him patience, or the world deceit.—
A thousand noble virtues warm'd his breast,
But Gratitude still glow'd, beyond the rest!
That gentle pow'r cou'd ev'n those passions cool,
Which mock'd restraint, and int'rest cou'd not rule.
That gen'rous flame each selfish thought surpast,
And shone with all its splendour to the last!
It conquer'd all—but Heav'n's supreme decree,
And died not, poor E UGENIO !—but with thee!