Classic Poem

Scarce hush'd the sigh, scarce dried the tear
Affliction pour'd upon a Brother's bier,
Another loss bids Laura 's sorrows flow:
As keen in anguish as a sister's woe.
Unknown to me the object of her grief,
I dare not counsel, did she ask relief;
Yet may the wish no vain intrusion prove,
To share her grief, for all who share her love.
Yes, gallant victim in this hateful strife,
Which pride maintains 'gainst man's and freedom's life
If quick and sensible to Laura 's worth,
Thy heart's first comment was affections birth,
If thy soul's day rose only in her sight,
And absence was thy clouded spirit's night;
If 'mid whatever busy tumults thrown,
Thy silent thought still turn'd to her alone.
If while ambition seem'd each act to move,
Thy secret hope was Laura , peace, and love;
If such thy feelings, and thy dying prayer
To wish that happiness thou couldst not share.
Let me with kindest claim thy name revere,
And give thy memory a brother's tear. —
But ah! not tears alone fill Laura 's eyes,
Resentment kindles with affliction's sighs;
Insulted patience borrows passion's breath,
To curse the plotters of these scenes of death;
Yet sooth'd to tranquil peace sweet Mourner be,
And every harsh emotion leave to me.
Remembrance sad, and soft regret be thine,
The wrath of hate and blow of vengeance mine;
And oh! by Heaven that hour shall surely come,
When fell Destroyers! ye shall meet your doom.
Yes, miscreant Statesmen! by the proud disdain
Which honour feels at base corruption's reign.
By the loud clamour of a nation's woes,
By the still pang domestic sorrow knows,
By all that hope has lost, or terror fears,
By England's injuries, and by Laura 's tears,
The hour shall come when fraud's short triumph past,
A people's vengeance shall strike home at last:
Then, then shall foul remorse, the dastard fiend,
That ne'er pollutes the noble Soldier's end;
And dark despair around the scaffold wait,
And not one look deplore the Traitor's fate;
But while remembrance shakes his coward frame,
And starts of pride contend with inward shame.
The mute reproach, or execrations loud,
Of sober Justice, or the scoffing crowd,
Alike shall hail the blow that seals his doom,
And gives to infamy his mem'ry and his tomb!

Turn from the hateful scene, dear Laura , turn,
And thy lov'd friend with milder sorrows mourn;
Still dwell upon his fate, for still thou'lt find
The contrast lovely, and 'twill soothe thy mind.
Fall'n with the brave, e'er number'd with the slain,
His mind unwounded, calms his body's pain;
Hopeless, but not dismay'd, with fearless eye,
He reads the doom that tells him he must die;
Lays his brave hand upon his bleeding breast,
And feels his glory, while he finds his rest. —
Then yields his transient breath which nature gave,
And sure of prouder life, o'erlooks the grave!

Sweet is the meed that waits his laurell'd bier,
'Tis valour's hope, 'tis honor's praise sincere,
'Tis friendship's manly sigh, and gentle beauty's tear.