Classic Poem

Some choose to fly, for well they know
In silent mansions under ground,
Those last abodes to which we go,
No longer sensual joys are found:
No splendid feasts, no flowing bowls
Smile on the megre feast of souls!

In fighting fields who quits his post
Of fame or valor does not boast;
On stormy seas who skulks below
A seaman's duty does not know,
Or, if he knows, he has no heart,
No soul, to act the seaman's part.

Sangrado! — why this sudden flight?
Or, can you think retreating right,
When every art should be essayed,
When all your skill should be displayed
To check those fires you might restrain,
That carry death through every vein.

Three days ago Monismia died,
In flower of Youth, and beauty's pride;
No Galen near her couch she found,
No Sydenham , rever'd, renown'd,
No Rush , who once adorned our land,
Prince of the Esculapian band,
But beardless boys, raw from the schools,
And hardly versed in Buchan's rules.

Had you remain'd, and faced the foe
(This scythe of death , this morbid glow,
This plague of plagues, that acts unseen,
This giant from the Quarantine )
Who knows but she (regretted maid!)
Had lived, to bless you for your aid: —
The chance is past — she sleeps in peace,
But your remorse shall never cease.

If yet your face admits a blush,
If still, with tears your eyes can gush,
Restrain them not: resume your post ,
And strive to sooth Monima's ghost,
Which, now, may haunt your nightly dreams
And cast a gloom on future schemes; —
Like her's, your days may yet be few,
And you may fall by doctors too.

In years of health, when all was gay,
And plague and fevers far away,
When slight complaints attacked her frame
Almost officiously you came;
You felt her pulse, prescribed her cure
And drained her blood, to make it sure:
But when this deadly foe advanced,
You shunn'd her street — and off you danced!

To all who teach the healing art ,
One serious truth we might impart;
With all their lectures, all their rules,
With all the science of their schools,
With all the learning they pursue
Let Fortitude be studied too.

Napoleon, freedom to restore,
Had fathom'd all the depths of war,
All Caesar's skill, what Marlborough knew,
He travelled the dark circle through:
With all their knowledge in his brain,
And all experience could attain,
Had he not been above all fear,
(Contempt of death, his character)
He had not gained his high renown,
Nor all his tactics — won the crown.