!

1

The dreadful call of macer, like a horn,
The agent, tottering from some humble shed,
The lawyer's clarion, like the cock's, at morn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

For them no more the agent's lamp shall burn,
Or busy clerk oft' ply his evening care,
No counsel run to hail their quick return,
Or long their client's envied fees to share.

Oft' did the harvest to their wishes yield,

And knotty points their stubborn souls oft' broke. How keenly did they, then, their clients shield ! How bow'd the lawsbeneath their sturdy stroke!

Let not derision mock their useful toil
Forensic broils, and origin obscure,
Nor judges hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple causes of the poor.

The boast of sov'reignty, the rod of power,
And all the sway that judges ever have,

Await alike the inevitable hour

When all must yield to some designing knave.

Nor you, ye vain, impute to such the fault,
If mem'ry o'er his deeds no trophies raise,
Where, thro' the long drawn hall and fretted vault,
The well-feed lawyer swells his note of praise.

Can counsel's loud and animated voice,
Back to that mansion call the sleeping cause;
Without an order make such process rise,

Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of laws?

Perhaps in some neglected spot is laid

A cause once pregnant with celestial fire, Such as the wily Ct might have pled, Or waked to extacy S-t's living lyre.

For knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did oft' enrol; No penury repress'd their noble rage,

Nor froze the genial current of their soul.

Full many a deed, amid such bustling scene,
The clerk's unfathom'd and dark cells oft' bear ;
Full many a process lies too long unseen,
Neglected by the judges and the bar.

- Some village lawyer, that, with dauntless breast,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
May have a mute and glorious process rest,
Tho' great his wrongs, and tho'his cause begood.

Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of power and ruin to despise,
To scatter justice o'er a smiling land,
And read it's history in a nation's eyes.

Their lot inclined; nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing talents, buttheir crimes confin'd; Forbade to wade through discord widely sown, And shut the gates of justice on mankind.

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride,
With incense kindled at some holy flame.

Far from the bustling crowds ignoble strife,
Their humble wishes never learned to stray;
Along the rough litigious vale of life
+ They kept the noisy tenor of their way.

Their client's fame from insult to protect,
Some frail Memorial they would often try,
Withuncouth prose and shapeless language deck'd,
T' implore the passing tribute of a sigh.

For who to careless folly e'er a prey,
Their legal rights unguarded have resign'd,
Given up a cause as clear as the noon-day,
Nor cast a longing ling'ring look behind.

On some dear cause each client oft relies; 1 Some pious tears, when lost, it oft' requires : Ev'n from the bar the voice of justice cries;

Ev'n lawyers weep when such a cause expires.

For thee, who mindful of each agent's deeds,
Dost in these lines their artful ways relate;
If chance, or lonely contemplation leads
Some kindred spirit to inquire thy fate;

T

Haply some hoary..headed sage may say,"Oft' have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away,

To meet the judges, at the court in town.

There, at the foot of some frequented bench
In th' Outer-House, and to the side bar nigh,
Molested by the agents filthy stench,

He'd pore on books with many a piteous sigh.

In yonder hall, now smiling as in scorn,
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove;
Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn,
Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

One morn I miss'd him in th' accustomed hall, Upon the boards, and near his favourite seat; Another came, and answered to the roll;

Nor at the bar nor in the court he sate.

The next, with dirges due, in sad array,

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne:

Approach and read, for thou cans't read the lay Grav'd on his stone, beneath yon aged thorn

ΕΡΙΤΑΡΗ.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, ayouth to Business and to Law well known; Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Litigation mark'd him as her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send :
He gave to Mis'ry (all he had,) a tear;

He gain'd from Heav'n, ('twas all he wished), a

friend.

No further seek his merits to disclose,

:

Nor draw his frailties from their dread abode; (There they, like many a lawyer's, now repose) The bosom of his Father and his God.

Colintown, 12th May 1814.

C. ML-N.