EPITAPH II. ON SIR WILLIAM WILLIAMS. HERE, foremost in the dangerous paths of fame, Young Williams fought for England's fair renown; His mind each muse, each grace adorn'd his frame, Nor Envy dar'd to view him with a frown. At Aix his voluntary sword he drew, This Epitaph (hitherto unpublished) was written at the request of Mr. Frederick Montagu, who intended to have inscribed it on a Monument at Bellisle, at the siege of which this accomplished youth was killed, 1761; but from some difficulty attending the erection of it, this design was not executed. With eyes of flame, and cool undaunted breast Victor he stood on Bellisle's rocky steeps---- Ah! gallant youth! this marble tells the rest, Where melancholy Friendship bends, and weeps. ELEGY Written in A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day, Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, How jocund did they drive their team afield! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye Proud, impute to These the fault, Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to extasy the living lyre. But knowledge to their eyes her ample page |