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126 POEMS.

Even ns the tenderness that hour instilsWlien Summer’s day declines along the hills, 20So feels the fulness of our heart and eyesWhen all ol' Genius which can perish dies.

A uiighly Spirit is eclipsed — a PowerHath passed from day to darkness — to whose hourOf light no likeness is bequeathed — no name,Focus at once of all the rays of Fame!

The Hash of Wit — the bright Intelligence,

The beam of Song — the blaze of Eloquence,

Set with their Sun — hill still have left behindThe enduring produce of immortal Mind; 3oFruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon,

A deathless part of him who died too soon.

Eul small that portion of the wondrous whole,These sparkling segjnents of that circling soul,Which all embraced — arid lightened over all,

To cheer — to pierce — to please — or to appal.From the charmed council to the festive hoard,Of human feelings the unbounded lord;

In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied,

The praised — the proud —■ who made his praisetheir pride. 4o

5 Wlic-n the loud cry of trampled HindustanArose to Heaven in her appeal, from man,

His was the thunder — his the avenging rod,