POEMS.

129

Bear hearts electric — charged with fire fromHeaven, 3 °

Black with the rude collision, inly torn,

By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne,Driven o’er the lowering Atmosphere that nurstThoughts which have turned to thunder—-scorchand burst.

But far from us and from our mimic sceneSuch things should be — if such have ever been;Our’s be the gentler wish, the kinder task,

To give the tribute Glory need not ask,

To mourn the vanished beam — and add our miteOf praise in payment of a long delight, 100

Ye Orators! whom yet our councils yield,

Mourn for the veteran Hero of your field!

The worthy rival of the wondrous Three ! 6Whose words were sparks of Immortality!

Ye. Bards! to whom the Drama’s Muse is dear,lie was your Master — emulate him here!

Ye men of wit and social eloquence!

He was your brother — bear his ashes hence!While Powers of Mind almost of boundless range,Complete in kind — as various iu their change, noWhile Eloquence — Wit — Poesy — and Mirth,I hat humbler Harmonist of care on Earth ,von. v. I