Poetry Archives

Master so early of the various lyre
  Energic, pure, sublime!—Thus art thou gone?
  In its bright dawn of fame that spirit flown,
Which breathed such sweetness, tenderness, and fire!
Wert thou but shown to win us to admire,
  And veil in death thy splendour?—But unknown
  Their destination who least time have shone,
And brightest beamed.—When these the Eternal Sire,
—Righteous, and wise, and good are all his ways—
  Eclipses as their sun begins to rise,
Can mortal judge, for their diminish’d days,
  What blest equivalent in changeless skies,
What sacred glory waits them?—His the praise;
  Gracious, whate’er he gives, whate’er denies.


24th Oct. 1806.