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ON MRS. JANE CLERKE.
LO! where this silent marble weeps,
A friend, a wife, a mother sleeps : A heart, within whose sacred cell The peaceful virtues loved to dwell. Affection warm, and faith sincere, And soft humanity were there. In agony, in death resign'd, She felt the wound she left behind ; Her infant image here below Sits smiling on a father's woe : Whom what awaits, while yet he strays Along the lonely vale of days ? A pang, to secret sorrow dear ; A sigh ; an unavailing tear; Till Time shall every grief remove, With life, with memory, and with love.
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 dared to view him with a frown.
At Aix, his voluntary sword he drew,
There first in blood his infant honour seal'd; From fortune, pleasure, science, love, he flew,
And scorn'd repose when Britain took the field.
With eyes of flame, and cool undaunted breast,
Victor he stood on Bellisle's rocky steepsAh, gallant youth ! this marble tells the rest,
Where melancholy friendship bends, and weeps.
THE DEATH OF HOEL.
HAD I but the torrent's might,
With headlong rage and wild affright
Too, too secure in youthful pride,
To Cattraeth’s vale in glitt'ring row
Flush'd with mirth and hope they burn :
HAVE ye seen the tusky boar,
CONAN's name, my lay, rehearse,