ON THE DEATH
OF THE RIGHT HON. ——.60
Ye muses, pour the pitying tear,
For Pollio snatch’d away;
Oh! had he liv’d another year—
He had not died to-day.
For Pollio snatch’d away;
Oh! had he liv’d another year—
He had not died to-day.
Oh! were he born to bless mankind,
In virtuous times of yore,
Heroes themselves had fall’n behind—
Whene’er he went before.
In virtuous times of yore,
Heroes themselves had fall’n behind—
Whene’er he went before.
How sad the groves and plains appear,
And sympathetic sheep;
Even pitying hills would drop a tear—
If hills could learn to weep.
And sympathetic sheep;
Even pitying hills would drop a tear—
If hills could learn to weep.
His bounty in exalted strain
Each bard might well display,
Since none implor’d relief in vain—
That went reliev’d away.
Each bard might well display,
Since none implor’d relief in vain—
That went reliev’d away.
And, hark! I hear the tuneful throng
His obsequies forbid;
He still shall live, shall live as long—
As ever dead man did.
His obsequies forbid;
He still shall live, shall live as long—
As ever dead man did.
FOOTNOTES:
60 A burlesque elegy.