| No. 16,819. | TUESDAY, November 16, 1824. | Price 7d. |
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Alas! his Harp now lies unstrung
In Death’s dark silent hall,
That late pathetically sung
Brave Moore’s lamented fall!
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And till yon* bastion’d walls decay,
And ruin sap each tower,
Shall live that sweet Memorial-lay,
Rais’d by Wolfe’s tuneful power.
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Tho’ doom’d a “destiny obscure,”
Unfriended by the Great,
To bear through life—the Christian pure,
Ne’er murmured at his fate.
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Promotion’s sweets whilst others sipp’d,
He tasted not till death—
His manhood’s bloom alas! was nipp’d
By proud Neglect’s cold breath!
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O shame to those his worth who knew,
And yet o’erlook’d the man-
Who had the means—but kept in view
Some other sordid plan!
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Deign to accept, departed shade,
This tribute of regard
Tho’ late, now to thy merit paid
By an impartial Bard.
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Where’er thy mouldering relics lie,
Embalmed by Friendship’s tear,
Genius the spot shall ne’er pass by
Without regret sincere.
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