XXXV.
I too have known what ’tis to part
With the first inmate of my heart—
To feel the bonds of nature riven—
To witness o’er the glowing dawn,
The spring of youth, the fire of heaven,
The grave’s deep shadows drawn!
He sleeps not on the gory plain
The slumber of the brave—
Dear Victim of disease, and pain,
Where high Madeira’s summits reign
Far o’er the Atlantic wave,
He sought eluding health—in vain—
Health never lit his eye again,
He fills a foreign grave!
Oh, had he lived, his hand to-day
Had woven for the victor’s brow,
Such garland of immortal bay,
Such chaplet as the enraptured lay
Of genius may bestow!
Or,—since ’twas Heaven’s severer doom
To snatch him to an earlier tomb—
Would, Wellesley, would that he had died
Beneath thine eye and at thy side!
It would have lighten’d sorrow’s load,
Had thy applause on him bestow’d
The fame he loved in thee;
And rear’d his honoured tomb beside
Those of the gallant hearts who died,
Their kinsmen’s, friends’, and country’s pride,
In Talavera’s victory!
ODE
SUNG AT THE DINNER GIVEN BY THE GENTLEMEN FROM INDIA TO FIELD-MARSHAL THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON, K.G. MONDAY, JULY 11, 1814.