ELEGY
ADDRESSED TO THE CALLIOPEAN SOCIETY,
ON THE DEATH OF DOCTOR JOSEPH YOULE.
Within these walls let awful stillness reign:
Sorrow, thy louder extacies restrain:
Each sound that on the solemn scene would break
Be hush’d——let Silence more emphatic speak.
Ev’n thou, upon thy pensive lyre reclin’d,
(Dark cypress with thy drooping laurel twin’d,)
Our guardian Muse! let not a trembling note
Through the still air in plaintive sweetness float;
Save when Affliction’s deep collected sigh
Low breathing in symphonious melody,
With faint vibrations agitates the chords,
While Friendship’s mourning voice our lot records.
On the cold couch of death our brother sleeps;—
Chill o’er his grave the gale of midnight sweeps.
Oh, Death! if ’tis thy glory to destroy
The fairest opening bud of human joy;
If ’tis thy boast severely to display
And wide diffuse the terrors of thy sway,
High o’er this grave thy proudest trophy rear,
And tell with exultation who lies here.
Ye whom Philanthropy benignant guides,
Ye in whose hearts fair Piety presides,
Children of genius, friends of Science, come,
With silent step approach the hallow’d tomb.——
He was your brother——generous was his mind,
Warm with benevolence to all mankind.
Gently to raise affliction’s drooping head,
To comfort sickness on the lonely bed,
To lead the ignorant in virtue’s way,
On the dark mind to pour instruction’s ray,
The paths of science to extend and smooth,
And wide diffuse the genial light of truth;
These were his objects, these his noble pride;
For these he labour’d, and for these he died.
And ye whose virtuous efforts here combine
To cultivate those faculties divine,
Friendship and Science breathe a deeper sigh—
He was your brother by a dearer tie:
With you he trod the same delightful road;
For you his heart with love peculiar glow’d.
Can you forget how many social hours
Derived new joys from his instructive pow’rs?
Can you upon these scenes look back unmoved,
Scenes, where, so oft, delighted and improv’d,
Attention fondly on his accents dwelt,
And every breast the warmth of friendship felt;
While Fancy, led by Hope, the theme pursu’d,
And future prospects more delightful view’d?
Fancy! where now are thy illusive dreams?
Where, Hope! thy visions bright with golden gleams?
Friendship, thy prospects?—Fame, thy laureate wreath?
All past——all faded in the shades of Death.
’Tis past—the sigh is breath’d, the tear is shed,
The last sad tribute to a brother dead.—
Our loss demands—receives the mournful strain:
Let sounds of triumph celebrate his gain.
the Spirit, starting from its bonds of clay,
Traces with Angel guides the lucid way;
Exalted notes from harps celestial rise,
And kindred spirits hail him to the skies.
There, Earth’s embarrassments no more controul
The great exertions of the active soul:—
By weak humanity no more confin’d,
Enlarg’d, enlarging still, his opening mind;
With strength encreasing through creation soars,
Infinite space, eternal times explores;
More nearly contemplates the great First Cause,
More clearly comprehends his sacred laws;
With Newton darts among the Worlds of light,
Systems on systems blazing on his sight;
With Franklin, mitigates the whirlwind’s force,
Averts the lightning’s flash, and turns the thunder’s course;
Or joins with extacy the holy throng
Who to Jehovah’s throne exalt the song,
Shout the loud victory o’er the bounds of earth,
And joyful celebrate their heavenly birth.
Is this a subject for the plaints of woe?
Can friendship here the tear of grief bestow?
No——elevated by the glorious theme,
We hope, ere long, to die---to rise, like him,
To join with transport his celestial flight,
Again to meet him in those realms of light
Where widow’d friendship ceases to deplore,
Affection feels the parting pang no more,
Hush’d is the sigh of grief—the groan of pain,
And Virtue dwells with Joy in everlasting reign.
A Lady having received a Bouquet from a Boy,
sent him the following Verses.
Next your dear image in my breast,
Your fancied flowers I fondly plac’d,
But mourn my adverse fate,
Who by compulsive atoms hurl’d,
Was forc’d so soon into this world,
Where you arrived too late.
The Answer, by a Friend of the Boy.
Permit me, dear madam, to tell you you’ve err’d
In this hardy censure on Fate,
Which though my arrival is somewhat deferr’d,
By no means has sent me too late.
Here Providence wisely has acted its part,
Well knowing, or I’m much mistaken,
That Woman, however she may have the start,
Would willingly be overtaken.