Born, 1811. Died, July 27, 1892.
Great fighter of lost causes, gone at last!
A meteoric course, by shade o'ercast
Long ere its close, was thine. A star that slips
At brightest into shadow of eclipse,
Leaves watchers waiting for its flaming forth
In a renewed refulgence. Wit and worth,
Satire and sense, courage and judgment keen,
Were thine. What flaw of weakness or of spleen,
What lack of patience or persistence, doomed
Thee to too early darkness? Seldom bloomed
So sudden-swift a flower of fame as thine,
When BRIGHT and GLADSTONE led the serried line
Of resolute reformers to the attack,
And dauntless DIZZY strove to hear them back.
Then rose "White-headed BOB," and foined and smote,
Setting his slashing steel against the throat
Of his old friends, and wrung from them applause.
The champion was valiant, though the cause
Was doomed to failure, and betrayal. Yes!
The subtle Chief thus aided in the press
By an ally so stalwart, turned and rent
The flag he fought for, and the valour spent
In its defence by thee, was wasted all.
Yet 'twas a sight when, back against the wall,
White-headed BOB would wield that flashing blade,
That BRIGHT scarce parried, and that GLADSTONE stayed
Only with utmost effort.
Yes, 'twill live
In record, that fierce fight, and radiance give
Through Time's dense mist, when lesser stars grow dim,
And though the untimely ermine silenced him,
The clear and caustic critic, though no more,
That rhetoric, like the Greek's, now "fulmined o'er"
Democracy's low flats, but silent sank
In those dull precincts dedicate to Rank;
Still its remembered echoes shall resound,
For he with honour, if not love, was crowned,
Whom those he served, and "slated," like to know,
Less as Lord SHERBROOKE than as "BOBBY LOWE."