But where may she who loves to stray
Mid shadows of funereal gloom,
And courts the sadness of the tomb,
Where may she seek the proud Morai,
Whose dear memorial points the place
Where fell the friend of human race?
Ye lonely isles! on ocean's bound
Ye bloom'd through time's long flight unknown,
Till Cook the untract'd billow pass'd,
Till he along the surges cast
Philanthropy's connecting zone,
And spread her lovliest blessings round.
Not like that murderous band he came,
Who stain'd with blood the new found West
Nor as, with unrelenting breast,
From Britain's free enlighten'd land,
Her sons now seek Angola's strand,
Each tie most sacred to unbind,
To load with chains a brother's frame,
And plunge a dagger in the mind;
Mock the sharp anguish bleeding there
Of Nature in her last despair!
Great Cook! Ambition's lofty flame,
So oft directed to destroy,
Led thee to circle with thy name,
The smile of Love, and Hope, and Joy!
Those fires, that lend the dangerous blaze
The devious comet trails afar,
Might form the pure benignant rays
That gild the morning's gentle star—
Sure, where the Hero's ashes rest,
The nations late emerg'd from night
Still base—with love's unwearied care
That spot in lavish flowers is dress'd,
And fancy's dear inventive rite
Still paid with fond observance there!
Ah no!—around his fatal grave,
No lavish flowers were ever strew'd
No votive gifts were ever laid—
His blood a savage shore bedew'd!
His mangled limbs, one hasty prayer,
One pious tear by friendship, paid,
Were cast upon the raging wave;
Deep in the wild abyss he lies.
Far from the cherish'd scene of home;
Far, far from Her whose faithful sighs
A husband's trackless course pursue;
Whose tender fancy loves to roam
With him o'er lands and oceans new;
And gilds with Hope's deluding form
The gloomy pathway of the storm.
Yet, Cook! immortal wreaths are thine!
While Albion's grateful toil shall raise
The marble tomb, the trophied bust,
For ages faithful to its trust;
While, eager to record thy praise,
She bids the Muse of History twine
The chaplet of undying fame,
And tell each polish'd land thy worth:
The ruder natives of the earth
Shall oft repeat thy honour'd name;
While infants catch the frequent sound,
And learn to lisp the oral tale;
Whose fond remembrance shall prevail
Till Time has reach'd his destin'd bound.